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There was something undeniably beautiful about the snow: the way it softened the world, scattering a white haze that slowed everything down.
Aventurine immediately hated it.
The wind knifed straight through his “winter ensemble”—a sleek, black coat that was tailored, yes, but about as insulated as paper. A fur collar, polished boots, and gloves embroidered with gold threads covered the rest of his body… perfect for a gala, useless for a frozen tundra. He tugged the coat tighter and scowled at the snow piling up around his ankles.
“This is barbaric,” he announced, teeth already chattering. “People willingly live in this?”
Ratio trudged past him, snow crunching under his boots, and adjusted the duffle bag draped over his shoulder. He looked irritatingly unbothered, as if subzero weather was a mild inconvenience instead of a death sentence. “Most people,” Ratio said dryly, “manage just fine with the correct coat.” His eyes flicked over Aventurine’s outfit, unimpressed. “Yours appears to be decorative.”
“It’s designer, obviously. I can’t embarrass myself.”
"Oh, wouldn’t that be tragic,” Ratio said, eyes lingering a second longer on the impractical boots. “The gala would never recover.”
Aventurine scoffed. “Speaking of the gala—don’t act like you’re thrilled to be here. I know you were annoyed when you saw that we were representing the IPC this time.”
“It rotates annually,” Ratio replied, unbothered. “It’s our turn. We’ll go, we’ll smile, we’ll pretend we don’t hate every second of it, and then we’ll leave. That’s the plan.”
“Assuming we survive the walk to the door." A gust of snow sliced through Aventurine's plaid scarf, biting the skin on his neck. "The IPC really couldn’t have sent us somewhere tropical? Palm trees, sunshine, a beachside suite—no, of course not. They send us to a snowbank.”
“Well, it is the Christmas Solstice Gala,” Ratio replied, brushing snow from his gloves. “Rather traditional for it to be on a snowy planet, is it not?”
“Tradition. Isn’t Christmas about generosity? Let’s be generous to me, and move the gala to the desert.”
Ratio’s mouth quirked. “I’ll draft the proposal.”
“Good. See that you do.” Aventurine tried to sweep past with dignity, only for his boots to skid across a patch of ice. His arms flailed; Ratio caught him by the wrist before he could topple into the snowbank.
“Maybe if you’d stop complaining, you could watch where you walk,” Ratio said. “Though, I doubt it would help. Those shoes are ridiculous.”
“They’re also designer,” Aventurine snapped, pulling his wrist back.
“They look like it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Walk, Gambler.” Ratio turned his head with a smirk, muttering just loud enough, “If you can.”
“I heard that!” Aventurine huffed as he fumbled with his own bags. The strap slipped, knocking into his side. “Honestly—can’t believe they couldn’t even drive us to the door. What kind of service is this?”
“Cease your complaining,” Ratio said, finally stopping at the end of the porch. He peered down at the note in his hand and nodded toward the cabin. “This is ours.”
The cabin interior was cozy, almost offensively so. Plush blankets hung across the couch and pine beams stretched overhead, the faint scent of cedar clinging to the air. Ratio moved through the space with calm efficiency, boots leaving neat tracks on the wooden floor as he opened cupboards, took stock of the supplies, and set a kettle on the stove. Aventurine, by contrast, shoved past him with a dramatic flourish, grateful for the sudden rush of warmth that hit his face.
“Thank the gods,” he sighed, shrugging out of his coat and letting it slide bonelessly across the nearest chair. “One more second out there, and I would have...oh. This place is… humble.”
“It’s perfectly adequate for one night.” The shelves held neat rows of dry food, various bottles of liquor, and tins of tea leaves, all stacked with military precision. Even the firewood was lined up in a perfect pile by the hearth aside a glinting axe, as if someone had arranged their arrival down to the last detail.
“I’m not seeing a mirror,” Aventurine muttered as he collapsed onto the sofa, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. “How am I supposed to get ready for the gala with no mirror?”
Ratio didn’t look up from the kettle. “Didn’t you bring four bags? What’s in them, if not a mirror? More clown shoes?”
Aventurine shot upright, indignant, hair falling into his face as he gave Ratio a withered glare. With a huff, he turned away and pressed his palm against the frosted window. Beyond the glass, a frozen pond glittered under the moonlight, ringed by tall pines heavy with snow. The whole place was disgustingly picture-perfect, aside from the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere. Aventurine pressed his hand to the window and the glass burned icy against his skin; he yanked his hand back with a curse, only to see the ghost of his fingerprint lingering there. On impulse, Aventurine dragged his finger across the frost, sketching out a quick HELP ME, followed by a crooked frowny face.
Ratio’s voice floated over, dry as ever. “Juvenile.”
“You’re not even looking,” Aventurine muttered, smug despite himself.
“I don’t need to,” Ratio said, pouring himself a cup of tea. “I can feel the stupidity radiating from that window.” He glanced over at Aventurine’s scrawled message still fogged onto the glass. For a moment, the sharpness in his expression softened as he watched the storm swirl through the window. “I do hope we’re able to make it home in time for Christmas.”
Aventurine barked a laugh, muffled by the blanket around his shoulders. “Who cares about that?”
Ratio didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched long enough that Aventurine shifted uncomfortably on the couch, suddenly too aware of the storm pressing in on all sides.
“Well,” Aventurine added, forcing his voice lighter. “We've got a whole day before Christmas still. If we end up stranded here, you’ll get the best gift of all—me. Wrapped up like a present already.” He tugged the blanket tighter for emphasis.
The smirk on his lips was shallow, brittle around the edges. He didn’t know if Ratio caught that, but Ratio’s gaze lingered on him a bit longer than necessary before turning back to his tea.
