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Snow had a way of muting the world.
It fell thick and quiet over the mountains, softening the sharp edges of pine trees and burying trails beneath white.
The sky was pale, an overcast gray stretching endlessly above the ski lodge where laughter, clattering boots, and the hum of heaters created a sharp contrast to the frozen silence beyond the windows.
Haruka Nanase felt out of his element.
Snow was… different.
It was cold, dry, and relentless in a way water never was. It swallowed sound instead of carrying it, smothered movement instead of embracing it.
He stood at the edge of the ski lodge balcony, one hand buried in the pocket of his thick blue jacket and the other holding his duffel strap, staring out at the mountains layered in white and silver. He watched the snowfall with distant eyes.
But…
Snow was still water.
Frozen, restrained, waiting.
“You’re thinking too loud again.”
Makoto’s voice pulled him back. Haru blinked and turned, one hand absently tightening around the strap. Makoto Tachibana leaned against the railing beside him, breath puffing into the air. His green scarf fluttered slightly in the breeze.
“I’m not,” Haruka replied flatly.
Makoto smiled in the way he always did when Haru said something like that—fond, knowing. “You’ve been staring at the snow for quite a while.”
Haru took a moment before answering, “It’s different,” he said, finally. “It doesn’t move like water.”
Nagisa Hazuki burst through the lodge doors behind them, already wearing bright orange ski goggles. “Different is good, Haru-chan! New experiences!”
Rei followed more carefully, adjusting his glasses despite the fact they kept fogging up. “Statistically speaking, winter sports injuries spike by—”
“Nobody asked, Rei-chan!” Nagisa whined, grabbing onto Rei’s arm and shaking it roughly, “Quit being a party pooper!”
Haruka barely listened. He hadn’t actually wanted to come on this trip. He was here because Makoto had asked—because everyone had asked—and because, somewhere beneath the surface, the idea of gliding over frozen water stirred something familiar in his chest.
Gou had found a discounted group package in a remote mountain village known for its quiet slopes and natural hot springs. His friends had been so excited, Haru couldn’t help but get dragged into their spirited shenanigans, even feeling somewhat excited himself when the time drew closer to go.
Now they were here.
“Haru,” Makoto said gently, “you don’t have to ski if you don’t want to.”
Haruka glanced back at the wide, open slopes. Endless white. Endless quiet.
“…I’ll try.”
Makoto’s smile widened.
Behind Makoto, Nagisa was hopping from foot to foot, skis already slung over his shoulder despite being indoors. “Come on! The snow is perfect! We’re wasting prime skiing time!”
Rei adjusted his glasses, peering nervously outside. “The snowfall does appear… substantial. Are we certain conditions are safe?”
“Rei-chan, you worry too much!” Nagisa grinned. “That’s part of the fun!”
A sharp scoff cut through the chatter.
“This place better have decent slopes,” Rin said, dropping his bag with a thud. His red hair was tied back, breath already fogging in the cold air as he looked around with open skepticism. “If I’m freezing my ass off, I’m not doing it on some baby hill.”
Sousuke, standing beside him, shrugged. “You agreed to come.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me.”
Gou had let Rin know that they were planning to go to the resort and Rin had all but invited himself, saying he couldn’t let his sister go to a resort alone with a bunch of guys. As if he didn’t trust the Iwatobi group with her life.
Gou had rolled her eyes and smiled knowingly, his intentions clear as day to her. She saw the way he perked up when Haru was mentioned. Her brother was as subtle as a bull in a china shop.
Sousuke had followed, not able to pass up an opportunity to bully Rin (and maybe see a certain green eyed boy).
Rin’s eyes flicked briefly toward Haru.
Their gazes met—blue and red locking for just a moment too long—before Haru looked away first.
Makoto clapped his hands together. “Okay! Let’s split into groups for the slopes. Stay together, check in often, and if the weather worsens, we head back immediately.”
“Yes, Mom,” Rin muttered.
Makoto smiled anyway.
The ski lift creaked as it carried them upward, suspended over a vast, rolling sea of white. Below, the forest stretched endlessly, branches bowed under the weight of fresh snow.
Haru sat stiffly beside Rin, skis dangling beneath them. The rest of the group was scattered across nearby lifts, their voices carried faintly by the wind.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Haru watched the snow drift past, settling against his jacket and clinging to the edge of his goggles. The mountain felt different from the ocean—heavier, quieter—but there was a familiar pull in the way the ground waited for him.
