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Snow blankets the earth in large, ornate flakes, laying down sheet after sheet. It is pristine white, settling on treetops and in the nooks and crannies of the rocks lining the riverbank. It falls peacefully and beautifully. It does not make a sound.
Sion had always liked this type of snowstorm as a child—the kind that had school canceled and allowed him to tumble around in it and build abstract snow sculptures while the sun was still up and his mother could see his bright purple snow hat and pink cheeks through the kitchen window. Just to make sure he didn’t get lost in the blizzard, she'd say. Just to make sure it didn’t carry him away.
His mother would call him in from the porch the moment the sun fell and the world turned blue. Sion savored his walk in from the yard. The snow glistened as it crunched beneath his feet. The footprints that he’d made coming out were already covered in fresh snow. He walked over it again, ruining something precious, knowing something so beautiful and fragile would be destroyed. Thinking that maybe if it was destroyed by his hands, it wouldn’t be so terrible.
Now Sion and Riku’s breaths vaporize in the cold air in front of them, and they trudge along through its path.
There is nobody else around. The world is silent around Sion and Riku, padding them in a bubble where just the two of them exist. The sky is hazy, heavens opened up to pour flurries down on them. There is nobody around. The sun is setting. Riku huddles close to Sion, teeth chattering in his ear as Sion steadies him along.
Snowstorms are different as an adult, Sion knows now. Life doesn’t stop for a bit of snow. It doesn’t halt for icy roads, or squalls, or boyfriends wanting to have a getaway at the old family cabin in the mountains.
Sion had wanted to show Riku how to fish. Riku wasn’t completely keen on the idea, but he was the one who made them come up for the weekend anyway and Sion was so enthusiastic. It’s what he used to do with his father and grandfather, it’s a piece etched out from his childhood that he cradled gently in his hands to pass over to Riku.
“Okay, teach me to fish,” Riku had agreed easily. “Like you’re my grandpa.”
A laugh forced its way out of Sion’s chest as he told Riku not to say such things. “Dress warm,” Sion had instructed. “I’d rather you have too many layers than too few.”
Riku rolled his eyes, but dug through his bag for a sweatshirt. “But it’s nice and sunny out, it’s not even snowing right now.” The stern look on Sion’s face subdued him.
Sion honestly would’ve been fine with just one jacket on, as the temperature wasn’t even freezing when they set off down the hill toward the lake. But the walk was far, and he knew he’d need it later. He bundled himself up and left Riku to do the same as he dug out the fishing gear from the shed.
They met out front to make the trek down together. Sion had double checked Riku’s coat was fully zipped, pulled his hat down over his ears. Riku looked like a little kid with the puffer jacket one size too big and his gloved fingertips sticking out from the sleeves and the sweet pout that adorned his lips. He made Sion feel like a kid again. Like he woke up to his mother saying school was canceled and stuffed himself into his warmest winter clothing in all his excitement. Sion had kissed him, trying to erase the pout altogether, taking Riku’s hand and leading him down the hill.
“Just trust hyung,” Sion had said. “And don’t get sick.”
Sion is a chronic worrier, a terrible overthinker. Maybe he’s selfish too.
“I should’ve dressed you myself,” he says to Riku. He should have known. Riku is well-behaved at best and petulant at worst. Sion knew he didn’t want to fish. Sion knew and he still made him come.
“I didn’t think it would be so cold,” Riku replies. The proof is in him shivering, vibrating through his jacket and Sion’s, setting Sion’s skin alight with nerves. “It’s my fault.”
Riku didn’t listen to Sion’s warning, but Sion should have checked better, should have lifted up his sweater underneath the coat to make sure there was another snug layer below. He should’ve brought extra gloves, an extra hat. He shouldn’t have made Riku come at all.
“Come on,” says Sion, finishing packing up their gear. “Let’s head back while it’s still light out.”
