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Winter
It was a constant push and pull. The overwhelming feelings thrashed around within him, threatening to consume and spill out unfiltered. It took everything to keep them in. Even now, looking down at the man who fiddled with wires and keyboards, it was a struggle to keep those emotions at bay. Nothing could get out. He wouldn’t let it.
He couldn’t provide the love Meryl needed, so what made Hal any exception?
He’d be lying if he said he never felt bad about Meryl every now and again. She’d always been so bright and assured, nothing stood in her way. Except for him.
He always felt that he cast a shadow over everything she embodied, a somber fog shrouding her and that fiery red hair of hers. Snake tried, he really did. Tried breaking down the walls that separated himself from her embrace, her love. It wasn’t enough. They argued and clashed on so many things, Snake had lost count. She felt inadequate, believing that she needed to earn his love when it should’ve come naturally. That's what she told him at least.
A thought crept up on him one night, like a childhood nightmare returning to torture him further.
Snake was lying alone on the couch. He and Meryl fought again. She’d gotten so riled up she screamed at him, throwing her hands up in frustration before stomping off to their bedroom and slamming the door. Snake, speechless, got up from his place at the dining table to have a smoke outside despite the freezing Alaskan temperatures. The air bit at his cheeks, curling around his fingers as he fished out the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He cradled the flame of his lighter until it lit, gazing out into the dark void of wilderness that surrounded the secluded cabin. It was quiet, snow silently touching down from the sky and dotting over his dark brown hair.
They hopelessly clung to one another because of the traumatic experience that was Shadow Moses. A connection formed and it was mistaken for love. They were incompatible. More than incompatible.
On the couch that night, Snake pulled the blanket up to his chin as his face paled. Maybe he wasn’t capable of loving someone else. He wasn’t enough, couldn’t feel enough to love someone as they should be loved. He hardly slept.
Meryl apologized the next morning, even cracking a joke about how sore Snake’s back must be from the couch. Snake feigned a lighthearted attitude. He was only trying to spare her feelings.
It wasn’t long after that did they split. Snake broke it off and they argued again, tears springing to Meryl’s eyes in the process. She left when she must’ve realized there was no getting through to him. Meryl wasn’t one to beg.
Weeks went by without another soul to grace the vast plane of snow. Snake thought he’d be okay. Being alone was the best thing for him, right? He wouldn’t hurt anyone else–or himself–again. It’s what he wanted.
Then he showed up.
Snake kept in contact with him every now and again but this time Hal called him with a proposal.
“Philanthropy, that’s what I’ve called it.”
“You have some real faith in me, Hal,” Snake bit back a laugh, shaking his head.
“Snake, you’re the only one I’d want to do this with. I don’t think anyone else could do it. You’re perfect.”
Silence. Snake was taken aback, but not because Hal needed him. A lot of people would jump at the chance of having The Solid Snake on their side, but being told he was perfect wasn’t something he heard everyday, even if the reason for such a comment were for bringing down nuke slinging bipedal weapons.
“Uh, yeah. Okay, let’s do it.”
“Great!” he exclaimed, Snake cringing at the volume. “Uh, sorry uhm,” he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Snake. But there’s one more thing…”
That’s when Snake found himself moving boxes of computer equipment and clothing into his home.
“Uh, Hal. It’s just me out here. I don’t have much space at all.”
“It’s okay! I’ll only take up a little corner for my computers and-”
“Computers? Plural?” Snake cut him off.
“Yeah, it’s needed. Really.”
“I only have one bedroom.”
“Oh…you have a couch, right? I can sleep anywhere. I promise it’ll be like I’m not even there. Really, Snake, the more secluded the better for something like this. Your place is ideal, for now at least. But I won’t intrude, promise!”
“That should be it,” Hal sighed, catching his breath as he set down the last box.
“Doesn’t seem like much,” Snake murmured.
“I tried to keep it light. Everything here is strictly necessary. I’ll get to unpacking.”
Hal dropped to his knees in front of one of the boxes, pulling a box cutter from his back pocket and getting to work. Snake’s eyes raked over his crouched form. Hal’s hair had gotten longer since he last saw him. It curled this way and that once it reached the bottom of his neck.
“I hope you’re okay with cup noodle,” Snake said, realizing his lingering eyes.
