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“Wille? Can you hear me? Fuck, please don't be dead.”
A deep, familiar voice breaks through the darkness in Wille's mind. He wants to soothe the distress, but he can't find his own voice just yet.
“Wille?” The voice trembles, with cold or emotion, Wille doesn't know. He barely registers chilled fingers pushing back crunchy, frozen hair from his forehead.
“I'm serious, Wille. If I jumped into that water for no reason, I'm going to be pissed. So I need you to be not dead right now. Please.”
Wille's heart does an odd squeeze at the that last, desperate word. His eyes flutter, and all at once he's aware of the way his skin burns with cold, needles of pain piercing his body. He gasps sharply, screwing his face up.
“Oh, thank fuck,” the voice breathes.
Wille squeezes his eyes shut. The last thing he remembers, he was walking through a snowbank and then he was falling, plunged into water so icy it felt like his lungs would never pull in another breath. His skin felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand knives, and the suddenness of the moment, mixed with the agonizing chill, immediately disoriented him. He had slid his hands over the smooth ice above him, desperately searching for his point of entry that would serve as his exit. He had vaguely recalled reading a fact about falling through the ice, how it can become nearly impossible to get out after your body and mind succumb to the shock of that deadly chill– how you panic. Wille was good at panicking in even normal, non-lethal situations.
The pain of the cold had been unbearable, his head screaming at him to find the exit, to find the surface. This is it, his mind had supplied, unhelpfully, just before everything went black.
“Can you hear me? We need to get inside before we freeze completely.” The voice breaks Wille out of his thoughts.
He feels like he’s dreaming as he makes a noise of assent, vaguely aware now that he is laying in the snow, soaked completely and shaking violently. He tries to look up at the man’s looming figure, but the sun blinds him, and all he can think of is the painful cold spearing him. He can just make out dark, dripping curls.
“Simon?”
Simon is Sara’s brother. A truly beautiful, loudly-opinionated man that Wille has only met a handful of times. Right now, they're sharing a cabin, having been invited to tag along on Sara and Felice’s weekend getaway in the mountains.
“Hallelujah, he still has functioning brain cells. Yes; me, Simon. You, Wille. We get out of the fucking cold before we die of hypothermia.”
Wille's head spins unhelpfully.
“You jumped in after me?” He asks, bewildered. Simon can't stand him. Or at least, Wille thinks he can't. He's always giving Wille these incredulous looks, or otherwise sweeping him with a truly disconcerting gaze, like he's sizing Wille up. Or x-raying him, seeing right through his skin, down to the bone. He’s always wondered what Simon sees– what he thinks. It's unnerving.
“Well, I wasn't about to stand there and watch you die. Think of the legal implications.” He smirks down at Wille and offers him his right hand. His curls are heavy and appear to already be freezing solid. Despite his casual demeanor, he can see Simon is just as soaked and bitterly cold as Wille is.
Still, Wille looks at it his proffered hand dubiously.
“Okay, maybe I also didn't want to lose the one person in the cabin with a half-ass sense of humor. And I really didn't need your death on my conscience.” Simon reaches down and clasps Wille's hand in his when Wille makes no move to do it himself.
“Do you think you can manage walking? I don't think I can carry you. It was hard enough hauling you out of the water.”
Wille feels a hot surge of gratitude and something else that he doesn't have the energy to dissect.
Wille struggles to stand, his extremities completely numb and unwilling to cooperate fully. He clings to Simon's damp figure, immediately noticing Simon's blue-tinged lips, the way they tremble.
“Come on, before we freeze.”
Their teeth are chattering so hard that conversation is impossible, so they make their way to the cabin in a silent daze. Wille's never been so cold in his entire life. The warmth of the cabin feels like open flame as he steps over the threshold.
He watches Simon fly over to the fireplace, immediately ripping his gloves off to shove his hands toward the heat. Wille does the same, and they begin peeling off nearly-frozen layers of clothes. Wille tears his eyes away as Simon's fingers drift toward the button of his jeans.
“Thank you,” Wille blurts, bringing Simon's gaze up to lock with his own. Simon’s lips are still shaking, his nose and cheeks flushed. He's unequivocally the most stunning person Wille has ever seen.
A violent shudder runs through Simon. Suddenly, he feels completely responsible for the man's pitiful state– it’s all Wille's fault. His overthinking mind supplies him with endless scenarios and his chest clenches with an anxious thought. “I can't believe you went in after me. What if we both got stuck under the ice?”
Simon chews the inside of his cheek as Wille's eyes probe his. He has a look of determination on his angelic face, sighing softly.
"So what if we did? Are you trying to say I should have let you drown, Wille?”
“No! No, I just meant–” he sweeps his gaze down Simon’s shaking frame, bringing up a tentative hand to lay on his arm, hoping to soothe and warm the man. He doesn't think they've ever touched one another on purpose before today, or spoken this much, for that matter. Simon sways toward him a little and Wille presses out the words bouncing around his head with some difficulty. Something about being observed so closely by Simon's big, dark eyes is making his brain feel mushy and half-responsive.
“Thank you,” Wille looks directly into Simon's eyes, ignoring the buzzing in his ears and the blush warming his cheeks. “You could have been seriously hurt. I’m sorry.”
“Wille,” Simon breathes out a giggle as his face lights up with a glittering smile. It warms Wille more than the flames. “You’re not allowed to apologize for almost dying an icy death.”
“Okay, but I can apologize for putting you in a position where you could have died an icy death.”
“How about we both agree that we could have died icy deaths and blame nobody in particular? It's not like you meant to fall in, Wille. It's fine. Now, let's get out of these clothes.”
Wille raises his eyebrows.
“Not like that. Head in the fucking gutter, I swear.”
Simon rolls his eyes, nudging their shoulders together and Wille's stomach swoops with an unmistakable flutter of butterflies.
Oh, no.