__________________________
The wind howled harder as the evening wore on, rattling the cabin windows in their frames. Snow swallowed the road, the sky, the frozen pond by the cabin, and any remaining hope of making it to the gala on time. Aventurine draped himself across the couch like a dying prince, arms folded tight across his chest. “How long do storms like this even last?”
“I’m not a meteorologist,” Ratio said from the kitchen.
“Don’t you have a dozen degrees? None of them are in weather?”
“I have eight doctoral degrees. And no. None of them are in weather.”
“Well, it’s already sundown. The gala’s going to start soon. Has our driver called you?”
“I imagine he’s behind schedule, given the storm.”
“Oh, please. They’re the ones who wanted to throw a gala on this frozen nowhere-rock. The storm isn’t even that bad—”
As if on cue, the cabin lights flickered violently, then died. The fridge gave one last groan, the heater cut out, and the room plunged into a dim hush broken only by the storm’s roar outside. Aventurine made a strangled noise, bolting upright. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ratio walked to the door, opened it a crack, and was immediately hit by a blast of snow. He shut it fast, brushing flakes from his hair. “We’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“What? Why?” Aventurine demanded.
Ratio arched an eyebrow and gestured toward the window, where nothing but white churned against the glass. “Would you like to drive?”
“Well… don’t people here have, like, giant shovels on their cars or something?”
“Not every car is a plow.”
“I don’t know what that is and I don’t care—we can’t just miss the party!” Aventurine rubbed at his arms as a shiver shot up his spine. “Shit, did the heat go out, too?”
Ratio paused, listening. The cabin had gone eerily quiet; no hum of machinery, no reassuring background noise—just the fire’s faint crackle and the wind battering the walls.
“Considering modern heating systems rely on electricity,” Ratio said, “my guess would be yes.”
“Fantastic.” Aventurine paced once, then twice, boots clicking too loudly against the floor. The cold was already creeping in. “What are we going to do?” He demanded, panic edging into his voice as he folded his arms tighter across his chest. “Because standing around is clearly not working.”
“First,” Ratio said calmly, already moving, “we find a light source. Second, we find supplies. Third, we—”
“I’m calling Jade,” Aventurine cut in. “She can get us out of this—this gods-forsaken snow globe.” He fumbled for his phone, fingers clumsier than usual, and pressed it to his ear. Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing. His scowl deepened, jaw tightening the longer the silence stretched.
Ratio glanced at him. “No reception?”
“Shut up,” Aventurine hissed, jamming the phone back into his pocket. “This is the worst.”
Ratio turned instead to the cupboards, methodically retrieving candles and setting them out along the table. He lit one, then another, the small flames casting warm pockets of light that did very little to help the temperature. Aventurine watched him, irritation mounting with every deliberate step.
“What are you even doing?” he snapped.
“Establishing light.”
“Oh, come on.”
Ratio sighed, setting down the last candle before turning to face him. “What is your problem?”
“My problem? We’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, the storm’s getting worse, the power’s out, and you’re playing with candles! What do you mean, what’s my problem?”
“Because standing around in the dark certainly isn’t going to help anything.”
“That’s really not the most important thing right now.”
“If we cannot see, we cannot do anything else. I’d love to know what you think we should be doing, considering all you’re doing is complaining.”
“Why don't we light a fire?"
"I need tools to do that, which I cannot find if I cannot see."
"Oh my gods," Aventurine growled, squeezing himself in a desperate hug.
“Why are you so short-tempered all of a sudden? It's unlike you to—”
“Ratio, I’m cold!”
The words came out sharper than he meant them to, but he didn’t take them back. His hands were trembling now, visibly so where they clutched at his sleeves. His lips had gone pale, his shoulders hunched inward as if he could fold himself smaller to escape the air biting at him from all sides.
“…Then you should have said that,” Ratio said quietly. He took a candle in one hand and Aventurine's wrist in the other, dragging him over toward the fireplace and giving him an encouraging shove to sit down. He tugged a blanket from the arm of the sofa and wrapped it snugly around Aventurine’s shoulders. He didn’t comment on the way Aventurine jolted at the unexpected contact, he only tucked the fabric tighter around him. “Sit and stay,” Ratio said. His steady hands moved to build a fire, coaxing sparks into flame that snapped and crackled. The warmth grew bit by bit, chasing the chill back from the edges of the room.
Aventurine sank back against the wall, silent now, every inch of him bundled in the blanket. He scowled down at his knees, but the redness in his ears gave him away. Ratio only glanced up once, catching the faint flush on Aventurine’s face before turning back to the fire. “Better?”
Aventurine sniffed, attempting to recover some shred of dignity. “I guess. Sorry.”
“It’s alright. I realize you must have little experience in climates like this.”
“Yeah, didn’t get much snow in Sigonia.” Aventurine rubbed at his nose, trying not to shiver again.
Ratio’s gaze shifted to the window. The storm clawed at the glass, snow stacking high against the porch rail. He exhaled quietly. “I suppose we’ll be here until the storm subsides. So much for Christmas.”
“You’re really bent out of shape about that, huh?”
“It’s… forget I said anything.” Ratio turned away, crossing the room to tend to the couch. He tugged at the cushions, revealing a pull-out bed that he unfolded. “Here, you can take the bed."
“I’m the one that’s done nothing but complain all day,” Aventurine countered. “I should sleep on the floor, not you.”