Sion grabs Riku’s bare hand and slips one of his own gloves over his trembling fingers. They’ve turned pink, and ice cold even through Sion’s glove. “No, we shouldn’t both be cold. I’m fine.”
“Just wear one,” Sion whispers, a plea clouding out into Riku’s face, a fog of breath and worry. “Please. At least wear one.”
Riku accepts it wordlessly and lets his bare hand be held by Sion’s gloved one. The ground beneath them is cold, beginning to freeze solid, and uneven terrain makes their footing awkward. Riku gasps and points his finger out, Sion’s eyes trailing to where his wool knit wrapped hand points. “It’s snowing again,” Riku says, his voice a tiny, precious sound.
“No, it’s not,” Sion says. The grass is just shiny with icy crystals forming on the blades. He grips Riku’s hand tighter. “That’s just frost.”
The sun is quickly setting, and with it comes another steep drop in temperature. It watercolors the sky in pink and orange, reflecting off the river. It will be dark soon, Sion knows. The pink and orange will introduce the purple, and then the whole world around them will be dark blue, and they will not so easily warm up from that. Sion drags Riku closer into his side.
Stay close to me, Sion prays, eyes squeezed shut. Just stay by my side.
Their trudge down to the lake had been fun.
Riku formed his hands around the little snow that was left by the house, pushing it together with his fingers until he created some approximation of a snowball. Sion thought about stopping him—the snow would melt against his body heat and wet his gloves, cold sinking into his skin. But Riku’s smile was the sun, his eyes shone like stars, and his laugh chimed like bells in Sion’s ears. Sion could not stop that sound if he tried.
In some ways, Sion had always felt like Riku was bigger than him. Bigger than the whole entire world. All the world’s hope and dreams wrapped up into one person, a far kinder and gentler and sweeter person than Sion could ever hope to be. Sion let Riku play, let his laughter sing in his ears when he got hit with loosely packed snow.
The snow had petered out down toward the bottom of the hill. It melted into the riverbank, seeping into the wet ground. Riku looked disappointed, like it was the only thing making this excursion bearable. Guilt struck a shallow chord in Sion’s chest again.
Still, Riku watched in avid curiosity as Sion showed him how to use the fishing rod, how to attach the float and the hook and the bait. Sion knew Riku wasn’t very interested, but he hung around close by anyway and even tried throwing the line himself.
The river stretched on further, deeper into the woods beneath the hill. This was where Sion had always stopped with his grandfather. He knew the path better than he knew the lines in the palm of his hand.
“When I was a child,” he began, nudging Riku’s shoulder with his own. “The woods used to scare me so much. I’d make up stories to my mother when I got back, tell her I’d seen monsters. She would scold my dad for scaring me.”
From behind, Riku wrapped his arms around Sion’s middle, resting his chin on Sion’s shoulder. “I’ll protect you from the monsters, hyung,” he’d said. Sion willed away the nauseous guilt still clinging to his ribs. Riku could take care of himself, even though Sion still felt responsible. He couldn’t contain someone who contained multitudes. Even at his worst, Riku would always be bigger than Sion. Too strong to rely on Sion for everything. Sion knew he would need to wean himself off of being needed eventually.
“What happens if we catch something?” Riku asked. He looked a little grossed out at the thought of handling fish.
“We throw it back in,” Sion replied.
Their time had passed idly and the earth around them settled. The temperature dropped slowly, just enough for Riku to huddle closer. Riku would feel the tug of a fish biting down on his lure but his competitive spirit never kicked in fast enough to reel it in. Sion had only reeled in a few, and Riku watched with a grimace as Sion carefully unhooked the fish and released it back into the water. On his third catch, he asked Riku if he’d like to try releasing the fish.
Sion had talked him through it, said it might be better with the gloves on. Riku wouldn’t have to feel the slimy fish then. But Riku grew frustrated quickly at the decrease in dexterity the gloves leant him, and took them off.
