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When Jayce was a kid, he loved the snow. His mama would bundle him up, though it was always a bit of a struggle because the boy couldn’t contain his excitement. Ximena had always preferred to stay inside, stoking the fireplace and making spiced cider, whilst little Jayce and his dad played in the snow. She got cold too easily, she’d always say.
He loved making igloos with his dad the most. Difficult as they were to build, Jayce had always taken interest in construction and tinkering. All it took was a bit of guidance and heavy lifting from his dad, and together they shaped some of the most beautiful igloos and sculptures little Jayce had ever seen.
And when Jayce got too cold, when his little hands went numb and he couldn’t feel his nose, his dad would take him inside to warm up.
But then his dad wasn’t there anymore. And Jayce’s little hands were frozen, and the biting wind had made his face numb a while ago. This time, there was no warm fireplace or warm cider he could go to. And his mama was cold, too cold. She had always gotten cold so easily.
She’d fallen over. Jayce thought she was dead. Her lips were pale, her face was cold. His hands were starting to feel hot. He cried out for help, but his voice was instantly swallowed in the whipping winds.
By a miracle, he was heard. And that strange hooded figure had whisked him and his mother away in a beautiful blue flash, and then dropped a crystal into his hands.
•••
It had been a year since then. Jayce held the crystal tightly where it was stored in his coat pocket, as if its presence could somehow whisk away the cold. It had done so before. He just needed to figure out how to make it work.
Ximena grasped him tightly by his gloved hand as they walked, and Jayce can tell that she’s not liking the snow, either. This was the first time it had snowed since last winter. He squeezed her hand back. I’m still here, Mama.
She looked back at him and smiled tightly, and eventually, they made it back home.
They stepped in the doorway, into the warm house, and Ximena knelt in front of her son. She took off her gloves, and then his, cupping his cold hands in hers and exhaling hot air over them, then rubbing them together. Trying to warm them both up. She kissed his palms.
Jayce could see her hands trembling. He tried not to look at her missing pointer and middle fingers where they had turned back and needed to be removed. Tried not to think about seeing her fingers turn white and then purple, or how badly his own hands and ears and nose stung as he warmed up. Tried not to think about the blisters and the peeling skin they both suffered through in the aftermath. He tried, but it didn’t work.
Jayce sobbed, and Ximena looked up at him, expression pinched. She enveloped him in a tight hug, and they sat right there and trembled in the hallway until they felt warm again.
•••
Several years later, Jayce still had slightly darkened splotches on the skin of his hands. Places where the frostbite had cut deeper, leaving painful blisters and peeling skin. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ran his thumb over the crystal that sat there, fingers twitching in the same movements the mage had used to cast that spell.
He shouldn’t still be bothered by this. His mom had fared much worse. Jayce wasn’t the one who had lost two of his fingers, wasn’t the one who had almost died. He shouldn’t still be bothered by the snow. He was thirteen, he should be over it by now.
His mom still went quiet in the winter months. She gave tight, thin-lipped smiles to try and quell Jayce’s worries, but he never fell for it. He could see how she became lethargic, her eyes staring blankly at the fireplace as she got lost in memories.
Jayce did his best to try and make it easier for her. He made sure the fire was lit, and that she had warm blankets. He made her hot spiced cider the way that she used to make for him, with cinnamon and cloves and nutmeg. He tried to lighten the atmosphere, turning on lights and making jokes and filling the room with chatter even as she remained quiet. He ran the errands when he knew she wasn’t up to braving the snow.
He tried to ignore the way his chest grew tighter when he breathed in the dry winter air, the way his hands shook as the cold seeped into his skin. Tried to push down the way he got anxious at the thought of his mom being cold at the house. What if the fire had gone out while he was gone? What if her hands got cold and she didn’t have any spiced cider to warm them up? What if she froze to death somehow?
It was stupid. He knew his mother was safe at the house. But he couldn’t stop the lingering worry tugging at his gut whenever he braved the snow to get what they needed, fingers twitching in that same pattern.
As soon as he got home and closed the door behind him, he dropped the bags and tried to breathe. It had started to snow on his way home, and the wind had picked up ever so slightly. He gave himself a few moments to calm down before he went in to check on his mom. He had to be strong for her. He didn’t want to cause her unnecessary worry when she was already so troubled at this time of year.
He entered the living room, kissed her on the forehead, stoked the fire. He put away the groceries. His hands didn’t stop shaking, fingers didn’t stop twitching.
He closed the door to his bedroom and slid down to sit against it. The crystal was heavy in his hand, and it was warm.
He brought his knees up to lean his forehead on them, arms pressed to his chest, and he still stared down at the blue stone.
A tear fell down his nose onto his hand, and suddenly, he was crying. Quiet gasps and sniffles escaped him as he continued to stare at it, rubbing his thumb across the engraving.