“Yes, but I have a much higher tolerance for the cold.” The firelight caught the sharp line of Ratio's jaw and the steady precision of his movements. Aventurine found himself staring longer than was polite, heat prickling in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the blankets. He hated how effortlessly Ratio could look so handsome, shoulders broad under the dim orange glow.
“We could… share?” Aventurine asked suddenly.
Ratio’s head snapped toward him. “Share what?”
“The bed.”
"Be serious.”
“I am!” Aventurine spread his hands, the blanket sliding down his shoulders. “It’d be warmer that way, wouldn’t it?”
Ratio narrowed his eyes. “What are you scheming?”
“Aside from ways to not freeze to death? Absolutely nothing.”
Ratio studied him for a long beat. In the firelight, bundled up and tousled from the cold, Aventurine didn’t look like the smug executive director of the IPC. He looked almost endearing, wrapped in layers he didn’t belong in, his hair falling into his eyes. Ratio’s lips twitched before he could stop them.
“I suppose,” Ratio drawled at last.
The sheets were cold when they slid under them, their shoulders brushing before each rolled toward their own edge. The silence was thick with nerves, broken only by the storm rattling the shutters.
“You aren’t going to do your twelve-step skincare routine?” Ratio asked at last.
“The thought of putting water on my face right now is enough to send me into hysterics.”
“Fair enough.” Ratio shifted onto his side, back to Aventurine. “Good night, gambler.”
“Night, doc.”
The quiet settled again. Aventurine scowled up at the ceiling beams, exhaling the kind of long, suffering sigh usually reserved for tragic poets on their deathbeds. Then—
“Okay, hear me out—”
“No.”
“If we lay a little closer—”
“No.”
“Come on, the sheets are freezing!”
“You have nearly every blanket in the room. Deal with it.”
Aventurine peeked over the mountain of covers like a pitiful Victorian orphan, lower lip trembling. “When it used to get really cold on Sigonia,” he began, slipping into an overly wistful tone, “my mama and big sis would squish me in between them. It was always so warm.”
Ratio didn’t even look at him. “We are not in Sigonia.”
“You’re telling me,” Aventurine muttered before seamlessly resuming his performance. “It was so nice, though. Such a nice memory. It’s a shame I’ll never experience that again… since, you know…”
Ratio’s head snapped toward him. “You are not playing that card.”
“I can play any cards I want to,” Aventurine shot back, a devilish grin spreading. “It’s my hand.”
“Speaking of your hands, they’d better grow accustomed to being cold, because they’re getting nowhere near me.”
“Oh no…” Aventurine shivered dramatically, clutching the blanket. “Now that you mention it, I f-fear my f-fingers… they’re… starting to go numb. How ever w-will I gamble without my precious f-fingers?”
“For the love of—”
A pitiful, broken cough left Aventurine’s lips as he flopped sideways, head lolling with operatic flair.
Ratio pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think you’re funny?”
Aventurine cracked one eye open, smirking. “A little bit.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Oh, come on. I’m as resilient as I am charming. I can do this alllll night.”
The silence stretched, punctuated only by another long, miserable groan that absolutely no one had asked for. Finally, Ratio exhaled through his nose—the sound of a man surrendering to fate.
“This does not leave the cabin.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll sign an NDA if you need me to.” Aventurine wasted no time. The moment the blanket lifted, he shimmied closer, pressing his cheek against Ratio’s arm like it was second nature. He sighed dramatically as warmth seeped into him, shamelessly shoving his head against Ratio.
“Do not nuzzle me,” Ratio hissed, attempting to push the blond away.
“It’s necessary! I've gotta steal as much warmth as possible. Survival instinct.” He wriggled closer, all loose limbs and content little hums, clearly settling in for the long haul. His hair brushed Ratio’s shoulder; the blankets shifted as he made himself unbearably comfortable. Ratio went rigid, every muscle locking in place. Aventurine smelled infuriatingly good—something expensive and sharp beneath the softer scent of firewood smoke. "What’s wrong?” Aventurine asked, voice muffled against him. “Never cuddled your coworker before?”
“We are not cuddling. We are conserving body heat.”
“By cuddling.”
Ratio rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Go to sleep, gambler.”
Eventually, the tension ebbed. The fire crackled low and steady. Aventurine’s breathing evened out, slow and warm at his side. As much as Ratio hated to admit it, he was exceptionally comfortable. Even on the lumpy pullout couch, the person curled up on his chest was offering him immense comfort. Ratio felt himself start to drift, before his train of thought was interrupted once more.
“Hey, Doc?”
“That doesn’t sound like sleeping.”
“Why are you so worried about getting home for Christmas?”
He didn't answer right away, but when he did, the irritation in his voice had subsided. “I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m worried about it. Isn’t it only natural to want to be home for the holidays?”
“I couldn’t care less, personally.” Aventurine adjusted the blanket with a dramatic tug.
“Every year on Christmas Day, I meet an old friend of mine,” Ratio said. “We cut a tree together, string popcorn, put on an old instrumental record. It’s nothing fancy, but I’d hate to miss it.”
Aventurine let out a disbelieving scoff. “Didn’t know you had any friends.”
“He’s an elderly man I met in a diner.”
“Okay, you’re making this up.”
“I am not. We both happened to be there on Christmas Eve years ago. We got to talking about how much we disliked the holidays. I had little family. He’d lost his son. He joked we should celebrate together instead. So we did. And it became… a tradition.”
Aventurine watched his eyes as he spoke—the way they lit with something warm and wistful. Jealousy pricked at his throat. Someone was actually waiting for Ratio. Someone who cared enough to mark the day with him. Aventurine couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that. Shamelessly, he thought: if Ratio had to get stuck anywhere, maybe it should be here. With him.