He seemed to have an easier time then, only making a bit of a face when he came into contact with the fish. With the gentlest demeanor, Riku squatted down beside the river. Sion kept a hand steady on his shoulder, and Riku reached forward to release their catch back into the river, his removed gloves going in with it. The gloves immediately floated downstream, too fast for either of them to act on it. Riku had looked up at Sion, innocence and apologies written on his face. Sion watched the chill quickly settle over Riku.
“It’s okay,” Sion had told him. “We’ll get you a new pair. It’s okay.”
Sion had known then that they should’ve made their way back up to the house. Riku had just started enjoying everything, and Sion wasn’t quite selfish enough to bring himself to step in.
It is a privilege, Sion often thinks, to know someone as graceful as Riku. A privilege that would not soon come to someone twice. Sion has never met another person quite like Riku.
Riku doesn’t complain. Sion knows he’s cold—Sion feels it too, the urgency of the chill sinking down into his bones. Riku doesn’t complain. Maybe he doesn’t want Sion blaming himself, or maybe he’s too prideful to keep bashing his own poor layering.
They’ve barely made any distance from their fishing spot. The walk back up, Sion distinctly remembers, was always slower than the walk down. It is steep, and all childlike wonder and excitement have worn off. When he was young, Sion would only make it halfway up the hill before his little legs couldn’t take him any further. His father would pick him up, slinging him over his shoulder, and Sion would fall asleep the moment his little head hit the pillow.
The sun is still setting. It does not stop for Sion’s wishes. Maybe it would stop for Riku’s. Someone more powerful than Sion, more intentional and cautious and less careless and rash. Riku looks peaceful, like the thought hasn’t crossed his mind. Unbothered by the impending darkness, the all-consuming frost. Sion tries a deep breath.
“I had fun fishing,” Riku says quietly. “Thanks for teaching me.”
He is shivering. Sion should switch coats with him now, his sleeve didn’t get soaked like Riku’s did. He should carry Riku home. He should. He should. “Thanks for coming with me,” Sion replies. “Let’s hurry. We have to keep you warm.”
“I’m okay, hyung. Really.”
Riku’s teeth are practically chattering against each other but he’s stubborn. He’s headstrong and stoic. He doesn’t demand Sion’s respect but he earns it easily.
Sion can’t bear to keep looking at Riku’s pink cheeks and his red nose. He looks down at the ground, the path he’s traveled countless times. He watches their boots take each step, crunching against the frosty ground. All he hears is their breathing and the river rushing by.
Riku’s voice cuts into nature with another excited gasp. “It’s really snowing now.”
Sion whips his head up, ready to tell Riku it’s not, ready to ask him to climb up on his back. When Sion looks up, he sees the break of fresh snow falling. Riku must have caught the very first glimpse of the snowflakes. It’s a light snow, big fluffy flakes, the kind Sion used to find boring as a kid. It would barely lay, he couldn’t pack a snowball with it, school might not have even been canceled. As an adult, Sion has found peace within it. The intricacy of each snowflake, each unique pattern, how beautiful they are when captured perfectly by Riku’s bangs. Sion counts every crystalline form, each stitch in the fragile lace.
With every step they take, the snow picks up. It begins falling down on them heavily. Sion glances back behind them and sees their footprints left behind. The earth hardens and freezes right beneath his feet.
“It’s so beautiful,” Riku muses, face turned up toward the sky. He stops walking, feet planted firmly on the ground. “We should stop for a moment, hyung, we should take it all in. It’s so beautiful.”
Worst case scenarios flood Sion’s mind, drowning all reason and any care for beauty in nature with the force of their waves. He feels like his mother, overly concerned with all that can go wrong with a small child lost in the snow. He grips Riku’s hand more tightly, feeling resolved. “We have to keep going.”
Riku doesn’t oppose, but he is distracted as they walk, head upturned toward the open sky and mouth agape, moving slightly as if he is trying to count each snowflake as it falls.
