Work Text:
Another gust of winter-whipped wind cuts through the pair. Fit tries to suppress a frown. There’d been a plan made; Of a short date as they walked through the park and enjoyed the twinkling lights of Spawn from afar, but—
Pac shivers, holding his arms close to his torso. Fit watches him with a belated sigh, lip twisted. For all the world, he must look like he’s pissed. A stubborn habit he has yet to drop.
“Sorry.” Pac ventures sheepishly, “I didn’t think it could get this cold on Quesadilla, you know? It’s always sunny and–” He stammers a bit, then, “I dunno. If you want we can just go home.”
Fit’s jaw works over his words like cud. “No! No, Pac, I don’t mean to… Ah fuck, I…” He ignores the burning in his face, shouldering off his jacket without another word.
It takes a minute for Pac to understand the gesture, but his face lights up a brilliant red when he decodes Fit’s pulling of his sleeves, “Oh– Oh! Oh, Fit, no, don’t. Don’t do this. It- It was my fault for forgetting to dress up! I- I shouldn’t–”
Fit has always found it a little pleasing to make Pac stutter like this; “Nah, nah, Pac, I insist.” He throws the jacket over Pac’s shoulders, helping him stuff his arms into the sleeves, “It was gettin’ a lil’ warm anyway.”
“Warm!” Pac barks out a laugh, “Right, yeah, of course. Warm!”
Fit chuckles, his breath misting up and high above his head, his cheeks and ears pinched pink from the cold. He does a single firm tug on the lapel of the jacket, making sure to bustle the wool close to Pac’s chin, “There. Better?”
He pulls back, all-too pleased with his handiwork. The jacket isn’t huge on Pac by any means, but the bulk of both a hoodie and a coat make Pac look swamped in fabric. He reminds Fit too readily of Bad packing every glove and jacket he could find onto Dapper’s thin bones until the kid could barely wobble.
Pac, revving up with platitudes and pleas, cuts short when Fit snickers into his red-knuckled fist.
“Fit!” He crows, face split with a grin that shows no sign of actual vitriol, “Don’t laugh!”
He waves his hand, turning away slightly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–” He snorts, “You look great, Pac. Real classy.”
“Uh huh?!” Pac’s eyes narrow, “Oh, I see! That’s how it is, huh?!”
Fit sees the blur of his form as Pac leaps forward, the sides of his coat opened as he tries to wrap his arms around Fit.
He squawks, knocked unsteadily and his hands latching onto Pac’s shoulders, “Hey!”
The insides of Fit’s jacket curl around his shoulders and arms, Pac’s nose burying into his clavicle, “How do you like it now, Fit?” He crows happily, muffled by Fit’s shirt.
Fit glances down to him, face pinched pink. Pac’s dark lashes are speckled with snow, the white flakes powdering his hair slowly melting as the two warm each other. Pressed against Pac, the cold becomes a distant memory.
He could probably stay in Pac’s arms forever. And judging by the minute shuffle of Pac’s feet till they thread between Fit’s own, so could he.
”I don’t hate it.” He says, closing the gap to press a kiss to Pac’s chasing lips.