“That’s really all you do?” Aventurine asked finally. “No presents? No Christmas feast? No drunken carolers knocking at the window?”
“No.” Ratio’s gaze stayed on the fire, softened by its glow. “Just a quiet day of conversation.”
Aventurine snorted and tugged the blanket closer to himself—only to realize a second too late that he’d dragged most of it with him, leaving Ratio conspicuously exposed. “That sounds unbearably boring,” he said, tone sharp enough to hide the sting underneath.
Without comment, Ratio reached over and gave the blanket a firm yank back.
Aventurine yelped, clinging to the edge. “Hey—!”
The blanket slid halfway between them, and Aventurine, lacking leverage, was pulled into an undignified half-roll onto his side.
“I’m sure you have something you’d like to get back for as well?” Ratio asked casually, as if he hadn’t just nearly tipped him off the couch.
“Oh, yeah. Of course I do. I’m… hosting a party. Drinks, music, all the important people. It’ll be the event of the season.”
“Well,” Ratio said, settling back and reclaiming a respectable portion of the warmth, “then I hope this storm subsides by tomorrow.”
Aventurine huffed, then deliberately scooted closer, curling into the blanket again and stealing a little more than his fair share. “Yeah,” he murmured into the fabric, voice quieter now. “Me too.”
_________________________
Aventurine woke to silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the fire. For one blissful second, he thought maybe the storm had passed. Then he reached out and found the bed cold beside him.
The fire still glowed, but Ratio was gone. Panic flared before the faintest sounds drifted from the kitchen: the quiet clink of bowls exposed Ratio in the kitchen, sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee and thumbing through a newspaper. Where he managed to get a newspaper, Aventurine had no idea. It was almost like scholarly objects just spawned in front of the man whenever he needed to look particularly pretentious.
Aventurine rolled out of bed and dragged the blanket with him, cocooned like a disgruntled bug, and shuffled over to his tower of suitcases. He yanked one open and immediately began rooting through it like a raccoon in silk pajamas.
Ratio looked over from his coffee cup. “…Must you do that like a wild animal?”
“Good morning to you too,” Aventurine snapped, tossing shirts, jewelry rolls, and an entire shoe behind him. “I need my skincare, my hair cream, my lounge pajamas—.”
“You need an ounce of tact and grace,” Ratio replied. “You are scattering your possessions across the entire cabin.”
“Yeah, I’m organizing.”
“It’s objectively the opposite." Ratio sighed, left his coffee, and walked over—no doubt to prevent further property damage. But as he reached down to shut the suitcase, something colorful peeked out from beneath a heap of blouses. “…Why do you have a gingerbread house kit?” he asked, holding up the box like damning evidence.
Aventurine whipped around so fast his blanket cape nearly flew off. “Put that down!”
“You brought this to the gala?”
“I—look—it was on sale,” Aventurine huffed, snatching it back. “I thought it might be a fun activity for afterwards, you know? Drunk as hell, eating the candy while we talk about how annoying the IPC is…” He gestured vaguely. “Not like it matters now.”
Ratio considered him, then the box, then the snow howling outside the frosted window.
“Maybe so,” he said, “but now we have nothing but downtime. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
Aventurine opened his mouth to argue… then paused, blinking. “…Wait. Are you saying...you actually want to make it?”
Ratio shrugged, but there was softness in the gesture.
Aventurine didn’t wait another second. He bee-lined for the kitchen table and slapped the box down with triumphant purpose. “Alright, but don’t blame me when mine’s better.”
They spread everything out: icing bags, gumdrops, the little gingerbread walls. Ratio methodically arranged his pieces like he was prepping for an engineering exam. Aventurine tore into the icing packet with his teeth. Ratio watched him cut the nozzle far too wide.
“That will make it structurally unsound,” he said, lining up his gingerbread roof.
“It’s frosting, not a space station,” Aventurine scoffed.
Seconds later, the wall he’d iced slid off the counter like a wounded soldier.
“…Shut up,” Aventurine said.
"I didn't say anything."
They worked like that for a while—Ratio steady and exact, occasionally nudging Aventurine’s hands out of the way when he got too enthusiastic. Aventurine retaliated by stealing gumdrops and flicking stray icing onto Ratio’s sleeve, claiming it was “collateral damage.” The table grew messier by the minute, sugar dusting their hands and clothes, the fire popping softly behind them.
Aventurine’s gingerbread house was finished first. Not because it was better, but because Aventurine had abandoned structural integrity entirely in favor of vibes. His roof slumped, the walls leaned, and candy was applied less as reinforcement and more as reckless enthusiasm. He jammed gumdrops into icing with abandon, stepped back, and squinted.
“…Perfect,” he decided.
Ratio was still meticulously aligning his roof panels, frosting applied in precise, even lines. “That house is one misplaced breath away from collapse.”
“It’s called character,” Aventurine said, licking icing off his thumb.
Ratio hummed, unconvinced, and returned to his work.
Aventurine drummed his fingers on the table, eyes flicking from the two gingerbread houses to the rest of the cabin. The rough wooden walls. The utilitarian shelves. The snow-muted quiet pressing in from every side. Festive little sugar houses sitting in the middle of all that felt… wrong.
“Oh, this won’t do,” Aventurine muttered.
Ratio glanced up from his book. “What won’t?”
Aventurine scanned the cabin again, taking in the bare walls, the practical furniture, and the way the firelight warmed the room without actually softening it. He grimaced, then slid off his chair and began rummaging through the nearest suitcase, movements sharpening with purpose.
“What are you getting into now?” Ratio asked warily.
