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Snowboarders are the worst, Karl decided as laid in the snow. Everything was cold, he could feel wetness seeping through his waterproof pants, and snow had somehow made its way into his coat. He gave himself one more moment to look defeatedly up at the clear blue sky before righting himself into a sitting position. He swung a look around to see if he could spot any of his friends, not expecting to, but hopeful nonetheless. He was supposed to meet them at a lodge on the mountain for lunch after they separated in the morning, so of course, all the goggled and helmeted people zipping past him were unfamiliar. No one even gave his sorry state a second look, which, ouch.
He was going to be miserable until lunch, when he could dry off. He was only being slightly dramatic.
What happened was he was minding his own business, politely skiing down a blue run that he could totally handle, when a snowboarder had come speeding up behind him, clipped him on his side, and sent him spinning to the ground. The snowboarder had treated it as merely a little knock to his balance and kept speeding along. He had even tossed a look back just in time to see Karl falling, but didn’t stop.
Dwelling on his woes wouldn’t help him, so Karl lined up his skis and pushed himself up with his ski poles. He mentally checked himself over: slightly achy, feeling unsteady, and his neck was fucking freezing from getting a bucketful of snow thrown against it.
“Fuck!” he cursed aloud, his mood immediately even more soured. His scarf was missing. It was his favorite because it was rainbow and the only way he could signal to others that he was queer during the winter. He had all kinds of little pride accessories to wear in warmer weather, but the scarf was his last hope of showing he wasn’t straight during the winter. (Short of buying a rainbow coat, which was a little too aggressive for his tastes.)
He looked up and down the hill, just in case it had flown away from him somehow—it was a short enough piece of fabric that he could see how it would’ve come off—but no luck. He sighed, deflating. He would have to ask Chris where he bought it so he could get himself a new one.
He massaged his neck regrettfully, pointed his skis downhill, and took off.
❆ ❆ ❆
A few hours later, it was finally noon, and Karl was at the lodge putting up his skis in the rack out front. He trudged up the stairs wearily and positively soaked up the overly warm air inside the building. To his left, there was food for purchase in a cafeteria line, and the rest of the floor space was full of tables and chairs. On the far right wall, there was a staircase that assumedly led to a second floor with more seating. The place was packed with people; ski and snowboarding equipment filled the ground space not taken up by ruffled-looking people sitting in chairs, scarfing down their lunch.
Definitely a tripping hazard, Karl thought as he navigated his way between tables. He didn’t immediately see his friends, but Jimmy had given him a heads-up over text that their group was sitting at a table in the back next to a window. Eventually, he spotted them, and Nolan waved him over brightly. Chris, Chandler, and Jimmy looked up in unison.
“Kaaaarrllll!” Nolan cheered when Karl collapsed into the last open chair at the table, completing their five-person group.
“Hey, guys.” Karl smiled at his friends despite the day he’d had so far. He took off his helmet and ruffled his flattened curls into something resembling his normal hairstyle before resting his face on the table. “I am. So exhausted.”
“Aww,” Chris cooed and patted his head. “Did somethin’ happen?”
“I got run over by a snowboarder and lost my scarf,” Karl grumbled.
Mournful reactions came from everyone in the group.
“In one fell swoop?” Jimmy asked disbelievingly.
“Yes!” Karl groaned, throwing himself back in his chair. He gave sad puppy-dog eyes to Chris, who smiled even though he was supposed to be empathizing. The conversation resumed around them, but Chris nudged his forlorn friend.
“I’ll buy you another, Karl.”
“Oh, I was just gunna ask you where you got it so I could get one myself…” Karl said softly.
Chris tsked and threw his arm around Karl’s shoulders. “Not a chance. But we can go to the store I got it from together if you want, once we get back home.”
A more genuine smile bled onto Karl’s face and he leaned into Chris’ squeeze.
“Thanks, you nimrod.”
It was impossible to resist the lunchtime buzz, so once Karl bought some food, he easily melted into the table conversation. Chris and Jimmy had gone on a black run together that had them telling a story about both nearly dying while going through some woods, Nolan met a dog on the gondola, and Chandler got stuck on a chairlift freezing his ass off. Karl found himself feeling lighter than he had all day while he laughed along.
That was until he saw Jimmy, who was sitting across from him, distractedly squinting over his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked as he swiveled around in his seat.
There was a rosy-cheeked snowboarder (if the boots were anything to go by), clearly coming straight off the slopes, walking towards their table. He was young, probably in his twenties like Karl, with a short beard and wavy hair messy from his helmet, wearing a black coat unzipped over a gray hoodie. He was walking away from two other snowboarders standing by the door—a tall blond wearing a green coat and a short brunette in blue.
“I’m not crazy, that guy is coming over here, right?” Chris observed.
Karl looked back at his friends to see everyone staring at the approaching guy.
“Very subtle, guys,” Karl muttered.
Karl’s nervousness spiked as he made eye contact with The Guy and The Guy smiled back awkwardly.
Cute smile, his brain unhelpfully supplied.
“Oh my god, help, he’s actually coming over here,” Karl whispered to no one in particular, his eyes trained on The Guy.
The Guy gave a small wave as he reached the table and seemed very unsure of himself for a moment until Jimmy, always good with people, politely said, “Can we help you?”
