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It's a dark day, a gloomy day, and the resort's restaurant bank is the only shelter from the sharp, skittery wind. Great for thickening the snow on the slopes. Not so great for anything else.
Jake stands a little outside the huddle of Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon. He's the only one actually considering transportation options to get to the skiing and snowboarding they've been wanting to do so badly.
"It wasn't me last winter, it was Jake," Heeseung's saying. "I would never lick a pole, you know that, Jay."
"Have you told Sunghoon that?"
"Hyung tells me everything."
"Apparently he kept something from you if you're this clueless."
"If hyung was licking a pole, I would know. Don't be so worried."
"I'm not worried, I am accusatory!"
"Maybe you're the one that licked the pole."
"Once again, I am not enough of a fool for that."
Some other weather-blundered vacationers are gathering across the parking lot, next to a sign for a shuttle stop. Jake makes to join them, gratefully utilizing his high-quality snow boots, hoping his friends will follow him like ducklings.
He's gotten halfway when a giant luxury shuttle bus flattens him to the asphalt.
The sting reminds Jake of the frigid, sticky pain of pressing his tongue to a cold metal pole.
Yes, he's smart. Yes, he knows about physics and medical stuff. Yes, he did it anyway.
But that was last winter.
The different man that he is enjoys this meditative silence just staring up at the sky with his limbs spread about.
"I'm aware of everything hyung licks," Sunghoon says, faint in the distance, but at least it sounds like he's coming closer. His and the other two's footsteps vibrate the ground under Jake's head.
Jay's reply is indiscernible. Either it's too far away or it's just disgusted silence. Whatever it is, it's probably valid.
Jake dusts himself off—the snow is crumblier than usual—and waves his friends over so they don't have to wait several more minutes to encounter another giant luxury shuttle bus.
On the slopes, though Jake was looking forward to it, it's kind of terrible. The sports themselves aren't bad at all. Jake loves them, actually. But the snow. Something is not right with it today.
Every time he removes his goggles, tiny particles attack his bare skin, stinging, harming, hurting. It's gotten sunnier as the day's gone on, so it makes sense to keep his goggles on, but Jake would prefer to not wear them for the at least four consecutive hours they're out here. So he keeps taking them off, and he deals with it.
"This is the opposite of the Ballamas," Heeseung says when it's just him and Jake at the top.
Jake doesn't actually, but sometimes he feels a hint of it: regret at helping Heeseung open up years ago. Now he speaks his mind oft and oft and a large portion of it goes into Jake's brain cells. Kind of like the fine powder of today's snow.
"Think of the fluffy faces we could see," Heeseung goes on. "And it'd be so warm..."
Jake's so irritated by the snow—honestly, it's kind of like baking soda—that he only responds with a staccato nod.
Sunghoon and Jay return from the lift, and Heeseung brightens. "Here can be warm other ways, though."
Heeseung's lucky he has Sunghoon to keep him warm at night. The heating in the place they're staying is inconsistent and completely uncontrollable during the dark hours specifically, and the worst spot is Jay and Jake's room.
It's not too bad when they go back to the house after ending the day of winter sports, but Jake has bigger problems than unruly temperatures, mostly those involving unruly powder.
It's fucking annoying how it puffs and dances everywhere if Jake so much as shifts his feet. It makes such a mess and Jake's not asking anyone else to clean this up, which means he'll have to do it—probably after he showers—and that just adds to his irritation. His skin still burns from that terrible time outside in the wind.
To keep as much of the mess as possible in here, Jake starts undressing for his shower, and he's just pulled his shirt off when Jay enters, wind-tousled and excitable, and expresses a large portion of that excitement toward Jake's physique, complimenting him so far beyond the normal Korean standard that Jake's mood is forced to a crossroads: get more snappy and irritated or dissolve into baking soda.
Unfortunately, today his pattern goes the former way.
"Thanks," he says, monotone. Dead as the small dehydrated bug he found next to his pillow yestermorn. "Is anyone using the bathroom?"
"Yeah, but there's another downstairs."
Jake's not going downstairs clad only in underwear and white powder, so he resigns himself to the wait.
Luckily, it's not so bad, because Jay's doing that endearing thing where he unpacks stuff about his day. Jake's been privy to many people's close-held thoughts and feelings, it's just the kind of person he is, but it's an extra sort of elated buzz when Jay keeps choosing him.
"Can you believe Heeseung still calls it the Ballamas? He thinks the islands are full of llamas, Jake. Even Sunghoon told him that's wrong, and he still keeps it up—he genuinely believes that. They're not that great. We could find better vacations. I don't know where he got the idea of going there, anyway..."