“I’m tired of this boring cabin,” Aventurine said, already elbow-deep in fabric. “If we’re going to be stranded here, freezing together, we might as well commit to the bit.” He surfaced with a scarf, held it up like evidence. “Don’t you think it deserves a little festivity?”
Ratio opened his mouth, then closed it again as Aventurine was already in motion.
Scarves were liberated from suitcases and draped over chair backs, color bleeding into the room. Old rolls of wrapping paper were folded and looped into crude but enthusiastic garlands, taped wherever they’d hold. Candy wrappers were twisted into makeshift ornaments and hung from nails, beams—anything with structural potential. Aventurine hummed under his breath as he worked, the earlier tension bleeding off with every added detail. By the hearth, he stacked firewood into something vaguely tree-shaped, adjusting logs with a critic’s eye before crowning the whole thing with one of his more ostentatious cufflinks. Finally, he stepped back, hands on his hips, blanket slipping off one shoulder like a magician’s cape.
“Well?” he said, clearly pleased. “Festive enough for you?”
By the time Ratio finished his structurally flawless house, Aventurine was standing in the middle of the cabin, surveying his handiwork with pride.
“…What,” Ratio said slowly, “did you do?”
“I decorated.”
“It's incredibly garish.”
“Don't be such a grinch” Aventurine said, then hesitated—just a fraction. “This looks ten times better than anything we would have seen at the gala."
”That's a very low bar."
Aventurine shrugged, suddenly less theatrical. “Yeah… I don't know. I was kind of looking forward to the gala.” The words came out softer than he intended. Ratio studied him, and the longing tucked between the humor. After a moment, a faint smirk tugged at Ratio’s lips.
“Well,” he said, setting his gingerbread house down, “we do have a decorated venue now.”
“We do?”
Ratio stepped closer, gaze warm despite the winter light. “Why don’t we have a gala here?”
"Wait, really?"
"It would be a shame to waste such ambience, don't you think?"
“Oh,” he said. “I’m absolutely overdressing.”
"I wouldn't expect anything different."
They separated only briefly, as if either of them might vanish if left unattended too long. Ratio dimmed the lanterns first, adjusting the cabin’s sparse lighting until the fire became the room’s heart—low, golden, flickering warmth that softened sharp edges and cast long shadows across the walls. He straightened chairs, cleared the table, nudged the firewood “tree” just enough that it wouldn’t topple. Arventurine, meanwhile, vanished into his suitcase like a man preparing for war. There was a lot of rustling, paired with the unmistakable clink of jewelry and at least a dozen dramatic sighs.
“Are you aware,” Ratio called, “that this is a cabin in the wilderness? I'm the only one who will be seeing you.”
“I still have standards,” Aventurine replied. “Even in exile.”
Ratio huffed quietly, adjusting the final scarf-draped chair. When he turned back toward the room, the cabin no longer looked like a place people merely endured. It looked—absurdly—like somewhere they had chosen to be.
“Alright,” Aventurine’s voice rang out from behind the bedroom door. “You may behold.”
The door swung open and Aventurine stepped into the firelight like he was stepping onto a stage. He’d gone all in: tailored gala clothes despite the cold, fabric catching the glow of the flames, jewelry gleaming against his skin. His hair was neatly styled, confidence worn like a second coat, though the blanket still hung around his shoulders, stubbornly refusing to be abandoned. He executed a small, theatrical bow.
Ratio forgot how to breathe.
The firelight adored Aventurine. It caught on every sharp line and soft curve, turning his smile molten gold. For a fleeting moment, the cabin, the storm, the isolation—all of it receded.
“…You look,” Ratio began, then stopped.
Aventurine tilted his head, smirk ready. “Yes? Go on. You’re legally required to be impressed.”
Ratio recovered, folding his hands behind his back. “Remarkable,” he said evenly.
“High praise from the man who owns exactly one good coat.”
“I own several.”
“All identical. I expect you to dance with me, you know,” Aventurine said as Ratio stepped closer, enough that Aventurine could feel the warmth of him even through silk and wool. “I didn’t get all dolled up for nothing.”
Ratio held out a hand, gesturing toward the crooked excuse for a ballroom they’d made between furniture and scarves. “Naturally.”
They moved together slowly at first, feeling it out—steps cautious and imperfect, bodies brushing in ways that sent warmth spiraling far beyond the fire’s reach. Aventurine guided with flourish, Ratio followed with surprising grace, their mismatched rhythms settling together. Their feet launched into a dramatic waltz, Aventurine leading with arms sweeping wide as though performing for an invisible audience. Ratio's hand settled at his back, adjusting his hold with deliberate care—leaning just a touch too close, letting their bodies brush often enough to make Aventurine keenly aware of every point of contact.
“I assume you’ve done this before?” Ratio asked after nearly tripping over a chair leg.
“Please,” Aventurine scoffed. “Jade drilled this into my brain within my first month as Aventurine.” They spun again, slower this time. Ratio’s movements softened, his grip steady, guiding Aventurine with small, precise motions.
“I must say,” Ratio murmured after a turn, voice low, "I believe I'm enjoying myself infinitely more than I would be at the gala."
"That's because you're forced to keep your attention on me. I make everything better."
Ratio's hand lingered at Aventurine’s back longer than necessary, his heart thudding painfully loud in his chest. Outside, the storm howled. Inside, the world narrowed to firelight and soft footsteps between them. They danced until the fire burned low. Until the lanterns dimmed further. Until Aventurine rested his forehead briefly against Ratio’s shoulder, and Ratio let him. And for the first time in a very long while, neither of them felt stranded.