“You’re gonna freeze if you keep zoning out,” Rin said at last.
Haru blinked. “I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
The lift jolted slightly as it slowed near the top. A particularly harsh wind chilled them, air whipping between them as the lift squeaked with movement, and Rin gave a violent shiver.
“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” Rin chattered, bundling more into his jacket as the top of the slope came into view.
“…You didn’t have to come,” Haru said quietly.
Rin scoffed, but didn’t retort, teeth chattering lightly.
They disembarked into a sharp burst of wind, snow biting instantly at exposed skin. The world felt higher here, thinner, the air crisp enough to sting.
When Haru’s skis touched the snow, something clicked into place.
The scrape of metal, the subtle shift of balance, the way gravity invited him forward—it wasn’t water, but it was close enough.
Rin pushed off first.
“Try to keep up, Nanase!”
He cut sharply across the slope, snow spraying behind him in a dramatic arc. Haru followed, steady and controlled, letting momentum guide him rather than fighting it.
The trail wound downward between snow-laden trees. The sky darkened subtly, clouds thickening overhead, but for a while it didn’t matter.
Nagisa whooped as he sped past. Makoto stayed close to Rei, one watchful eye always tracking the group.
Rin skied fast.
Too fast.
Haru noticed it immediately—the aggressive turns, the way Rin leaned into speed like he was daring the mountain to challenge him. Haru adjusted his pace, staying within sight, instinctively matching Rin’s line where he could.
Snow fell heavier now, flakes no longer drifting but driving, carried by rising wind.
Rei slowed, peering upward. “The weather appears to be worsening—”
Makoto nodded. “We should stick to the main trail.”
Rin veered slightly to the right, just enough to make a point.
“It’s fine,” he called back. “Relax.”
Haru hesitated.
Makoto caught his eye. “Haru?”
Haru’s gaze lingered on Rin’s red figure, already pulling ahead.
“…I’ll keep an eye on him,” Haru said.
Makoto exhaled slowly. “Don’t go too far.”
Haru didn’t answer. He pushed off instead.
At first, it was only wind.
A sudden, biting gust tore through the trees, shaking loose cascades of snow that fell in blinding sheets. Visibility dropped sharply, the world dissolving into white motion.
Rin slowed, swearing under his breath. “Tch. This is getting annoying.”
Haru skied up beside him. “We should go back.”
Rin shook his head. “It’s fine. We’re still close.”
Haru began to dissent, concern starting to creep in when another gust slammed into them, stronger than the last. Snow whipped sideways, stinging Haru’s face and frosting the edges of his goggles.
“Ugh, let’s just get to the bottom already.” Rin muttered, skiing off again, leaving Haru behind.
The trail markers were harder to see now—half-buried, distorted by drifting powder.
Rin turned sharply to the right.
“Rin—!”
The wind swallowed Haru’s voice.
Snow blasted into Haru's face, disorienting him. His skis slid sideways as he fought for balance, heart slamming against his ribs. By the time he recovered, blinking hard against the whiteout—
Rin was gone.
Haru paused his skis and took a deep shuddering breath, anxiety taking hold as he frantically searched for that familiar red, the harsh fall of the snow covering the landscape. The howling of the wind was all he could hear for a moment, almost deafening.
He listened carefully, calling out for Rin again before he heard a faint voice in response, the direction it came from lost in the chaos of the mountain.
“Haru?” Rin’s voice echoed faintly somewhere behind him, then vanished beneath the storm.
Rin spun in place, fear clawing its way up his spine. Trees blurred together, indistinct shadows looming and shifting. He skied forward a few meters, then stopped, forcing himself to breathe.
“Haru!”
Nothing.
The mountain answered with wind and snow.
Rin tore off his goggles, eyes burning as flakes hit his face directly. Tracks vanished almost as soon as they were made, filled in by relentless snowfall.
Idiot.
Why did I go ahead?
Why didn’t I wait?
I should’ve stayed—
He swallowed hard and scanned the terrain, searching desperately for movement, color, anything.
The storm didn’t care.
Haru was lost in the white of the mountain.
And so was he.
Haru crouched low, bracing against the wind as another gust roared past.
Rin was gone.
The realization settled in his chest like sinking beneath a wave— panic heavy in his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breathing.
Think.
They’d veered right. The main trail should be downhill, slightly left. Trees thinned near marked paths.
Haru adjusted his skis and moved cautiously, every turn deliberate. The cold crept in slowly, numbing his fingers despite his gloves.
“Rin,” he called once, quietly.