Snake’s diet mostly consisted of non-perishables and several species of fish he’d go and catch at the lake nearby. He could’ve pulled one out from the freezer, let it thaw before getting to work on it. Removing the head, then the skin, and finally, his least favorite part, picking out the thin translucent bones he could never seem to completely remove. That was all before he could even begin to cook it.
After driving for an hour and a half in his truck to get Hal from the port, loading the boxes, driving back, unloading the boxes, the last thing he wanted to do was debone a fucking fish.
Hal turned his attention away from the contents of the box, hands gripping a thick, flat-screen monitor.
“Anything is fine. Don’t worry about me too much. Like I said, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”
Hal had only opened two boxes, both labeled ‘COM’ in thick permanent marker, before Snake had called him over. They ate in silence, the slurping of noodles and the wind howling outside the only noise to be heard while they sat at his compact dining table.
Snake shifted his gaze to what Hal had set up already in the corner of his living room. On a foldable table, a monitor, keyboard, and mouse were placed haphazardly. The floor around it was strewn with two more monitors, keyboards and mice to match, wires both long and short in several colors and other pieces of equipment he didn’t recognize.
“What’s all that?” He asked, pointing his fork in the general direction.
“The…keyboards and mice, Snake?”
“No, the uh- the goddamn- whatever those shiny rectangle things are,” Snake’s brows creased while trying to point them out.
“Oh, those are switches. And routers. I’m going to set up a network rack. Don’t worry, I brought my own generator so it shouldn’t affect the power in this place.”
Hal went on about the details of his network, saying something about layering and security and some kind of software to type in commands. It all went in one ear and out the other. Snake kept quiet and ate his noodles. Hal couldn’t help but snort at Snake’s utterly blank expression after he finished explaining everything.
“I guess it’s a little complicated,” he said with a smile.
Snake left him with his equipment to take a shower. He gave Hal some sheets, blankets, a thick comforter, two pillows, and everything he could spare to make his stay on the couch more comfortable.
“Bathroom is down the hall to the right, I guess just put your stuff in there. You can use whatever you want too, I don’t care. Just don’t use up all the hot water.”
“Of course, thank you again. For everything.”
“Mhm,” Snake nodded before retreating to his bedroom.
The first week was quiet.
In the time Meryl was gone, Snake got used to not talking. He woke up forgetting the other man occupying his house and jumped upon seeing him sitting at his computer, always up before Snake.
Snake made coffee and ate breakfast quietly unless Hal had something to tell him about the network, which Snake realized he would never understand a word about.
“It’s not ready yet, I still have some tweaking- well, a lot of tweaking to do,” Hal gestured to his corner of the living room. “But soon enough, it’ll be up and running.”
The next week, Snake was preparing for a trip to the lake. His freezer depleted faster now that he had another living with him. Not that he minded, it was the same with Meryl and he could only do so many sit ups and push ups to occupy his time.
“Can I come with?” Hal asked, crouched in front of a computer screen on the floor.
“Sure, but uh, it might be a little boring. And cold. There’s really not much to do.”
“It’s okay, I feel kind of cooped up in here if I’m being honest.”
Snake shrugged. “By all means.”
Hal sprung to his feet and got ready. They walked alongside each other, their steps muffled by the powdery snow. Snake pulled a large black sled along, filled with the equipment he needed. They started the ten minute trek along a path Snake knew like the back of his hand.
At some point, Hal fell behind. Snake looked back, hearing his footsteps recede until they stopped altogether. He found Hal staring up into the trees, the light of the sun peeking through the leaves and bouncing off of his large round glasses, so bright his eyes were hidden in the reflection.
Snake gradually came to a halt, fixing his gaze on the other man.
A faint smile graced Hal’s features, his cheeks and nose rosy from the cold’s gentle nip. His hair danced and toyed with by the wind, Snake thought of Meryl. The way her hair caught similarly in the breeze, cheeks matching the color of it. She would smile so wide and he couldn’t help but grin back at her in return.
A strange sensation swelled within his chest, an unexpected hollowness he hadn’t realized was there. He always denied feeling lonely, believing that it was the only way for him to live. However, watching Hal look up into the trees, bathed in the gentle light that surrounded him, something began to blossom within Snake. It was something tender, something warm.
“Oh, sorry!” Hal apologized, rushing to catch up. “Sorry, got distracted.”
Snake didn’t say anything, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts locked behind a neutral face. He swallowed thickly, tongue feeling too fat within his mouth for words.