When they finally stopped moving, they drifted back toward the fire, collapsing into opposite corners of the couch. Ratio set a pot near the flames, dark liquid inside slowly coming to a simmer, cinnamon sticks bobbing lazily on the surface. The scent curled through the cabin, warm and grounding. While it heated, Aventurine sat dismantling his gingerbread house with surgical focus, plucking gumdrops from the walls one by one until, with a huff, he surrendered entirely and hauled the whole lopsided thing over to rest between them.
“Dinner,” Aventurine announced. “I made it myself.”
Ratio looked down. One wall had caved in. The roof sagged at a concerning angle. Several gumdrops were already missing.
“…It appears to already be under attack,” he said.
Aventurine snapped off a corner and popped it into his mouth. “Structural failure,” he declared solemnly. “Tragic. You should eat it before it gets worse.”
Ratio hesitated, then broke off a piece of his own. It was too sweet, slightly stale—and inexplicably comforting. He poured the drinks a moment later and handed one over with deliberate care, as if bracing for Aventurine to drop it purely for theatrical effect.
Aventurine accepted it with a suspicious sniff. “What is it?"
"Drink it and find out. You love a gamble, don't you?"
Fair. Aventurine took a sip—and immediately made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “There’s whiskey in this, isn’t there?”
“A bit,” Ratio replied, watching with mild amusement as Aventurine took far too large a follow-up sip and promptly hissed when it burned his tongue. “There was plenty in the cabinet, and it is a holiday.”
“You don’t have to sell me on it,” Aventurine said, stretching his legs toward the fire, toes nearly brushing the hearth. Ratio laughed under his breath and shook his head, though he took another bite of the fallen gingerbread house. They ate in companionable quiet, fire crackling, storm still pressing against the windows but no longer demanding attention. For a moment, Aventurine let himself sink into the feeling. Warmth. Laughter. Someone sitting beside him who wasn’t bored or waiting for an excuse to leave. Someone who’d danced with him, who’d looked at him, who’d actually enjoyed his company. “This is…” Aventurine stopped himself, then forced a grin. “Not the worst Christmas I’ve had.”
“High praise.”
“I’m serious. Usually, there’s more crying. Or champagne-related regret.”
Ratio’s lips twitched. He took another sip, gaze drifting to the fire. “It is… quieter than I’m used to.”
Aventurine’s chest tightened. “Oh,” he said, “Right. Because of your friend.” He stared into his drink, smile fixed in place. Of course. Of course there was someone waiting. Someone who expected Ratio. Someone who had earned a place in his calendar, year after year. That warmth he’d been cradling flickered. “Well,” Aventurine said, too bright, snapping another gingerbread piece off with unnecessary force. “At least he’s not stuck in a snowed in cabin eating candy architecture.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Not really. I’m just sorry you’re stuck here with me.”
“You didn’t cause the storm. Don’t apologize. Christmas will come around again next year.” His gaze drifted toward the far corner of the cabin, where nothing stood but empty floorboards and a few discarded scarves. “But,” he added, almost absently, “I do wish we had a tree. At the very least.”
Aventurine’s fingers tightened around his mug. “Oh. Right. That thing you do with your friend.” He scoffed, gesturing vaguely toward the lopsided pile of firewood. “What? You don’t like the one I made for you?”
“Not quite the same,” Ratio said, smiling faintly.
“Between the two of you,” Aventurine went on, “I can’t imagine who does the actual tree-cutting.”
“It isn’t particularly difficult,” Ratio said. “You find a suitable tree, clear the snow around the base, and cut at an angle until it gives way. You’d be surprised how little effort it requires, assuming you know what you’re doing.”
“Well,” Aventurine said, forcing a grin, “I’m sure your friend will forgive you, just this once.”
“I’m sure he would,” Ratio agreed. Then, after a moment, “Still. Traditions matter.” With that, Ratio stood, setting his mug aside. “Apologies. I believe I’m growing tired.”
Aventurine snorted. “You’ve never been able to handle your liquor. One hot toddy and you’re ready to pass out on the floor.”
“Enough out of you,” Ratio said dryly, “or you may wake to coal under our Christmas tree.” He gestured toward the crooked stack of firewood. “You should turn in soon as well, once you change out of your peacock attire.”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
Ratio paused, hesitating like he wanted to say something more, then thought better of it. “Good night, gambler.”
“Night, doc.”
Ratio’s preparations were efficient and brief; within minutes, the cabin settled into the quiet rhythm of his sleep.
Aventurine sat alone by the fire, staring into the embers—at the empty corner of the room, at the image of a tree that wasn’t there.
His lips curved into a slow, determined smile.
The cabin was quiet; Ratio’s soft snores floated through the thin walls. Aventurine peeked through the frosted window at the snow-blanketed trees outside. It was still a flurry, but the storm looked like it had died down, at least a little.
And that was when Aventurine decided that if he was going to do this, he might as well do it right.
Ratio had said he wanted a tree. Not just any tree, either. A real one. Something with presence. Something worthy of tradition. And if Aventurine was anything, it was spectacular. There was no point in dragging in some sad, spindly little thing when he could deliver something grand enough to make Ratio’s eyebrows do that almost-imperceptible lift he pretended didn’t happen.
And really; how hard could it be?
Aventurine stood near the door, smoothing his hands down the front of his gala coat, admiring his reflection in the darkened window.It occurred to him, distantly, that most people probably didn’t go lumberjacking dressed for a ballroom.
That was their problem, frankly.
He grabbed the axe from beside the fireplace and nearly fumbled it when the weight surprised him. Recovering almost instantly, he looked over his shoulder to make sure Ratio hadn't woken, then adjusted his grip with a scoff. “Alright,” he muttered. “We can work with this.”