The wind carried it away.
Minutes blurred together. Time lost meaning. His legs burned from effort, breath coming in short clouds.
Then—
A shape.
Dark against the endless white.
Haru squinted, heart jumping as the shape sharpened into rough wooden walls half-buried beneath snow.
A cabin.
Rin found it first.
He nearly skied past it, vision narrowed by exhaustion and fear, but desperation sharpened his focus. He skidded to a stop, staring at the structure like it might disappear if he blinked.
A cabin meant shelter.
Warmth.
Maybe even a radio.
He skied up to it, hope growing in his chest.
He shoved the door open, stepping inside with a gasp as the wind was cut off abruptly. The air was stale but still, the sudden quiet almost deafening.
The cabin was empty other than a fireplace filled with ash. It looked like an abandoned ranger cabin, cobwebs could be seen in the corners and there was a layer of dust on everything—thankfully none of the windows were broken.
Rin turned in a slow circle, heart pounding painfully. He dropped his skis by the door before pacing, trying to think of his plan. He needed to find Haru. He couldn’t leave him out there alone. Rin knew if he didn’t find him soon— he shook his head.
He couldn’t begin to imagine…
“Haru,” he muttered. “Please.”
He turned toward the door, ready to venture out and start his search for Haru when the door creaked open.
Haru stood there, snow-dusted and pale, eyes wide and chest heaving from adrenaline.
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Then Rin crossed the distance in two strides and grabbed Haru by the shoulders, grounding himself in the solid warmth beneath layers of fabric.
“You—” Rin’s voice cracked. He scowled to cover it. “You scared the hell out of me. I—I thought you were gone.”
Haru blinked slowly. “…You too.”
Rin pulled him inside and slammed the door shut, cutting off the storm entirely.
For the first time since the mountain swallowed them whole, the cold loosened its grip.
Wind battered the cabin walls in uneven bursts, snow striking the windows hard enough to rattle the glass.
They both tried their phones, but there was no signal this far up the mountain.
Rin searched the cabin as Haru sat heavily on the cabin floor. There wasn’t much inside—no furniture, no radio—just some random pieces of old wood near the fireplace and a matchbox that thankfully had three matches left. Rin gave a silent prayer of gratitude.
“At least we won’t freeze to death,” Rin said, kneeling to start a fire.
Haru helped silently, hands stiff as he struck a match. The red and orange flames flickered violently as the wind came down the chimney.
Rin hoped the fire didn’t go out.
The air slowly warmed as the fire finally caught, flames licking upward, warmth spreading inch by inch and casting flickering shadows across rough wooden walls.
Rin shrugged out of his damp jacket and hung it closer to the hearth. Haru followed suit, movements slow, stiff from cold. They removed their shoes and socks to do the same, allowing them to dry in the heat of the fire.
The silence sat heavy between them, the adrenaline dying down allowing for fatigue to creep into their bones. They sat close together, not quite touching but close enough, allowing themselves to soak in as much heat as they could.
The fire cracked softly, embers sparking as a piece of wood shifted. The light danced across Haru’s face, catching in the dark of his eyes.
Rin sat back, watching the fire settle into something steady.
“…Guess we’re not getting rescued tonight,” he muttered.
Haru, removing his gloves and rubbing warmth back into his fingers, nodded. “The storm’s too bad.”
Rin clicked his tongue, frustration bleeding through exhaustion. “Makoto’s gonna lose his mind.”
Haru’s lips twitched faintly, but stayed silent.
“I know I’m not gonna hear the end of it from Sousuke either.”
That earned a quiet huff of amusement from Haru. The sound was soft—Rin glanced at him, then looked away just as quickly.
“Haru, you’re shaking,” he stated, concerned.
Haru blinked, as if surprised by the observation. “Still cold.”
Rin hesitated. The cabin was quiet except for the wind clawing at the walls, the storm pressing in like it wanted to break through. He swallowed, then shifted closer, close enough that their knees brushed.
“Here,” he muttered. “Come closer.”
Haru didn’t argue. He leaned in, slow and deliberate, until their shoulders touched fully this time. Rin tensed for half a second—then relaxed as Haru’s weight settled against him, light but certain.
The warmth was immediate.
Rin’s breath hitched, barely noticeable, but Haru felt it. He adjusted slightly, fitting himself closer, their sides aligned. The way their bodies matched felt unsettlingly right.
“…Rin,” Haru said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Rin scoffed, but there was no bite in it.
Silence followed—not awkward, just full. The kind that hummed between them.
