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It is cold.
Seungmin’s gaze is lowered down onto the snow, the sleeves of his jacket pulled all the way over his fingertips. Carefully, he follows in Minho’s footsteps. The snow is deep. Who knows what could be hiding underneath it all?
Minho is humming something, a quiet melody that Seungmin doesn’t recognize. A song, he assumes. Maybe it used to be his favourite. It’s a trivial thing, but he’d like to know if it was.
The cold winter air chews its way through Seungmin’s clothes, all the way through three thick layers, and makes him shiver. His right hand loosens its grip on the baseball bat, uses it to draw a line behind him so that they can find their way back.
It is cold.
Wrapped in a handmade woollen blanket Seungmin sits on the couch. A chilly gust of wind snakes into the house as Minho comes back inside. Tiny snowflakes sit on his hat and melt on his cheeks. He doesn’t bother thumping the snow from his boots, just walks over to the fireplace and places the fresh wood on the grey ashes.
A match, a flame, and the wood is burning.
Seungmin lifts a corner of the blanket and pats the couch next to him.
An invitation.
A plea.
Seungmin’s hands easily find Minho’s underneath the warmth of the blanket. Seungmin’s are warm; Minho’s are cold. They complete each other. Two halves of a whole.
It is warm.
Seungmin’s face is hidden underneath the hood of his sweater. Two strong arms are wrapped around his waist, holding him tight and pressing him against a warm chest. He trails his hands upwards until he can cradle Minho’s face in his palms, then gently uses his thumbs to trace his cheekbones.
A promise whispered onto dry lips.
I will stay by your side. Forever.
It is warm.
The last of their firewood turns to ash in the fireplace. We’ll need more soon, Minho had said, but Seungmin knew he was scared. Scared of the world outside their home.
I’ll go.
Seungmin can see it in his eyes. The No laying on the tip of Minho’s tongue. Don’t go. Protectiveness.
Though, Minho doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t say anything as he wraps a scarf around Seungmin’s neck. Doesn’t say anything as he buttons up Seungmin’s jacket, and doesn’t say anything after he places a tender a kiss on Seungmin’s lips. But he doesn’t have to say anything at all. Seungmin knows what he’s thinking. Knows, what he’s feeling.
Be careful. I’ll wait for you.
I love you.
It is cold.
The axe in Seungmin’s right hand is heavy. The way to the woods isn’t far, but the snow is falling faster than before in big, countless snowflakes, and the house quickly becomes nothing but a faint silhouette.
The snow under Seungmin’s feet is solid, until it isn’t. A hand clings to his ankle, makes him stumble, pulls him to the ground. The axe slips from his grasp.
Sharp claws dig through the fabric of his pants, grab at his jacket and rip it apart, searching for skin, searching for flesh.
Seungmin shakes the creature from his back and rolls around. Dark, lifeless eyes stare at him, unblinking, before the undead thing pounces on him again. Seungmin feels a hand tugging harshly at his scarf. Feels the cold air meet his skin. Feels black, rotten teeth pierce through his skin to take a bite.
The blood running down his neck is warm, just like the fire inside the house. Their house. Minho’s house.
Minho.
The snow keeps falling. Falls onto his body. Falls onto his face. Melts on his warm skin and runs down his cheeks, together with tears.
Minho.
Seungmin’s fingers twitch, reach blindly for the axe, never reach it. Too far away.
Minho.
Seungmin’s blood seeps into the snow. Black hair. Red blood. White snow.
Snow White.
Minho, he whispers as his heart freezes.
Minho, I’m cold.
It is cold.