He shrugged on his coat and kicked open the door with the heel of his boot. The wind hit him, sharp and biting, snow swirling violently around his legs. His boots sank immediately into the drift, narrow heels disappearing with alarming ease.
The snow crunched and shifted beneath him, but he moved with the same confidence he brought to everything else—head high, chin lifted, utterly convinced the world would simply accommodate him if he looked impressive enough. The forest loomed ahead, dark shapes blurred by the storm.
Somewhere in there, was the tree.
He found it a short walk from the cabin. It stood tall and full, its branches heavy with snow, reaching skyward like it had been waiting just for him. Aventurine stopped dead, staring up at it in awe.
“Oh,” he said to himself. “You’ll do just fine.”
He could already picture it: dragged triumphantly back to the cabin, set up in the corner Ratio had been staring at earlier. Scarves draped over the branches. Trinkets and candy and whatever else he could scavenge. Ratio’s careful hands stringing popcorn while pretending not to smile. Maybe he’d even say thank you. The thought sent a thrill straight through Aventurine’s chest. He planted his feet—heels wobbling slightly in the snow—and raised the axe.
The first swing was… less graceful than anticipated. The blade struck the trunk with a dull thunk that jarred his arms all the way to the shoulders. Aventurine winced, shaking out his hands. “Okay,” he muttered. “Warm-up swing.”
The second hit landed better. He felt the satisfying thunk of the axe biting into the trunk, and a grin spread under his chattering lips. Chips of bark scattered into the snow.
There it was. Progress.
He settled into a rhythm, each motion fueled by the vivid image of Ratio’s reaction. See? Aventurine thought smugly as sweat prickled beneath his collar. I can do traditions. I can be thoughtful. I can be—
The wind howled, stronger now, rocking the branches overhead. Snow cascaded down around him, cold and blinding. His boots slipped, just slightly, and he laughed nervously, adjusting his stance.
“Easy now,” he told himself. “You’ve got this.”
The axe bit deeper this time. The trunk groaned in response. Aventurine grinned, exhilarated. He was cold now—really cold—but it barely registered beneath the rush of it all. The tree shuddered again, and he raised the axe for another swing. Behind him, the snow shifted ominously.
He kept chopping, settling into the rhythm of it, each swing driven by the same bright, stubborn thought: Ratio is going to love this. The trunk began to shudder beneath the axe, a low groan vibrating up through the wood.
Only then did a belated, unwelcome thought cross his mind:
…How do I control which way this thing falls?
The tree lurched.
Aventurine’s breath caught. It leaned—slowly at first, then with terrifying certainty—straight toward him.
“Oh—no, no, no—!” he yelped, dropping the axe as he stumbled backward.
His heel slid. The thin spike of it skated uselessly across the ice, carving a shallow, screeching line before the surface gave way with a sharp, brittle crack. Aventurine’s boots sank through the ice like it wasn’t even there, and suddenly, the pond had consumed him. The cold slammed into his legs, his spine, his lungs, every muscle seized, locking up as if his body had forgotten how to function at all. His mind went blank, then white-hot with shock. He screamed—or tried to—but all that came out was a broken, strangled sound as icy water surged up his coat, soaking through silk. Strength fled him immediately, ripped away by the cold as if it had never been his to begin with.
“No—no—no—!” he gasped, voice pitching high with panic. He slapped his gloved hands against the ice, fingers numb and clumsy, scrabbling uselessly for purchase. The surface crumbled under every desperate grab, breaking away just as he thought he’d found a hold. Wind howled over the pond, driving snow into his face, stinging his eyes, stealing what little warmth he had left. He could barely lift his arms. When he did, the water crawled higher, licking at his wrists, his elbows—cold enough to burn. His teeth chattered violently as his limbs began to feel heavy and sluggish, like they belonged to someone else.
Move, he told himself. You have to move.
He kicked toward the shore, gathering everything he had left for one desperate lunge—
Then the ice shifted and flipped, and Aventurine went under.
Water flooded his coat, dragging him down, crushing the air from his lungs. The world narrowed to murky darkness and roaring sound. Panic exploded through him, raw and animalistic. He thrashed, lungs screaming, and when he tried to gasp—
Cold water poured into his mouth and down his throat.
He choked, coughing uselessly as the freezing dark closed in. His vision blurred, spots dancing at the edges, but through the haze, a shape broke the surface.
Ratio.
He barely registered how—only that Ratio was there, straddling the fallen tree as if it were an anchor, snow whipping around him, eyes wide with something fierce and terrifying.
“Hold on!” Ratio shouted.
A hand plunged into the water.
Aventurine tried to reach it, tried to kick, but panic made his movements wild and uncoordinated. His head dipped under again, vision spinning.
“I—I can’t—” he gasped, voice breaking as water swallowed the rest of the words.
Ratio didn’t hesitate.
Strong hands locked under Aventurine’s arms, hauling him upward with brutal force. Aventurine’s instinctive thrashing only made it harder, water sloshing over them both, snow and ice scraping against skin, but Ratio held fast, jaw clenched, focus absolute.
“I’ve got you!” he barked. “Just hold on!”
They crashed onto the shore together, skidding across snow and ice. Aventurine collapsed, coughing violently as water poured from his mouth, his chest heaving, body shaking uncontrollably.
Ratio did not waste time on lectures. He half-dragged, half-carried Aventurine inside, boots leaving wet streaks across the floor before he deposited him on the couch with more urgency than gentleness. Snow and water dripped steadily from Aventurine’s clothes, pooling beneath him.