The lake came into view between the trees, a weathered dock sitting at the shore. The water was frozen over, hushed and motionless. The other side was a blur of dark trees, the thickness of wilderness brimming with ambient noise of wildlife.
Hal sat down on the dock as Snake stepped onto the ice, drill in his hands. He powered it on, and with a strong whir, it cut through the ice, revealing the water beneath. Snake soon settled next to Hal, preparing his hook and dropping it down the long hole left behind by the drill.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Hal said, breaking their long silence.
He drew his legs up, resting his chin on his knees.
It was a view Snake saw at least twice a week, the cracks and ripples in the ice reflecting the sky. The dock creaked as he moved to crisscross his legs.
“Yeah, Snake sighed.
He peered over at Hal, who seemed to be studying the lake. His large white coat enveloped his form, the same one he’d been wearing at Shadow Moses. He wore a pair of thick gloves Snake lent him when he couldn’t find his own in his still unpacked boxes.
“You warm enough?” Snake asked.
“Mhm,” Hal murmured. “Thanks for the gloves, I know I packed mine, they have to be in there somewhere…”
“Don’t worry about it, have them for all I care.”
“Ah no, I’ll find mine. I don’t want to be a burden- ah Snake, the uhm,” Hal trailed off, pointing at the rod.
The line had gone taut from where it leaned against the railing. The tackle box and ice cooler kept it in place as it bent under the tug of a catch struggling in the lake.
Snake jumped up with a hurried “oh!” and got to work on reeling in the line, pulling on the rod until the large body of a fish flung out from the hole, light bouncing off the greenish silvery scales as it flailed this way and that.
“Trout,” Snake said as he set it down on the dock, working on unhooking it.
He grabbed for his knife before bleeding it right there on the dock.
Hal looked away, snapping his head to the side until Snake finished with it, placing it gently into the iced cooler.
“All done, it’s gone now.”
Hal swallowed. “Sorry, I don’t know why but blood and stuff like that…”
“It’s okay,” Snake assured.
He caught a few more within the hour, Hal turning away each time he prepared them for the cooler. The sun began to wane, pinks and oranges spread across the vast sky over them. They walked back, making it to the cabin as the purple of dusk whipped across the sky, quickly fading to the dark black of night.
Two months passed like this.
Coffee in the morning, maybe breakfast if they felt like it. Hal fussed with his network and computers, attempting to explain what that wire did or what that line of code meant but nothing seemed to stick. Hal didn’t seem to mind, always talking with a smile and Snake started to ask about the same things just to hear the enthusiasm in his voice.
“Strictly necessary, huh?” Snake picked up a little gundam figure sitting on the table next to Hal’s main computer.
Hal snatched the figure from Snake’s hands. “There were more than this, y’know…”
“Don’t think I didn’t see your sci-fi DVDs either,” Snake teased, a playful smirk nagging at his lips as he walked away.
“Sn-Snake!” he could hear the blush in Hal’s voice.
Snake would prepare fish, fry it, grill it, or bake it, not for his sake, he didn’t care if he ate the same thing the same way every day, but for Hal. He had done the same for Meryl. They would walk to the lake and Hal never seemed to get used to the sight of Snake bleeding the fish out. They made occasional trips to the town, stocking up on food once they were running low. Hal revealed that he didn’t like black coffee, hated it actually.
“You’ve been drinking it for weeks,” Snake stopped, leaning against the shopping cart he’d been pushing.
Hal shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a bother. I feel like I’m taking up a lot of space. And it’s only creamer.”
Snake said nothing, pushing the cart once more until they reached the milk aisle. “Go ahead and pick something out and get alot of it, I’m not having you drink your coffee black anymore,” Snake waved dismissively, not missing the smile on Hal’s face.
Their grocery runs turned into grocery runs and walks around town, which then turned into grocery runs, walks, and then dinner at a restaurant.
“Just for a treat,” Snake said when he first suggested it. “Can't have you getting bored of eating.”
Snake didn’t care where they went, always letting Hal pick.
Spring
“How’s the network?” Snake asked.
He had just showered, toweling his hair off as he came out of the hallway to peer at the computer screens, lit up blue and green, the lights on the equipment blinking yellow. They reminded him of the stars that spread across the night sky if the clouds weren’t there to block the view.
“It’s good, just programming something right now,” Hal didn’t spare him a glance, clacking away at his keyboard while his eyes were glued to the screen.