Normally Jake listens more attentively and responds after some time, but baking soda. Baking soda, baking soda. Is frying soda a thing? Sautéing soda?
His socks feel floppy like they've been sautéed, which is sad because Jake likes these socks. Or he liked them. When they weren't sautéed.
And then Jay says some words. Several words, actually, maybe too many at once in this tone. "Hey, you seem kinda off today, what's up?"
It's sweet. Gentle. Soft. Jake doesn't remember Jay directing something at him like this even once in his life before now. Cute tones? Sure. Vulnerable tones? Of course. But this? This is new.
"Yeah, this mess just..." he gestures at the floor (and himself), "gets my goat, man."
Jay looks like he's seeing it for the first time. Maybe he is. Jake thought he was more observant than that but the world always holds new things. See previous tone. "Oh, that. It'll be okay, we'll clean it up. It's not too bad, anyway."
It's a relief that Jay's right. They've had bigger messes. Bigger fuck-ups. This wasn't even a fuck-up on Jake's part, it was the weather. Is it like this at home? Or is it just this resort? This area?
Also, it's weird that Jay's right. But Jake doesn't get to think further about what he expected Jay to say versus what he did, because in the hall a door opens, and then comes the squeaky, extraordinarily-involved serenade of Sunghoon taking off his shower slippers.
Akin to a genre it'd be metal, if metal involved rubber. Rubber metal. To Heeseung it's probably the most charming thing in the world; Jake can imagine him finding its merits and turning it into something it's very much not.
Now is Jake's chance. He always feels better after a shower. The aquatic stimulation or something.
He turns around to pick up his things and to thank Jay for—well, for being here, just to find Jay already standing close to him, damn, he moves fast, and leaning in for a chaste kiss before he registers what's going on. What the fuck. Their lips touched each other. Oh, lord.
Jake drifts for the door on autopilot and Jay follows him, so Jake stops right before the frame because what's happening now? He wants to know. And also Jay's hand is suddenly on his ass and Jake has to look up a little bit to see his eyes and there's a swimmy feeling in his chest and Jay's lips are much closer to Jake than his eyes.
They kiss again, and why doesn't Jay think much of it? Why isn't he giving anything away? He's always giving, asking nothing in return, and this time Jake wants him to give anything more, a reason, and he'll kiss him back before he even finishes the words.
But Jay just pats his ass again and his mouth quirks and then Jake's in the bathroom with the base scents of Jay's cologne still in his nose. It's an older bathroom without a separate shower stall, and he's cleaning the baking soda from all the places it shouldn't have gone, and he's wondering if he's like the baking soda, gone places with Jay he shouldn't have gone. But it all washes off and sticks in soddy gluggy clumps that Jake targets with the water and disperses down the drain.
When he's done, Heeseung's already waiting in the hallway for his turn, looking like he just woke from a nap, saying shit like, "You were taking so long, I thought Jay might be in there, I fell asleep but it's perfect timing now!"
Like that means something. It could mean many things.
It brings back up the swimmy feeling in Jake's chest, and he tries not to drown in it or swing down the drain with it as well as the baking soda. He can't and doesn't want to let himself dream what ride they might take him on, reliving the way Jay kissed him so casually it might cause a casualty.
What he can let himself do, though, is allow the jumpy feeling to skip him away from Heeseung like a broken record, ignore him for the second time today like a broken record, go back to his and Jay's room like a broken record, let the familiar groove of frustration over cleaning that baking soda reemerge from the vinyl, but when he gets there, well. Shit. It's like that fucked version of snow has plain dissolved into thin air.
A little bit of powder has been left on Jay's bag, and Jake can picture him swiping his fingers unthinkingly on his thermal underwear and backing up and his leg hitting the bulging fabric—overstuffed, overpacked—just right, just at the angle to tell Jake, I'm doing this for you. And he can't help but think they're both kind of idiots. Or as Jay might say, you fool, this is how it's really been the whole time.
Dinner is a big occasion because for this group food is almost always a big occasion, even when it's something physically small or it's to get the body through another hustling day.
He's about to dig in to the delicious dishes but then he remembers the baking soda. Is it fit for consumption? Where would the world even get baking soda in that large a quantity? It must be cheap, or the world is very rich, and the supplier has been made richer.
Whatever way it is, Jake is afraid to put anything in his mouth. What if the baking soda has already gone past his lips and infiltrated his nervous or lymphatic or any system? His immune system? How would he begin to explain to doctors that his immune issues have gotten worse because of baking soda weather?
He checks on Jay by looking as subtly as he can and he seems fine but that doesn't mean anything. He could be not fine. It could be Jake's fault since he kissed him back. Jake will have an awful time forgiving himself if Jay dies from baking soda turning his body into a strainer with such fine mesh even a star viewed from trillions of light-years away, thousands of years in the past, won't fit through it.