Karl thanked him silently for initiating because he was sitting closest to where The Guy was standing and probably should have started the conversation.
“Yeah, bro, sorry, I don’t wanna come off as weird or anything—“
“Challenge: failed,” Chandler mumbled quietly enough so that Karl thought he and Nolan sitting to either side of Chandler were probably the only ones who heard.
“—But did one of you lose this scarf?” The Guy pulled Karl’s rainbow scarf out of where it was shoved in his coat pocket, looking frosty and wet but no worse for wear.
Karl’s jaw dropped and he immediately sat up in his chair. “That’s mine, how the heck did you find it?”
The Guy smiled shyly, redirecting his attention to Karl. “I was kind of far away but I saw you get flattened by that guy—“
“Fuckin’ snowboarders,” Chris grunted.
“And your scarf came off but it went over the side of the trail, but you skied away, so I went and got it—”
“You went on to the side of the mountain to get my scarf?” Karl blurted out, interrupting.
“Yeah,” The Guy rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “And I followed you down the run but lost you, but then way later when I was passing by the lodge on the trail outside, I saw you putting up your skis…”
Everyone at the table was eyeing him with disbelief. He continued on bravely.
“I missed my chance to stop so I went down to the bottom and took the lift back up, and then came back here again. Pretty surprised I even saw you outside,” he finished the story.
“That’s so much effort,” Karl gaped.
“Well, I mean, we gotta look out for each other, right?” The Guy grinned, handing a stunned Karl his scarf.
“Sorry for interrupting your lunch and everything,” The Guy said and walked to where his friends were now sitting at a table.
Karl could feel the blush creeping up from his neck onto his face and all he could do was stare dumbly after The Guy’s retreating form. He didn’t even get a chance to say “thank you.”
“Did that guy just go through a huge amount of effort to return your scarf, tell you he was gay, and flirt with you, all in one go?” Nolan marveled.
“Oh my god,” Karl closed his eyes and put his head back onto the table in defeat. This day was too much. Maybe if he wallowed with his cheek against the wood for a bit longer, the awful blush would subside. He looked down at his hands below the table, holding the rainbow scarf slackly, and, yeah, the blush was definitely not going anywhere.
“He totally did!” Chandler shook Karl’s shoulders furiously.
“Oh my god, shut up!” Karl groaned, covering his face with his scarf in hand as he was rattled from his bent position.
“You have to get his number or something, ” Nolan emphasized.
“How the hell would I do that, nimrod.”
“Go up to his table when we’re leaving, and ask,” Jimmy contributed sagely.
“If you don’t, I’ll do it for you, and say something embarrassing,” Chris threatened.
“I can’t, that’s so cringe,” Karl moaned.
“You’ve done worse,” Nolan piped up.
“I hate you all.”
Karl spent the rest of lunch being razzed into asking The Guy for his number (and name) and being thoroughly red and giggly. Curse his giggly nature. By the end of lunch, he was pretty sure that his friends had his entire future with The Guy figured out.
“We’ll see you outsiiiiiiide,” Chris said in a singsong voice, punching him on the arm and following the rest of the group out of the lodge.
Karl grumbled under his breath and continued to struggle with his ski boots, watching them leave.
Am I really about to do this, he debated in his head. On the one hand; embarrass himself in front of The Cute Guy (how did cute get in there?), but on the other hand; never hear the end of it from his friends. Probably until the end of time.
He was still weighing the decision while he secured his scarf around his neck and—against his better judgment—approached the table where The Cute Guy and his two friends were sitting.
Brunette Guy eyed him up in a neutral way that made him freeze up, but Blond Guy smiled kindly and waved.
The Cute Guy looked up from his phone when Brunette Guy elbowed him in the side, Cute Guy’s brow furrowed crossly until he looked up and saw Karl, at which point he broke into a bright smile instead.
“What’s up?” Cute Guy inquired, putting his phone face down on the table.
“You left before I could say thank you,” Karl said apologetically, hoping the blush wouldn't come back but knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. “My name’s Karl?”
Why did I say that like it was a question?
“My name’s Nick,” Cute Guy—Nick—returned. “And these are my friends, Dream and George.”
“Nice to meet you,” Karl replied lamely.
“Oh! Yeah, it was no problem, don’t worry about it,” Nick remembered.
Karl hesitated before deciding to fuck it. “Well, this is my favorite scarf so you really were a lifesaver.” It was satisfying to see a flush start on Nick’s cheeks for a change. “My friends all told me I should ask for your number, you don’t have to give it to me though, they’re a huge bunch of nimrods.”
“Hah! Knew it,” Dream cackled, pushing Nick teasingly.
“Shut up, Dream, you stupid bitch—“ he hissed back, pushing his friend more roughly in return. George smiled smugly at the exchange and Karl was comforted in the fact that a similar conversation had appeared to have happened at this table as with Karl’s.
Nick turned his attention back to Karl, flustered. “Ignore them, motherfucking idiots—give me your phone and I can put it in?” he said hopefully.
Karl hoped his laugh was more of a normal laugh and less of a Karl-Giggle™ as he handed Nick his phone, but he was a terrible judge.
“I’ll text you,” he smiled shyly when he took his phone back.
Karl walked away from their table with more excited nerves than he could remember having in a long time.
❆ ❆ ❆
It’s safe to say that Karl didn’t hate every snowboarder after that.