“Is that my sweater?” Snake asked, pointing at the blue hoodie draped over Hal’s frame.
“Is it?” Hal looked down, pulling the hoodie out in front of him to view the graphic. “Oh, I guess it is. I’m sorry, Snake, I didn’t realize,” he apologized while moving to take it off.
“No, no, it’s fine. Just asking, you can keep it. It looks uh…nice on you,” Snake shoved his hands into his pajama pockets, turning his eyes to the floor.
Really? ‘It looks nice on you,’ he’s always in a sweater. We’re always wearing sweaters, he looks the same as he always-
“Uh, thanks,” Hal said.
At some point, Snake offered space in his room for Hal’s clothes. Hal had been living out of the boxes for weeks–months–since he’d arrived. Snake didn’t think much of it in the beginning, but as more and more mornings passed watching the other bent over the side of a box to pick his clothes for the day, he began to feel…guilt? They were going to be working together for a long time, so why not share the space properly? Hal was already subjected to sleeping on the couch, which Snake knew from experience is not exactly comfortable, not that Hal ever complained. Hal declined at first, going on about how he was “intruding” and “didn’t want to be a burden,” but Snake made it clear that he had to agree to Hal moving in and that it really was no problem. He couldn’t watch him live out of a box anymore.
Maybe it was the lighting from the computer, maybe it was his imagination, but even as Hal turned back to the screen, Snake swore he saw crimson color his cheeks.
“...okay, well, don’t stay up too late,” Snake murmured, breaking the thick silence.
“Okay!” he exclaimed hastily, finishing his typing before moving from his chair to sit at the screen that sat on the floor, hands flying over that keyboard instead.
Snake didn’t know when he drifted off, but he was barely awake when a lump formed in his throat.
It was over, he tried to tell himself, it’s gone, he’s gone. Snake watched him die so why was he still seeing him? Why did he still torment him while he slept? His malevolent laughter and smug, arrogant expression were no more, so why?
He awoke with a start, eyes snapping open to the pitch black of his room. He reached out.
“Meryl,” an urgent whisper.
His mind was still foggy with sleep, confused when his hands were met with nothing but cold sheets. They searched for the warm body he swore was there, tears glossing over his eyes.
“Mer,” he whispered again before the dim fog cleared.
He sat up, bringing the base of his palms to his eyes. He wiped at them hard, gritting his teeth as he tried to take deep breaths. They came out in a shudder, more tears coming before he could even think to stop them.
Meryl wasn’t there. Even through all the times they argued, she was the only one there to comfort him when he got like this. He would always look to her if he needed her arms to wrap around him, whisper sweet nothings into his hair, kissing his forehead and smiling down at him, as sure as ever.
He threw the sheets from his body, getting up and padding out of his bedroom and into the main room. There Hal was, in his pajamas wrapped up in the comforter he used on the couch, staring at his computer.
He wasn’t working, however. His eyes were watching intently as some giant robot, not too different from a Metal Gear, used something akin to laser eyes to tear down an entire city, sounds of explosions and falling buildings playing quietly from a hidden speaker. Snake stood and watched the destruction for a moment before the tightness in his chest brought him back to reality.
“Hal.”
Said man jumped, whipping around to look at Snake.
“God, you scared me,” he put a hand over his chest, pressing the spacebar with the other to pause the movie. “Why are you awake? It’s three in the morning,” the computer screen provided the only light in the room, casting a blue glow off Hal’s skin, his brows knitting.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Snake said, grateful for the dark that concealed his red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks.
A sheepish smile. “Oh, I guess I just lost track of time. Happens a lot. I should go to bed, though.”
Snake sighed. His heart still thundered behind his rib cage, fear sinking like rocks to the pit of his stomach.
“Is everything okay, Snake?”
Wordlessly, Snake sat on the couch.
“Snake, talk to me, what's wrong?”
“I…sometimes I dream about Shadow Moses…” he trailed off, throat constricting as his tears came back. “I…I woke up and I felt-”
He took a deep, shaky breath, desperately grasping whatever composure he had left.
“It’s okay,” Hal hurriedly got up to sit beside Snake on the couch. “I understand, Snake. It was a lot. For me, too.”
He couldn’t do it. A tear slipped and soon they all fell past the barrier of his waterline. He sobbed, hunching over and hugging himself. Hal’s arm fell over him. Snake let himself be pulled in by the other, resting his forehead on his shoulder as Hal wrapped both arms around him.