The meal was big in its breadth and its warmth and the night is big in its endlessness and cold. Jake shoves himself under his covers and tries to be fine but the happy shivers of a cozy blanket are shored by the fact that sometimes there just aren't enough blankets to get that feeling in the first place.
Jay whispers something indecipherable from his bed next to Jake's, and Jake whisper-shouts, not wanting to disturb anyone through these walls, "What? Say it again!" And Jay says it again, and then again when he finally rolls out of his bed and onto Jake's, against Jake himself, body smelling of soap and hair products pressing his covers over him with heavy, tempting pressure, and finally Jake understands that what Jay's saying is he's afraid of the bugs and the ghosts, that he's ashamed.
He prods at Jay's back as effective as he can with pinned hands. "Get in."
Jay hesitates, probably figuring out how to make the move without touching his feet to the cold floor. He crawls to the end and folds back the sheets, setting the corner's layers on Jake, which temporarily warms him better, then lays beside him on his back. Properly covers them both again. Then he turns so he's on his side and facing Jake, and their shins and knees brush. His hands, which might be more accurately described as smooth blocks of ice, bump Jake's arms through his pajamas.
Jake holds back from shouting at the shock. "Fuck, why are you so cold?"
"It's cold in here. Isn't that why you told me to get in?"
"You haven't figured out that I'm cold and I'm just using you?"
Jay scoffs quietly. He knows Jake's also a scaredy cat, but he doesn't know that part of the reason Jake might meow or grow whiskers or suddenly enjoy being scritched at the base of his spine is Jay himself. The swimmy feeling isn't so bad when he's already lying down, and part of him hopes that Jay will kiss him again like he does it every day, like it means a lot and that that's why it's a daily occurrence.
Sharing a bed? Normal for a lot of people, but Jake isn't a lot of people and neither is Jay. He's fucking giddy; it's a giddy, and harsh, and soft endeavor.
After Jay's shins have bumped Jake's another countless few times, Jay whispers, "I promise I won't snore."
His breath is just breath, minty from his strong, 24-hour mouthwash, and that's on luck because if things go to plan they'll still be close like this come daylight.
Jake whispers back, "Don't make impossible promises, Jay-ah."
"Then I promise I won't talk in my sleep."
"I counter that promise."
"Why?"
"Again." Jake pokes him in the ribs, feeling him flinch a bit because the part he left out is that his hands are colder than Jay's. "Impossible."
"Show me what's possible, then," Jay says, and Jake knows what he means, he does, he does.
He brushed his teeth pretty thoroughly, used mouth rinse, all that. Knows Jay did the same. So why not?
Strange how he surprises himself with his own eagerness but Jay doesn't seem fazed at all. Strange how their lips fit well even as they separate and come back together, how it feels like they've done this more times than Jay's legs have knocked Jake's, how it feels a lot like knowing, knowing, knowing. Strange how there's nothing to search for because he already knows how it will all feel, like how he loves the gentle scritches of Jay's fingers on his lower back, and it's only a matter of the comfort and the warmth and the joy.
Jake can feel Jay smile before he pulls back with his cute contented expression faintly visible in the low light. Jake naturally leans in to press one last, short kiss to his mouth, and by then there isn't a thing to feel bad about anymore, so he curls even closer and doesn't bother wiping the yawn-sponsored tears from his face, and passes the fuck out.
He wakes up feeling like he's been hit by a giant luxury shuttle bus. He manages to unpeel from Jay's arms and slide out of the blankets.
Jay's supposed to be a heavy sleeper but his eyes are open already. Sleepy—but aware. Sleepy, but aware, and unhappy about the fact Jake isn't in the bed anymore. "Where are you going? It's cold."
"Nah, it's so warm in here, it's hot, it's really good the heat came on."
Distantly, right on time, things in the house do their mechanical magic and the floor immediately rises in temperature. Not completely warmed yet, but well on its way. Jake feels a little smug.
"It's colder in here than it was last night. Now I'm freezing." Jay burrows back into the blankets until only his face and some of his hair stick out. Poor Park Jongseong. Poor Sim Jaeyun's heart.
Jake's pretty sure his brain hasn't become a particle-marked rebel feverishly hallucinating the intense heat that keeps soaring through him in spark-filled waves, so on his imaginary nerd board he just chalks it up to interpersonal differences of atmospheric perception. Which is all completely natural, and nothing that truly concerns him.
“Is your dandruff getting really bad?” Jay’s fingers poke out of the blanket next to his head, rubbing something between them.
Jake reluctantly steps closer to investigate, and lo and behold. Baking soda.