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Through the window, Marshall watches flurries of snow fall from the sky, twisting around each other in the air before they can reach the ground. The sky is bright, illuminated by the fresh white coating the ground. He may have found the weather pleasant if it weren't for the lack of heat inside of his tiny, shared apartment.
There are only so many blankets to go around, and he's already bundled himself up in half of them. The other half are occupied by Benedikt, who sits quietly on the run-down couch of their living room, hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate. Marshall had made it earlier in the day, and was infinitely grateful that he did before the cold got so unbearable. Even with his own hands wrapped around a mug, he trembles underneath the blankets.
Cold like this doesn't come very often in Shanghai, nor does it come this abruptly. When the heat broke nearly a week and a half ago, Marshall had assumed the two of them would be fine until they could find someone to fix it again.
Now, he curses himself for being so foolish. January is the most common month for snow to occur, and yet he didn't assume anything like this would happen. This cold, or this snow.
"It's a shame," Benedikt says. It shocks Marshall enough to look up, letting the cold air sweep over his face. "If the heat in here wasn't broken, I might have wanted to go outside."
He's looking out the window, like Marshall previously was.
Marshall waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't say more.
"Well, why don't we?"
Ben looks at him.
Marshall smiles, ignoring the way his teeth chatter. "Maybe it won't be so bad, you know, once we get out there." He thinks for a moment, setting his mug down on the floor in front of him. "Yeah, I think we should!"
He throws the blankets off of him, the cold throwing itself at him all at once. Goosebumps raise on his skin, but he only lets himself pause for a moment before rushing to the small closet down the hall.
"We should have some stuff in here from last year. And you never even used yours, so it'll finally be put to good use."
He fishes out two pairs of snow pants, boots, and a few jackets.
"I didn't know we had so many clothes," comes Benedikt's voice, shaking. Marshall turns to find him a few paces away, hugging himself. He leans on the wall, eyes fixed on the jackets in Marshall's hands.
"Roma bought two of these," Marshall says, holding them up. "You bought one. Take your pick."
Ben stares at them for a moment. He shakes his head, reaching for the one colored a deep blue. "This is a terrible idea."
Marshall scoffs. "Don't say that. It'll be a fun way to pass the time. Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself." He picks his own jacket, a red one. He can see Ben putting his own on in his peripheral vision. "We don't have hats, but we have gloves and hoods, so we'll probably be fine."
Ben hums, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Where are we going again?"
"The roof."
A particularly strong gust of wind runs through the apartment. They both shiver.
Marshall zips his jacket up and throws Benedikt the rest of the snow clothes. "Get ready and meet me there in ten."
Marshall has only been up to the roof a handful of times, all of which being in the dead of night, at times when he ached to get away from the tiny, cramped space that he lives in. He can't see many stars from here, but most times the view of the city at night is enough.
During the day, it's a completely different place.
On his nightly visits, he revels at the yellow lights in contrast to the dark sky. The tall buildings and the even taller ones. The cars speeding by on roads he never cares to walk on. He's told Ben countless times of how he should paint the city in its nightly state, but every time he gets the same, "Maybe one day."
At night, Marshall might even stretch to call Shanghai beautiful.
He can't say it's terrible during the day, but the visible smoke puffing from a faraway building doesn't necessarily do it justice.
Still, the snow helps.
Marshall turns when he hears a door close, and a few footsteps crunching their way through the snow. It's Ben, seeming to have layered on more clothes from wherever he could find them. He looks down at his feet with an expression that Marshall can't read.
"Finally," Marshall says, taking a few small steps toward him. "What took you so long?"
Benedikt pauses to look up. "I went to find more clothes. It's quite cold out, you know."
Marshall laughs. He looks around them. Snowflakes fall from the cloud-covered sky, creating about four inches of snow on the surface of Ben and Marshall's apartment building.
Ben shifts his weight back and forth, his hands digging themselves further into his pockets. He looks up at the sky, face scrunched.
"What's wrong?" Marshall asks when he shakes his head. "I don't think it's so bad once you're bundled up like this. And the wind isn't as bad."
"No, it's not that. It's just . . . "
"Just what? Tell me."
Ben looks at him. "I haven't been in snow like this since I was a kid."
Marshall tilts his head. "You've never been in snow since then? Are you sure?"
Rolling his eyes, Ben gestures around them. "No, I've obviously walked in snow and traveled in snow," he hesitates, hands falling to his sides. "but I used to make snowmen and, um, I don't know, roll around and stuff."
Despite himself, Marshall has a hard time picturing it. He's known Benedikt for most of his life, and he doesn't think he's ever seen him do something so freeing. "So you haven't played in snow?"
Ben shakes his head.