“I’m sorry,” Hal whispered into his hair.
Snake trembled, shaking with each sob he let out. The sweater Hal was wearing became soaked with his tears and mucus. Snake clung to him, gripping fistfulls of the back of his sweater. Fingers were soon threading through his hair, the warmth of Hal’s hand spreading over his scalp. It managed to calm him a bit. His tears weren’t so fat now, his sobs turning into abrupt hiccups.
“It’s going to be okay, it’s over now,” Hal whispered into his hair.
He’d eventually gone silent, the only thing to be heard were the occasional sniffle and sigh. Snake finally pulled away.
“I’m- I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking away from Hal.
“Snake,” a hand on his shoulder, “never apologize to me for that. It’s not your fault.”
He glanced at his tear-stained sweater. “I ruined your sweater.”
“It’s only a sweater. Besides, it’s actually your sweater, remember?” Hal offered a smile.
Snake struggled to return it, the corners of his lips tugging up ever so slightly. “Right.”
“Do you want to go back to be-”
“No,” Snake paused. “Can I just…can I stay here and watch that with you?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Snake had become weary within minutes. Hal unpaused the DVD, letting the movie play. He had to squint, the light a bit harsh in the otherwise completely dark room. Hal sat right next to him on the couch, letting Snake lean on him. He didn’t know when sleep claimed him, but he was suddenly waking up. His eyelids were matted together from his dried tears, and once he managed to open his eyes, they were dry. His face was pressed against a warm chest, the heart inside beating rhythmically. Snake breathed in the smell of Hal’s bath soap and the laundry detergent they both used. His arms were looped around Snake, keeping him close. He jumped lightly when Hal spoke.
“Are you awake?” he asked, voice heavy with sleep.
“Mhm,” was all he could get out through the haze of waking up.
A hand smoothed over his hair. “How are you feeling? Do you want anything? Coffee, water…?”
“I’m okay, can we stay here for a while longer?”
Snake didn’t want to let go of the comfort Hal’s presence brought him, the soft touch of his fingers in his hair.
“Sure, it’s the least I could do. After all you’ve done for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Y’know, letting me move in and keep all my stuff in your living space. You cook for me and you always let me pick where to eat,” a soft laugh, “and the coffee creamer.”
“For Philanthropy.”
“The coffee creamer?”
“...well, that was for you.”
Spring / Summer
Sleeping alone felt unnatural now. He wanted to deny it, but as he closed his eyes at night, he would think about how much better he’d feel if Hal were laying next to him. When he woke up in the mornings, he reached his arms out to the other side of the bed, sheets cool to the touch.
Hal suffered from major bed head in the mornings, hours of tossing and turning in his sleep making his brown strands stick up in all directions. Snake thought about waking up and turning over to be greeted by nothing but his disheveled hair splayed out upon the empty pillow. But mostly, having a warm body would bring him comfort, just like that day they slept on the couch together.
They seldom spoke of that moment, Snake’s cheeks always flaming when it came up. He was grateful for Hal’s awareness of his emotions because he would quickly change the subject. Snake could only hope those dreams would leave him be for a little while.
“Hey, so I was thinking,” Snake lifted his coffee mug to his lips.
“Hm? What is it?” Hal was preparing his own, adding a splash of creamer to his yellow mug.
Snake swallowed and steeled himself despite the thumping in his chest. “The couch is pretty uncomfortable.”
“...not really,” Hal muttered, taking his mug to the table and sitting down. “What’s your point?”
“You can’t lie to me, I speak from experience.”
“Why would you sleep on the couch?” Hal chuckled, downing a large gulp of his coffee with a sigh.
Snake quieted, staring at his half-empty cup.
“Snake?” Hal’s voice filled with concern, fingers tapping on the table in front of Snake. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, uh,” Snake cleared his throat. “I actually…you remember Meryl?”
“Meryl? How could I forget her?” Hal’s brows creased together as worry washed over his expression.
“She was here. For a while before you came. And we just lived here…normally. But- clearly she’s not here…things didn’t work out.”
“Oh, Snake, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-”
“It’s okay, it was months ago.”