Haru’s fingers twitched at his side, brushing against Rin. He paused, then let his hand rest there, not quite touching.
Rin’s heart kicked painfully against his ribs. Slowly, as if giving Haru time to pull away, Rin shifted his hand—just enough that their fingers touched.
Neither of them moved after that.
The contact was small. Insignificant, really. But it sent warmth racing up Rin’s arm, pooling low in his chest. He stared at their hands like he couldn’t quite believe they were there.
Haru’s fingers curled first.
Not grabbing. Just… holding.
Rin exhaled shakily and tightened his grip in response.
Haru leaned in a little more, his head brushing Rin’s shoulder. He hesitated, then rested it there fully, dark hair warm against Rin’s neck.
The contact sent a quiet jolt through Rin’s chest. He tried not to think about how warm Haru was, or how easy it felt to sit like this.
Haru let out a soft breath, almost a sigh.
“You okay?” Rin asked, voice low.
“Yes,” Haru murmured. “I feel… calm.”
Rin swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”
They stayed like that, the world reduced to firelight and shared warmth. Rin became acutely aware of Haru’s breathing, slow and steady, the way it synced with his own without him trying.
It felt intimate in a way Rin wasn’t prepared for.
Haru shifted closer in response.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Rin hesitated, not wanting to ruin the comfortable silence between them, but needing to relieve the words that weighed heavily on his heart, “I kept thinking… what if I didn’t find you.”
Haru lifted his head and looked towards Rin, tearing his gaze from the fire.
Rin didn’t meet his eyes, his head hanging low and hair covering his eyes. He allowed his empty hand to rest in his lap, hands curled loosely, fingers red from cold and something else—nerves, maybe.
“Haru, I… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone ahead,” Rin's voice wavered, tears forming. “I knew the weather was turning.”
Rin stared into the fire, willing the tears away, heart pounding far louder than the storm outside.
“I thought…” Rin began, then stopped.
Haru shifted just enough to look at him. “Thought what?”
Rin clenched his jaw. “When I couldn’t see you. I thought I lost you.”
Haru’s fingers that held Rin’s hand tightened briefly in understanding.
“I don’t like that feeling,” Rin continued. “Not knowing where you are. Not knowing if you’re okay.”
Haru shook his head. “I followed you.”
A beat of silence.
“…I trust you,” he continued, finally.
Rin blinked. “What?”
“I followed you because I trust you,” Haru said, simple and unwavering. “Even when it’s stupid.”
Rin let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. That’s… not comforting.”
“But it’s true.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“…I wanted to.”
Rin’s head slowly rose as he turned his gaze towards Haru.
Their eyes met—Rin’s glossy with unshed tears—blue and red catching in the firelight.
Haru held the gaze, calm but earnest. “I didn’t want you skiing alone.”
The admission settled between them, warm and fragile.
Rin looked away first, ears pink. “You’re an idiot.”
“Mm.”
But Haru’s mouth curved, just barely.
Time moved strangely in the cabin. The storm showed no sign of breaking. Every so often, Rin would glance toward the window, jaw tightening.
“…They’ll come looking,” he said, mostly to himself.
Haru nodded. “Makoto won’t stop.”
Rin snorted softly. “Yeah. He’s stubborn like that.”
Silence followed, comfortable now. The kind that didn’t press or demand.
Eventually, the fire burned lower.
The cold crept back in, subtle but insistent.
Rin shifted closer to the hearth, then hesitated. “We should… stay close tonight. To save heat, you know.”
Haru didn’t answer right away.
Then he scooted even closer, bodies brushing.
“Okay.”
Rin froze.
Minutes passed.
“You good?” Rin asked, voice rougher than intended.
Haru nodded, eyes half-lidded. “You’re warm.”
Rin swallowed harshly, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. “Yeah. Well. Body heat.”
Haru hummed softly, content, quiet for a long moment.
The embers crackled between them.
Rin shifted, then carefully—hesitantly—wrapped an arm around Haru’s shoulders, pulling him closer.
Haru didn’t pull away.
“…Rin.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re ok.”
Rin tightened his arm just a little.
The storm raged on.
Inside, warmth gathered where they touched.
When exhaustion finally claimed them, it was quiet and natural.
They decided to lay down near the dying fire, jackets and spare clothes layered beneath and on top of them. Rin hesitated only a moment before settling close, their legs tangling, Haru’s head fitting against his chest like it belonged there.
