Chapter Text
The Minnesota cold seemed to seep into the very seams of the old Ford, chilling them to the bone even through the fogged-up windows. Vernon pressed his forehead to the icy glass, watching as endless rows of single-story houses, dusted with gray November snow, flashed by outside. Every turn of the wheels took them farther from their familiar Florida, where they had lived together for over five years. The wreckage of the life they'd had was disappearing in the snow, and there would be no more of those warm beaches or palm trees everywhere, no more noisy people outside their window at night, having fun in bars. All of that was in the past now.
"We should be there soon," Minghao's voice sounded even and methodical, utterly familiar to him. He said it as if he were talking about work or cleaning, not their move across the country. His fingers held the steering wheel confidently, but Vernon could see his knuckles whitening from the strain. "The GPS says about ten more minutes."
In the back seat, in her car seat, their daughter, Lily, was quietly whimpering. She only quieted down to sleep, waking up each time with a frightened cry, not understanding where or why her daddy was driving them in a car packed to the ceiling with boxes.
"I know, sweetie, I know," Vernon mumbled wearily, trying to catch her eye in the rearview mirror. He felt nauseous from the smell of old plastic, cheap coffee from the thermos, and his own fear. He felt like a traitor—for taking a child from a sunny, warm paradise, full of entertainment at every turn, to this faceless, cold place just because they couldn't afford the cost of living anymore. It was… unbearable.
They turned onto another street, and their new house came into view. Vernon looked at it with sadness in his eyes. It was much bigger than their little place in Florida, so much bigger. It was wide, two stories, old, with history. The walls were covered in peeling paint. The house wasn't bad, even if it didn't look terribly reliable. But it was their home now.
Minghao killed the engine, parking next to it. In the sudden silence, only the wind and the ragged breathing of the three-year-old girl could be heard.
"Well, we're home," Minghao announced with a false, business-like cheerfulness. He was the first one out of the car, slamming the door loudly, and immediately started unpacking the trunk, as if afraid that a single second of hesitation would make him doubt the correctness of this decision.
Vernon, following him, slowly climbed out into the street. The cold wind instantly burned his face and hands. He hugged himself, trying to get warm, and looked at the house. Vernon caught himself thinking that if this were a second-rate horror movie, this house would definitely be inhabited by ghosts and demons. He walked to the back door and pulled Lily out.
"Daddy, I don't want to go in there," his daughter's thin little voice made him tense up. She stood next to him, her face buried in his jacket, staring at the building in horror. "It's scary!"
"It's not scary, there's nothing scary in there," he picked her up, holding her close, trying to calm both her and himself. "This is our new home. We'll decorate it, fill it with your toys, make it bright and beautiful. It will be cozy. And you'll have your own room!"
In response, the girl just pouted, refusing to even look in the direction of the new house.
Meanwhile, Minghao was already hauling the first box, labeled "Kitchen," toward the porch.
"Vernon, don't stand in the cold, take the keys from my jacket and open the door. Lillianna, go with Daddy, help him."
His tone left no room for discussion. This was his way of dealing with stress—giving orders, organizing, controlling. Vernon obediently rummaged through his jacket pocket and found the set of keys.
The door creaked and gave way with difficulty, opening into a dark opening that smelled of dust, mustiness, and loneliness. Lily pressed against his leg, refusing to go inside.
Vernon clicked the light switch. The light from a dim bare bulb illuminated a half-empty living room with peeling wallpaper. Dust bunnies lay in the corners, and trails from someone's furniture stretched across the floor.
Minghao carried the first box inside and set it on the floor with a loud thud that echoed through the empty house.
"First things first—air it out and wipe the floors. Then we'll set up the mattresses. Lily, your room is upstairs, want to see it?"
But Lily just burst into loud sobs, her cries echoing deafeningly off the bare walls.
"No! I want to go home, I want to go to the sea! I don't want to be here!" she wailed bitter tears, her little face red from crying. This childish tantrum shattered Vernon's last pins of calm. He sank onto a box and covered his face with his hands. He was shaking. From the cold, from exhaustion, from this hopeless venture. Maybe they should have stayed there and just started selling drugs? They had traded the sun and a vibrant life for this cold tomb. For what? For the illusion that they could start over with a clean slate here?
He felt Minghao's hand on his shoulder.
"Everything will be alright," he said quietly, and his voice finally lost its commanding tone, becoming simply tired. "I've thought it all through. I have a job, the house is ours. We just need time. And patience."
Vernon wanted to scream that he had no patience left, that he already hated this place, this snow in November, this cold, and this ugly house that was clearly older than his great-grandmother. But he just nodded, not raising his head.