Memories of the morning he broke things off surfaced. He’d been sitting at this very spot, staring down at the table when he uttered the words. The look of hurt on her face was etched into his mind. There was something else in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding, like she knew it would turn out this way. She still shared a few choice words with him before her eyes had watered, a few tears falling delicately down her face. It pained Snake to see her cry, but she wouldn’t allow him to get close to her.
He didn’t know where she went after that. She left him with a tight, parting hug and that's the last he saw her.
“Snake?” Hal’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Right, the couch,” he sighed. “It’s not- you know it’s sort of uncomfortable. I just wanted to see if you’d like to–and you don’t have to–share…? Uh, my bed, I mean. It’s got plenty of space and I feel like you’re doing most of the work right now. Not that I’d be much help if I tried but I figure it would be nicer on you if you could get better sleep…yeah.”
Hal stared at him over his glasses, a smile slowly spreading over his lips. “Did you get enough sleep, Snake?” He reached a hand to ruffle Snake’s hair.
“Yeah, I did. Why?” Snake snapped, waving his hand away.
“I- nothing,” Hal laughed softly. “Sure, I’ll share your bed.”
It was a little awkward at first, with Snake trying to stay as far away from Hal as possible, shoving himself to the edge of the mattress. He persisted, however, coming out to the living room to collect Hal every night.
“Are you coming to bed soon?” he’d ask as the other man sat typing at his computers.
“I’ll be right there,” Hal would say.
He never took long, soon walking into Snake’s room and crawling under the sheets. Snake would turn off the lamp at his bedside and they’d lay in the dark together.
Hal was a night owl and Snake soon became extremely aware of this. Hal would always sigh before asking Snake a random question. Sometimes he would answer with a coherent sentence and others he would only grunt in response as sleep took him. Oftentimes, they would talk. Snake told Hal about Meryl and what it was like fighting Metal Gear REX, giving him the bloody details of his face off with Liquid. Hal would worry, telling Snake he shouldn’t talk about it so late at night should he have another nightmare. Snake assured him that he would only need a hand to count his nightmare’s occurrences.
Hal told him about England where he was living with family before moving in with Snake. He told him about the boat ride to the port, how rickety it was and how he was surprised that he was starting to feel sick.
“I have a strong stomach,” he declared.
“Right, that’s why you look away when I need to bleed the fish out,” Snake poked at Hal’s chest with a snicker.
“Hey now,” Hal grasped his hand. “It’s kind of disgusting. At least admit that.”
It was silent, Snake realizing that Hal did in fact slot their fingers, holding their palms loosely together.
“Is this okay?” Hal asked in a whisper, as if he were afraid of startling Snake to his senses.
He remained quiet for a moment. The warmth from his hand spread across his, up his arm and over his shoulders. It was like that night he cried in Hal’s arms but this time he wasn’t a sobbing mess. It was hushed, calm, and warm.
“Yeah, this is good.”
He began to question himself: Why for Hal, but not for Meryl? Why not for anyone else he’s encountered throughout his life? What was so different about him?
It was the way Hal’s eyes widened with wonder as he gazed upon the Alaskan skyline and the sparkling lake. It was the habitual push of his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, even when they weren’t perched there in the mornings as he poured his coffee. He’d reach for his face out of habit, then laugh softly to himself at his own confusion. It was the dark circles that sometimes formed under his eyes from late nights engrossed in his work. The way he found comfort in the soft hum of the network rack that swallowed an entire corner of the living room. Hal would speak earnestly about his favorite Japanese cartoons, explaining the origin of his cherished gundam figure and reminiscing about the ones he had to part with during the move, a fondness in his eyes.
A clarity washed over him the first time they kissed. The seasons were poised on the cusp of spring and summer, as Alaska began to warm up as much as it ever did. The snow completely melted away, leaving behind slushy mud and sturdy grasses.
They drank their coffee and ate blueberry pie Hal requested at the grocery. They went over some notes and outlines for the first baby steps Philanthropy was taking, the network finally up and running, fully secure with all sub-programs working seamlessly with one another.
“You want me to cut this for you?” Snake reached for Hal’s hair, twirling the long strands around his finger.
“You can do that?”
“I do my own hair, I don’t think it looks bad.”
“No, it doesn’t. I like it,” Hal felt along the length of his hair. “Yeah. If you could, any longer and I’ll have to start tying it up.”
Snake set up a lawn chair on his porch, getting to work with shears in hand and a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Hal’s hair was easy to work with. It had been sort of curly and wild when it was shorter, but the length made it heavy enough to straighten out.