Marshall smiles. "You're crazy." He walks the rest of the way to reach him, taking hold of his forearm. He pulls him away from the door, and more towards the middle of the roof. "Let's have a contest then. See who can build the better snowman."
"You're just saying that so you can win."
Marshall shrugs. "You're the artist. I promise I won't steal any ideas from you."
Ben hums, considering the idea. Marshall watches his face change. Notices his frown turn into the smallest of smiles. He feels his stomach flutter.
"Come on," Marshall presses. "Please?"
A moment passes. Then, with a long sigh, Ben caves. "Okay, sure."
"Marvelous," Marshall says, and points over his shoulder, then over Ben's. "I can take over there, and you can take over there."
Marshall rushes over to his spot. "Okay, go!" he says. Immediately, he gathers a handful of snow in his palm, rolling it flimsily through the more of it around him. He continues, fighting the urge to look over at how Ben is doing, until the snow has formed a sphere that is a little wider than he is. It comes up to his mid thighs.
He nearly turns around. Not to gather more snow, but to peek at where Ben is. He can hear him working from the other side of the roof, but he has no idea of what. Every once in a while, there will be a sniffle from one of them, but otherwise, it's unusually silent.
"Ben," Marshall says, smoothing out the sides of his half-built snowman. "I have a rule."
Ben doesn't respond, but Marshall knows he heard him.
"You can't use anything from inside," he continues. "Like carrots or buttons. Only snow."
He continues to run his gloved hands along the snow, waiting for at least some form of acknowledgment. When it doesn't come after a few moments, he takes note of the silence. When he stops moving, there's no noise to indicate that Ben is moving.
"Ben?" Marshall asks again, concern seeping into his voice. He stands fully upright.
No response.
"Ben, are you—"
Marshall goes to turn around, but just as he's about to see where Ben has gone, white clouds his vision. Something cold has hit him square in the face, causing him to yelp.
A tiny gasp is heard from the other side of the roof. Marshall, after a moment, wipes at the snow on his face. Ben stands on his side of the roof with both hands lightly covering a slightly agape mouth. Behind him, about half of a snowman is built.
"I'm sorry," Ben says, but Marshall sees a tiny smile hiding behind his hands. "Mars, I didn't mean to hit you in the face."
Marshall, for once, doesn't know what to say.
More accurately, he can't select which one of the many thoughts flying through his head he should voice.
"It's fine," he giggles, wiping the rest of the snow off of his face. "but you must understand that I need to get you back."
Ben's laugh comes out nervous. Marshall scoops up a handful of snow, balling it into a sphere as quickly as he can manage with gloves on. By the time he's done, Ben hasn't moved much, only backed up a little.
Marshall throws, and it lands on Ben's side. "Come on, you can do better than that."
"No, no," Ben says, containing his laughter. Marshall wishes he wouldn't be so afraid. "I really can't. I don't do this kind of thing."
Marshall throws another. "There's a first time for everything."
"I said I was sorry," Ben tries again, but he's already bent down to form a snowball of his own. When he throws, it hits Marshall on the shoulder.
This goes on back and forth until Marshall loses track of time. He can't stop watching Ben, even when a few of their snowballs fly over the side of the roof. There's a smile on his face that Marshall's only ever seen a limited amount of times. Every time he sees it, he knows it'll replay in his mind for days afterwards.
Usually, it'll only come for a minute, and be gone, but he's had it plastered on his face since they started the fight. Their snowmen have been forgotten, now being used as shields for incoming snowballs, albeit ineffective.
When Benedikt stands to find more snow, Marshall launches one, and it lands near Benedikt's forehead, knocking him back a few steps. Marshall hears his laugh echoing through the sky. The snow has died down by now, and Marshall's fingers and face have gone numb, but he doesn't care.
"Wait, wait," he says, through giggles, when Benedikt raises his arm to throw another. "I call time out."
Ben's look is questioning, but he lowers his arm nonetheless.
Slowly, Marshall stands. He stretches his arms in the air, yawning. "Aren't you tired yet?"
Ben scrubs a hand through his hair, though most of the strands still fall into his face. He nods ever so slightly, head turned to gaze at something Marshall doesn't see. It must be an artist thing.
"Should we—" Marshall starts, but he's cut off for the second time that evening. From the building right next to theirs, on the right, someone starts playing music. It's soft and melodic, the sound coming from what sounds like a violin. It's music that Marshall has heard before. That building plays it almost every night, or at least the nights that Marshall finds himself up on the roof. He doesn't know where it comes from, but he can't say he minds it.
"We should head back inside."
Marshall looks at Ben. His smile has faded, replaced by a slight frown as he looks over at the other building. The breeze messes his hair even more. Marshall takes a few steps forward. "What do you mean?"