He sat on a box of kitchenware, in the center of the half-empty living room, with his crying daughter at his feet and a husband who was already making a cleaning schedule in his head, and understood that their new life had begun exactly like this.
***
By the third day, Vernon began to feel like he was losing his mind. In that time, they had managed to set up their new home more or less, working together. The kitchen was clean and spacious, as was the living room. The floor creaked, the wallpaper still threatened to peel off the old walls.
That morning, everything began not with the familiar cries of seagulls and hellish heat, but with the persistent grinding of a snowplow on the street. Vernon lay with his eyes open, listening to its roar and measuring the width of the ceiling beam above his head. The air in the bedroom no longer smelled so strongly of dust as before, though Vernon began to feel like the smell had seeped into all his receptors. However, now it mixed with the smell of coffee. The day before, Minghao had found their coffee machine in one of the boxes, so by seven in the morning he had already set it in motion, and the house had even started to feel somewhat cozier.
It had become cozier than before. The living room now held a sofa and two armchairs, and bookshelves, still empty for now. They had hung simple curtains, bought at the nearest supermarket, on the windows. A wet cleaning had helped get rid of the traces of old furniture, all thanks to Minghao's persistence, who loved to clean and arrange everything as if he were a world-class designer.
Vernon came downstairs, pulling on a soft, warm sweater. The cold in the house wasn't as piercing as on the first day. The fireplace reliably heated the living room and kitchen, and the crackle of wood inside it was a pleasant reminder of their new life. Vernon even began to think that everything wasn't as bad as it had initially seemed.
"Daddy! Look!" The little girl was sitting in her child's chair at the kitchen table and pointing at the refrigerator, which was now adorned with stickers of unicorns and pegasi, as well as the letters of her name.
Minghao, standing at the stove, was stirring something in a frying pan. He nodded toward the coffee machine without interrupting his task.
"Coffee's ready. And breakfast almost is. Today is the day for unpacking the small things for the living room and bedrooms. I've already started a little." His tone was calm and businesslike, but without the previous false cheerfulness he had so desperately tried to project. Now he was simply ready to work at a comfortable pace.
"What about work? When do you start?" Vernon asked, drinking his coffee and wincing at its bitterness, making his daughter laugh.
"On Monday. So we have three more days to get the house in order. It'll be harder for me to help after that, especially the first few weeks." Minghao deftly flipped the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of Vernon. "So we need a plan today."
Vernon wasn't even surprised when Minghao mentioned a plan. That word seemed far too important to him. Without a plan, Minghao always felt lost, and right now a plan was everything to them.
After breakfast, they headed to a local hardware store for what they were missing. The drive was silent, only Lily babbling in a language only she understood. Vernon looked out the window, trying to memorize the route, to find some landmarks in this endless labyrinth of identical snow-covered streets. Lily, finally interested, pointed her finger at the glass, asking her dad about the birds sitting on the tree branches.
The store was huge, smelling of wood and paint. They took a cart, and Minghao, armed with a list on his phone, led them through the aisles with the confidence of a native Minnesotan. Vernon, however, felt like an outsider. He wandered between shelves of tools he had never held in his hands and cans of paint.
"We need new broom heads, a bucket, microfiber cloths," Minghao listed, checking his phone. "And some sealant for the windows. There's a draft."
"Seems like there's a draft from everything here," Vernon joked, but Minghao only grunted, already studying the assortment of weatherstripping.
They also got a toy basket for Lily, a few photo frames, and at Vernon's insistence—a bag of soil, three hardy plants, and fertilizer. Just to create a living corner.
The return home wasn't as depressing. They had a goal—to make the house cozier, more alive, and more their own. This was something they hadn't had in Florida. Living there, they couldn't just go to a store for new things.
Back home, Vernon and Lily took on the plants. He placed them on the windowsill, and she asked to be lifted up so she could water them. The contrast of the small sprouts in the soil was stark against the view outside. Minghao, meanwhile, was sealing the drafts. He was focused and precise. Vernon found it amusing, even cute, to watch Minghao try so hard. Perhaps that was why he had fallen in love with him. Minghao always strived to do everything perfectly.
By evening, they found the box of books. Vernon was immensely happy to see them. A pile of books he had read on the porch in Florida, each one reminded him of something specific. Now all those books stood by the fireplace in Minnesota. Vernon smirked at his bittersweet thought that this even held some kind of meaning.
"Vernon, look what I found!" Minghao walked over to him, holding a framed photograph. It was a picture of them together when Lily was just a baby. He looked at it, then at Vernon, and smiled. "Put it on the mantel?"
Vernon nodded.
"Yeah. Let it remind us."
"Of what?" Minghao asked, placing the photograph in the most visible spot.
"Of the fact that we were happy."