“When did you learn to do this?”
“I never liked going to get it done. Many trials and errors, but I learned soon enough. Why, having doubts?” Snake said around the cigarette, taking a drag and lopping a good two inches of hair off.
Hal giggled. “A little late for doubts, isn’t it? Who would see me anyways?”
“I would,” Snake pointed out.
“Didn’t think you cared about my appearance.”
“I don’t. You could go bald for all I care, I’d still-” Snake froze, shears just a breath away from cutting more hair.
He was suddenly eternally thankful Hal was facing the trees.
“You’d still what?”
“Nothing, never mind,” he mumbled, continuing with his work.
That feeling rose within him again. The one where his teeth suddenly seemed to fit awkwardly in his mouth, throat constricting, and his stomach twisting into knots. It happened more and more since the first day they went to the lake together. What was he going to say had he not caught himself?
I’d still like you.
He could’ve easily brushed it off, claiming he liked Hal as a friend, but he knew he’d be bullshitting himself. There were more layers to that simple word than Hal could ever know in that moment. It encapsulated the emotions that grew inside when he looked at the other, held his hand at night, or embarked on an hour and a half drive to town with him humming along to the radio in the passenger seat. It held all of that and so much more.
Snake felt faint, like he was going to throw up. The cigarette slipped, falling between his feet, crumbling ash flying around the lit end. His arms fell to his sides.
“Snake?” Hal turned in his seat. He looked at the cigarette on the floor next to the pieces of hair and then up at him. “What’s wrong?”
Snake didn’t answer. He only stared at him, mouth opening and closing, wanting to say so much but nothing at all at the same time.
What would he even say? What could he say?
“Snake?”
Hal got up and kicked the lawn chair to the side so that he could stand in front of him. He haphazardly stamped out the cigarette with the tip of shoe before cupping Snake’s face, pools of blue behind wire framed glasses searching for something, anything.
“What’s wrong?”
The worry blanketing his expression had Snake’s heart racing, words just on the tip of his tongue, about to tumble from his trembling lips.
“Snake, talk to me-”
He let the shears fall from his fingers, clattering to the porch as he leaned forward, his body seeming to move on its own. In mere moments, his lips touched upon Hal’s. It was only for a moment, the gentlest of collisions, but it felt like forever.
Snake was acutely aware of it–the feeling blossoming as bright as day, as clear as the waters of the lake, as pure as the melted snow. He knew, without a doubt, how he felt about Hal.
Hal hesitated, body rigid. It hit Snake all at once, what he did, what he was doing. He was about to pull away and apologize in a sputtering blushing mess but Hal finally moved, pulling Snake in closer and deepening the kiss. Snake breathed in sharply through his nose, grasping for Hal’s waist, pressing himself flush against his body. Hal hooked his arms around Snake’s neck, fingers threading through the strands of hair as he turned his head slightly, lips moving seamlessly against Snake’s.
When they finally pulled apart, they locked gazes as they caught their breaths.
“I guess you feel the same,” Snake said shakily, his fingers quaking and heart quivering, still trying to get a hold of himself.
“You have no idea.”
The last of Snake’s walls collapsed. For Hal, those walls would never obstruct again. He couldn’t understand why it was so effortless when they were together–every gesture, every exchanged glance–it all felt so easy. Maybe Hal was just Hal, and that was enough for Snake.
After
“I had a feeling, you know?”
“About what?”
“About how you felt.”
Snake paused a moment before smiling. “I guess I wasn’t that subtle, huh?”
It was morning. Hal laid back against his pillow. Snake was next to him, propped up on his elbow.
“I’m surprised with how forward you were, to be honest,” Hal turned to gaze at him, an affectionate glint passing over the blue of his eyes.
“Hm?” Snake hummed, reaching out to play with a stray piece of hair.
“You asked me to sleep in your bed.”
“And?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have thought much of it if you weren’t a stuttering mess.”
“Hey,” Snake nudged his shoulder gently.
Hal laughed, shaking his head. “It’s okay, it was cute.”
“Oh? Then let me be forward,” Snake leaned into his ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I like you.”
It was Hal’s turn to blush and stutter, sitting up to look down at Snake in his surprise. “You- you really mean that?”
Snake said nothing, instead getting up to cup Hal’s jaw in both hands and pressing their lips together.
“Wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” Snake breathed, smiling against his lips.