“We need towels and blankets,” Ratio thought aloud as he moved with sharp efficiency, already turning back toward the hearth. “Take off your clothes. Now.” The tone brooked no argument.
Aventurine barely managed to lift his head. His teeth were chattering so hard his jaw ached, words breaking apart as they left him. “I—I just… I’m sorry—”
“Stop talking.” Ratio was already back, kneeling in front of him. “Out of these. Immediately.”
Aventurine made a weak, halfhearted attempt to comply, fingers fumbling uselessly at sodden buttons. Ratio swore under his breath and took over, hands brisk and unceremonious as he stripped away soaked fabric. Wet silk and wool hit the floor in a heap. The moment Aventurine’s bare skin was exposed, Ratio hissed sharply.
“Gods, you’re freezing.” He dragged a towel firmly down Aventurine’s arms, across his chest, over trembling legs—scrubbing warmth back into him with almost angry determination. Aventurine flinched once, then sagged, too cold to protest and too exhausted to feel embarrassed. He let himself be handled, limbs loose and unresisting.
Ratio pulled a pair of dry pajamas from his suitcase and tugged them onto Aventurine with far more care than his earlier roughness suggested. Then came the blankets. One, then another, wrapped tight around his shoulders, tucked in close.
Still not enough.
Sitting down beside him, Ratio pulled Aventurine against his chest and cocooned them both in the excess of warm wool and fabric. He pressed their bodies together, one arm firm around Aventurine’s back, the other rubbing slow, steady warmth into his arm. Only then—only when Aventurine’s shivering had dulled from violent to merely relentless—did Ratio’s restraint finally snap.
“What in Nos’ name is wrong with you?!” he demanded, voice sharp and cracking with leftover adrenaline.
Aventurine tried to answer. Nothing came out but another shudder.
“Are you mental?” Ratio continued, fury blazing now that terror had somewhere to go. “You could have died!”
“How—” Aventurine swallowed hard. “How’d you know I was out there?”
“A tree falling in the middle of a forest is not subtle,” Ratio snapped. “And when I woke up and you weren’t next to me, I knew immediately you had something to do with it. What were you thinking—no. Don’t answer that. You weren’t thinking.” He tightened his grip unconsciously. “You decide to wander outside alone, in the middle of a blizzard, at night, in those absurd shoes—”
“A tree,” Aventurine croaked.
Ratio paused. “What?”
“I wanted to get you a tree,” Aventurine said, staring down at the blankets like they might swallow him whole. “I know I’m not your friend. But I thought… maybe if I could get you a tree, we could at least pretend.”
The anger stalled. Ratio stared at him, words catching somewhere behind his teeth. His grip loosened, then steadied again—firmer now, gentler.
“You absolute—” He broke off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “What made you think you could cut down a tree in this storm?”
“You said it wasn’t difficult,” Aventurine murmured.
“At a tree farm,” Ratio shot back. “With proper tools and assistance, not a rusty axe and a wild pine the size of a building!”
“Well how was I supposed to know what kind of tree it was?” Aventurine snapped weakly, frustration bleeding through the exhaustion. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t do Christmas.”
“You told me you had a party planned.”
Aventurine let out a humorless laugh that dissolved into a shiver. “Yeah. A party for one. Drinking alone and waiting for the day to be over.”
“You didn’t have to lie to me,” Ratio said quietly.
Aventurine huffed. “It wasn’t for you. I just—” He hesitated, then grimaced. “It’s embarrassing. I heard you talking about your friend and your tradition, like it was obvious you had somewhere to be.” His fingers curled weakly into the blanket. “And I realized...I didn’t. I don't have anything like that. No one would even think about me until I was back in the office the day after.”
Silence fell between them. Ratio swallowed, jaw tightening as something unreadable crossed his face. He pulled the blankets higher around Aventurine’s shoulders and adjusted his grip, thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles into his arm.
“Aventurine.”
“Don’t say my name like that,” he said with a groan. “I know it means I’m in trouble.”
“It was a sweet gesture for you to try and accommodate my tradition.”
“Thank you.”
“I do wish your sweet gestures involved less gambling with your life, though. You are an infuriatingly reckless man.”
“Say the first part again.”
Ratio rested his head briefly against Aventurine’s, voice barely more than a breath. “It was sweet. I appreciate that you were thinking of me. But, for the record, I'm not upset that I'm here with you. It's not everyday that we get to spend time together like this, and quite frankly...I've enjoyed almost every minute of it."
"Almost?" Aventurine asked with a smirk.
"You almost dying wasn't my favorite part—no. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
"Yeah, yeah. Did you like the tree I picked out, though? I went through a lot of work for that."
"Enough. Conserve your body heat by not speaking."
Aventurine’s shivering eventually eased, reduced to the occasional tremor that Ratio corrected with another tug of blankets, another careful press of warmth. The storm outside still howled, but it felt farther away now—muffled by firelight and fabric and the steady rhythm of Ratio’s breathing.
For once, Aventurine didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He lay there, tucked against Ratio’s chest, listening to the crackle of the fire and the faint creak of the cabin settling. The lopsided pile of firewood—still masquerading as a Christmas tree—cast crooked shadows across the wall. One of Aventurine’s scarves had slipped halfway down it, glittering faintly in the low light.
“So...does this count as a new tradition?”
Ratio considered him for a long moment. Then, quietly, “I think it might.”
Aventurine leaned in before he could overthink it, pressing a slow, careful kiss to Ratio’s mouth.
Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, Christmas arrived anyway. Not with a grand tree or a perfect plan—but with two people, stranded and choosing each other.