Minghao tensed slightly at such an answer. He understood Vernon's feelings. But his pessimism seemed to be spreading. But Minghao, being the older one, being a good husband and father, just smiled.
"And we will be happy again. Right, little one?" He picked up Lily, showing her herself in the picture.
***
That Monday arrived mercilessly. Oh, how Vernon hadn't wanted this day to come. But it was an inevitable part of their new life.
Minghao got up in the dark. Vernon, half-asleep, heard the bathroom door creak, the water run, then quiet footsteps in the kitchen and the smell of freshly ground beans. He pretended to be asleep, feeling a weight on his chest, the weight of the coming day, week, this entire new life that was now, with Minghao going to work, truly about to begin.
Minghao returned to the bedroom already dressed in strict, slightly old-fashioned trousers and a shirt—his version of armor for the battle of a new workplace. He sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm leaving," he said quietly, putting his hand on Vernon's shoulder. "Lunch is in the fridge, just heat it up. My number is on a sticky note on the fridge, just in case. And the number for the taxi service."
Vernon turned over and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"You've thought of everything, as always."
"Trying to," Minghao gave a weak smile. His confidence seemed slightly fractured again, like on that first evening. He leaned over and quickly kissed Vernon on the cheek. "Will you be okay?"
"Of course," Vernon replied with the same false cheerfulness Minghao had had three days ago. "We're a team."
The phrase sounded too pompous and unconvincing. But Minghao nodded, adjusted his jacket, and left. Vernon heard the front door click shut, the car engine start, and the sound gradually fade into the frosty air. Silence descended. Deep, deafening silence of a big, half-empty house in a strange town.
The next few hours passed in attempts to establish a semblance of a routine. Lily, sensing her papa's absence, was more capricious than usual. She demanded the sea, refused her porridge, and scattered all the toys from her new basket across the recently tidied living room. Vernon felt his patience thinning with each passing minute. The sound of the creaking floorboards, which had seemed cozy yesterday, now grated on his nerves. Every scrape of a snowplow outside made him flinch.
He tried to occupy himself—rearranged the books on the shelf, watered the pitiful little plants that now seemed not a symbol of hope but as displaced and unhappy as they were. He caught himself constantly looking out the window, at the whiteness and emptiness of their street. The loneliness was physical; it pressed on his temples like a pressure change.
It was during one of these moments, when Lily had finally fallen asleep after her tantrum and Vernon was aimlessly watching the snow cover the tire tracks from Minghao's car, that he saw her.
An elderly woman in a huge puffy coat and a bright red hat was making her way through a snowdrift on the sidewalk. She was walking a small, shaggy dog on a leash. They moved slowly, with difficulty, and then the dog suddenly turned right toward their house, pulling its owner along. The woman was shouting something after it, but the dog was adamant. They stopped right at their picket fence.
Vernon instinctively recoiled from the window, as if caught doing something wrong. His heart began to pound stupidly and irrationally. Neighbors. The first real people in this new world, aside from the cashiers at the store.
The woman looked at the house, adjusted her hat, and, taking a few decisive steps, headed for the gate. Vernon froze. The doorbell rang deafeningly, shattering the silence of the house. He was afraid it would wake Lily.
While his heart hammered, he went to the door and opened it.
"Hello!" the woman smiled a wide, wrinkly smile. Her face was weathered and kind. "You're our new folks? I'm Ethel, I live two houses down. Saw you moved in, and Barney," she nodded at the dog sniffing the snow at her feet, "insisted on paying a visit. Welcome to Ramsey County."
She extended a hand in a thick knitted mitten; in the other, she held a small paper plate covered in cling wrap. A ruddy apple pie sat on it.
"I'm… Vernon," he snapped out of it and shook her mitten. "Very nice. Thank you. Sorry for the mess, we're not fully unpacked."
"Nonsense! I remember what it's like to move. Especially here from warm parts, eh?" her eyes squinted kindly. She seemed to have understood everything without words. "This is for you. Homemade. To make life sweeter. If you need anything—just ask. Garbage is on Wednesdays, mail comes before two, and the best coffee in town is at 'Larsen's Bakery,' on Main Street. Don't go to the diner by the gas station."
Vernon took the still-warm pie, and something shifted in his chest. The stone of loneliness moved, forming a tiny crack.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Ethel. That's very kind of you."
"Don't mention it, dear! Well, I won't keep you. Good luck!" She turned around and, calling her dog, hobbled back to the sidewalk.
Vernon closed the door, leaned against it with his back, and stared at the pie in his hands. It smelled of cinnamon, apples, and something incredibly, simply, humanly kind.
He didn't notice Lily come out of the living room, rubbing her eyes.
"Daddy, what's that? Smells yummy."