Rin shifted, trying not to be too close hoping Haru couldn’t feel the pounding of his heart.
“Don’t move,” Haru murmured, half-asleep. “You’re letting the cold in.”
Rin snorted softly. “Bossy.”
Haru murmured something unintelligible, shifting closer.
Rin held still, then—carefully—rested his chin against Haru’s hair.
“If rescue doesn’t come until morning,” Rin whispered, barely louder than the fire, “we’ll be fine.”
Haru nodded faintly, already drifting. “…Together.”
When the fire burned low and exhaustion claimed them, they lay side by side, bodies pressed together for warmth neither of them commented on.
Rin stared at the ceiling long after Haru fell asleep.
When Haru shifted closer, Rin didn’t pull away.
He closed his eyes.
The storm had passed sometime during the night, leaving the mountain washed clean and painfully bright beneath the morning sun.
They didn’t know what time it was when light filtered through frost-covered windows. Rin woke to the steady rise and fall of Haru’s breathing, their bodies tangled together, undeniable.
He glanced over at Haru, couldn’t help but stare at the tranquil face framed by ink black hair mussed from sleep. He stared even when Haru woke and stared back, something unspoken stretching between them.
Faint voices were heard, both recognizing the voices of their friends calling their names. They stirred and moved away from each other, both feeling relief at their rescue and disappointed by the loss of each other's warmth. Rin got up first, dressing in his now dry clothes, walking to the cabin door and opening it before calling out. Haru stayed for a moment—stretching—before also standing and redressing into his snow clothes.
Everyone met at the cabin, their friends crying with relief and wrapping them up in bone crushing hugs that conveyed the fear they had felt. Nagisa and Gou sobbed. Makoto and Rei had lectured through tears. Sousuke had looked relieved and annoyed in equal measure.
The hike down from the cabin was quiet, everyone’s nerves frazzled. Makoto and Sousuke carried the skis, allowing Rin and Haru a break to recover. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they followed the trail.
Rin kept his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders tense. Haru walked close enough that their arms brushed occasionally, though neither of them commented on it.
The cabin disappeared behind the trees.
Something about that made Rin’s chest tighten.
“You okay?” Haru asked softly.
Rin nodded. “I’m great, we made it through the night.”
Haru stared. “You’re quiet”
“…I’m fine,” Rin said, then sighed. “Just tired.”
That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth, either.
They walked a little farther before Rin slowed, letting the distance between them and the others widen just enough.
“Haru.”
Haru stopped and turned to face him.
Rin’s breath fogged in the cold air. For a second, he looked like he might bolt—like he always did when things got too close.
But he didn’t.
“…Back in the cabin,” Rin began, scratching at the back of his neck, “things were kinda… different. Intense.”
Haru watched him steadily. “Yeah.”
Rin frowned slightly. “You’re not gonna argue?”
“What’s there to argue about?”
That threw Rin off more than denial would have.
Haru took a small step closer. “It felt different.”
Rin swallowed. “It wasn’t just the cold, was it?”
Haru shook his head. “No.”
The word hung between them, fragile and terrifying.
Rin let out a slow breath. “I kept thinking it’d go away once we got rescued. That it was just… adrenaline, or stress, or whatever.”
“And?” Haru asked, tone careful and soft.
Rin laughed softly, “Well, it didn’t. I—I still feel it. Something.”
Silence settled—not heavy, but full.
“I don’t like not knowing where I stand with you,” Rin admitted. “Never have.”
Haru’s expression softened. “Then don’t stand far away.”
Rin looked at him sharply, “Haru, I don’t think you get what I’m trying to say here. This… that is…”
Haru’s ears were pink, gaze steady but uncertain in that way that meant he was pushing himself. “…Me, too,” he said quietly.
Rin’s chest ached at that.
“I feel it, Rin. The same.”
Rin ventured closer until they were standing face to face, close enough that Rin could feel Haru’s warmth through their jackets, close enough that stepping back would have felt like a lie.
Rin reached out, hesitated, then hooked his pinky around Haru’s gloved finger.
It was clumsy. Awkward.
Perfectly them.
Haru didn’t pull away.
Instead, he tightened his grip—just a little.
Makoto called their names from ahead.
Rin glanced up, then back at Haru. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now.”
Haru nodded. “But we don’t have to pretend nothing happened.”
Rin smirked faintly. “Good. ‘Cause I’m really bad at pretending with you.”
Haru’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.
They started walking again, fingers still linked, the mountain quiet around them.
The storm was over.
But something else had finally begun.