Ben lifts one shoulder. "I mean, my face is completely numb from the cold, and it's almost dark out anyway."
The sky is a mix of pinks and oranges and reds. It, along with the music from the next door building, might be what prompts Marshall to say what he does.
Ben turns to leave, and Marshall blurts, "Why don't we dance?"
Ben stops. His shoulders relax, and he faces Marshall. "What?"
"Why don't we, um," Marshall speaks before he can back out. He holds a hand out for Ben to take, his voice softening. "Why don't we dance?"
For a few seconds, Ben stares at Marshall's extended palm. He gnaws at the inside of his mouth, as if weighing his options. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Marshall smiles brightly, wiggling his fingers.
"Please?" he asks. "Just for a little while. Then we can go inside, and I'll even make you something to eat."
Ben's head tilts to the side a bit, and a tiny smile tugs at his lips. "What if somebody sees?" he challenges, but his hand falls perfectly into Marshall's. Marshall pulls him closer.
"Who will see us from up here?"
Marshall lets go of Ben's hand, only to wrap his arms around his waist. Ben's arms fall around Marshall's neck. The two are practically the same height, making it a little awkward, but they manage. "Do you actually know how to dance?" he asks.
"Nope," Marshall says, swaying in place. "I just needed an excuse to keep you out here with me."
"We can dance inside."
"It's more romantic this way."
Marshall doesn't know what he's saying. Maybe it's supposed to be a joke, but when words leave his mouth they sound genuine.
Ben's eyes don't leave his, searching for something. The music continues to play, Marshall hoping the violin can say the words that he doesn't know how to.
"Yeah, you're right," Ben says. The tip of his nose is colored pink, and Marshall doesn't know if his own is the same.
"I know," he says, for lack of something better. Ben laughs softly, so he thinks it was the right thing to say.
They stare at each other. The swaying has calmed their racing hearts, though neither of them know that they were racing in the first place.
Well, that's not entirely true.
"I think I . . ." Ben starts, only to look away, face turning red.
"What?" Marshall presses, leaning slightly closer.
"No, no, it's nothing. I wasn't going to say anything."
Marshall hums, unconvinced. "I won't be mad."
Ben shakes his head. "You don't understand. You will be."
"I promise."
Ben meets his eyes, probably testing to see if it's a lie. His eyes scan over Marshall's face before he speaks. "I think I, um." He blinks, hard. "I think I love you."
Ben winces.
Marshall stops swaying.
The words aren't at all what he expected. Ben never struck him as the type to say something so open like that. So vulnerable.
"Really?" Marshall asks, voice hovering above a whisper. He switches from Shanghainese to Russian. “You really do?"
Ben nods. His eyes are growing glassy, and Marshall waits for the first tear to fall to bring his hand up. He swipes at the tear, keeping his hand there.
“Don’t worry,” Marshall smiles. “That’s a good thing.”
”Is it?” Ben asks, also in Russian. There’s a twinkle in his eye, but Marshall isn’t sure if it’s just tears or hope.
”A great thing actually. Don’t you see this?” Marshall points to his mouth, his smile. He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting. Though, I did always think I would be the first to confess.” He brings his hand up to twist a few strands of Ben’s hair between his fingers.
“Me too, I suppose. I said it before I knew it.”
They stare at each other, and they know they’re both thinking the same thing. Marshall’s fidgeting slows. He leans closer. “Can I be the first one to kiss you, though?”
He hears the hitch of Ben’s breath. The music from the other building is slowing, but Marshall knows this part. A symphony is coming. He thinks Ben knows it too.
“Yes, you can,” Ben says.
Marshall hesitates. “This is gonna be so cliche,” he mumbles, and before Ben can ask why, he breaks the distance. Closes the space between them. The music reaches its high, an orchestra of strings instruments blending together to create the melody that they both know so well.
The kiss is everything. It’s Ben’s cold nose digging into Marshall’s cheek. It’s his hands curling their way through Marshall’s dark locks. It’s Marshall’s laugh as Ben pushes harder into his lips. It’s their teeth clacking together. It’s years of built up emotion, all of it finally finding a way to spill perfectly over the edge.
The kiss dies down as the music does, maybe ten seconds later. Their breaths are heavy, the smile on Ben’s lips is back, and nothing could ever compare to this moment.
“We should actually go inside now,” Marshall says.
”Yeah, yeah, just . . . give me a second.” Ben closes his eyes, resting his forehead on Marshall’s. He hums, “Oh, and also, you should invite Roma and Juliette over for dinner. They’re going to want to hear about this.”
Marshall sighs. ”Whatever you want, Ben.”