"This, sweetie," said Vernon, and his voice finally didn't break into a falsetto, "is pie. From a neighbor. See? There are other people here. They're nice."
He sat her on a chair in the kitchen, poured some milk, and gave her a piece of pie. The girl devoured it with pleasure while Vernon himself wiped the already clean counters.
"Daddy, when is Papa Hao coming home?" Lily asked as soon as she finished her piece of pie, her face smeared with it.
"Soon, sweetie. He's working to bring home money. And with money, we can buy you new toys," he answered in a calm voice, gently wiping the pie off his daughter's face.
Putting cartoons on the laptop for Lily, he set about unpacking the remaining small boxes. He hung clothes in the closets, arranged photos around the house, changed the bed linens in their bedroom and in Lily's room.
But even these routine tasks, which were supposed to distract him from the growing feeling of loneliness, couldn't cope with it. Sitting in his daughter's room, folding her dresses and little pants onto shelves, he felt a lump growing in his throat. Pressing and trying to break free. Vernon didn't even notice he had started to cry, holding a small dress that had been bought for Lily's first birthday.
Minghao's absence was a physical sensation. Vernon hated that he couldn't just pick up the phone and call him. He hated that he couldn't hug him right now and kiss his soft lips, take his hand, press against his chest like in silly romantic comedies.
He buried his face in the dress, trying to stifle his sobs. He was ashamed of this weakness, of this inability to pull himself together and just get through one day. He was a grown man, a father, but at that moment he felt like a lost, frightened child.
Suddenly, a little head peeked through the door.
"Daddy, can I have more pie?" asked Lily. Her eyes widened when she saw his tears. "Daddy, are you crying?"
"No, sweetie, just dust," he hastily wiped his face with his sleeve and attempted a smile. "Of course, you can. Just a little, dinner will be soon."
But Lily didn't leave. She came over and hugged him around the neck, pressing her cheek to his.
"Don't be sad, Daddy. Me and you."
Those simple words, spoken in a child's voice, broke him completely. He hugged his daughter, feeling her small, warm body giving him a grain of the comfort he so desperately craved.
The evening dragged on agonizingly long. Vernon dutifully reheated dinner, fed Lily, bathed her, and put her to bed, reading the same story on repeat until her breathing became even and deep. And once again, the silence enveloped him. Now a night silence, even deeper and more all-consuming. He walked through the rooms, turning lights on and off just to break the quiet. He looked at the photo on the mantel and thought that the happy people in it were strangers from another life.
And then, finally, the long-awaited sound came from outside—the crunch of tires on packed snow, then the engine cutting off. Vernon's heart jumped like a child's. He rushed to the door but froze on the threshold, suddenly embarrassed, not wanting to look too impatient, too… needy.
The key clicked in the lock, the door opened, letting in a swirl of frosty air and Minghao. He looked… drained. His business shirt was wrinkled, his hair slightly disheveled, and a mask of fatigue was frozen on his face, one that even his iron self-control couldn't hide. He silently set down his briefcase, took off his coat, and only then looked up at Vernon.
"Everything alright?" His voice was hoarse, raw from the cold or the strain.
"Yes," Vernon squeezed out. "Everything's fine. How are you? How was work?"
Minghao slowly walked to the kitchen, sat on a chair, and ran a hand over his face.
"Work," he sighed heavily. "Everything's new. The people, the processes, the system. Have to think constantly, be on guard. I'm tired."
He spoke evenly, without emotion, simply stating a fact. But Vernon, who knew him as well as himself, saw the tension in his clenched jaw, in the way he avoided direct eye contact.
"What's it like? Hard?" Vernon asked quietly, sitting down opposite him.
"Hard," Minghao admitted, and it was like an exhalation. "No one knows who I am. Have to prove myself from scratch. They look at me with distrust. But…" he finally looked at Vernon, and a familiar spark of determination flashed in his eyes. "But I'll manage. I have to."
He was talking about work, but he was really talking about them. About their future. About this house. About the silence that needed to be filled with something. Vernon suddenly understood that Minghao had experienced the same feeling of foreignness on his own skin. Only his battle had taken place in an office, not within four walls.
Vernon stood up, walked over to him, and, without a word, simply hugged him. Minghao dropped his head onto Vernon's shoulder, and they stood like that for several minutes in the silence of the kitchen, under the steady hum of the refrigerator.
"Mrs. Ethel came by," Vernon said softly. "Brought a pie."
"Yeah?" Minghao smiled weakly, not opening his eyes. "People are nice here."
In those simple words—"nice here"—there was a primal, childish consolation. As if they had suddenly realized they weren't alone in this white world.
"Let's go to bed," said Vernon. "I already made the bed."
Minghao nodded, rose with effort, and, taking his hand, led him upstairs.