“Riku,” Sion says, his voice sounding gravely serious even to his own ears. He hardly recognizes the sound.
It had been while releasing the final fish that Sion had caught that Riku’s sleeve became soaked. He kneeled down, knees pressed into the cold earth as Sion kept a close eye on him.
It appeared to be something like a ritual to Riku. Riku had always been someone who took extra care in his graciousness. Always properly blessing a meal and the hands that prepared it, expressing sincere gratitude to hospitality workers, holding a deep respect for those closest to him. He held the fish like a sacred piece of the ritual, closing his eyes like he was thanking Mother Nature for providing, and then placed it down in the water.
Riku did not pull his hand back up. He sat with his knees in the damp grass and his arm submerged underwater. Sion peered over his shoulder, asking, “Is there something wrong?”
It was like watching him being pulled from a trance. He had blinked up at Sion, those big eyes, ingraining themselves into Sion’s mind. He tore his arm out of the water like he’d been burned. “It’s cold…” he said. His coat sleeve dripped with river water. He stood and the fabric of his pants was darkened at both knees.
Sion did not know what to say. He stared at Riku, trying to fit together a puzzle he didn’t quite have all the pieces for.
“I thought the fish hadn’t swam away,” Riku explained, as Sion’s gaze pried him open and wordlessly asked him what happened. “I thought…”
“Maybe it was a stone you saw,” Sion offered.
“Yes,” Riku had quickly agreed. “A stone.”
Sion then remembered a story he’d heard retold dozens of times about his grandfather taking his father on a camping trip. It was years before Sion was born, years before his father had even met and married his mother. Sion’s father had wanted to stay out late stargazing. Sion possessed his same adventurous spirit growing up. When his grandfather found him, his body was quite cold and he was talking nonsense about the stars, about seeing one fall right before his eyes, about catching one in his hands. Nonsense, until they’d gotten back to the tent with three portable heaters turned on high and layers of blankets tucked into his sleeping bag.
Love had molded Sion into someone more mild. The adventure had simmered out a bit. He’d become someone more cautious with someone he feared losing. Caution confused itself with paranoia.
Sion kept a close eye on Riku. Pulled him away from the riverbank. Asked him to switch jackets.
Caution could only do so much.
Sion often mistakes intuition and paranoia. Both Riku and his mother have told him as much.
Sion fights a battle in his mind that he can’t quite name. He goes to war with himself. It is brutal, and bloody, and stains the pure white world red.
Riku does not tell him to quit overthinking. He doesn’t wrap his arms around Sion or pet a gentle hand through Sion’s hair or press a kiss to the crown of his head like it will reach his mind and calm it. He stumbles beside Sion in the snow. His steps are clumsy, careless in a way that Sion’s never seen him.
The sun is setting. It’s blue all around them, and Sion feels like he’s late getting home, like he’ll be scolded for taking too long. Fresh snow stretches for meters in front of them. Sion looks over his shoulder again at their footprints. He watches each imprint ruin something once untouched. Theirs will be the only prints until tomorrow morning at the earliest. They are alone in this peaceful moment, just the two of them, evidenced by two sets of footprints.
There is a sound at Sion’s side, the brutal crunch of snow, a yelp, a grim splash. Sion tears himself away from the path they’ve made together to see Riku fallen into the river. He curses himself for the too long beat it takes for his instincts to kick in, and then Sion is going in after him.
It’s shallow here, at the very least, but Riku’s fall landed him right on his bum in the freezing water. Sion grabs him beneath his armpits, hauls him up back onto land. He’s soaked through to the bone and shaking like a leaf.
“Shit,” Sion whispers. “Shit, Riku, are you okay?”
He feels stupid for it, but it’s all Sion can think to say. There is an apology bubbling up in his chest for being too excited, too careless, too selfish. “Don’t swear,” is all the response he gets from Riku. His voice is weak and quiet like it's taking all his strength just to stay upright. “You know I hate it when you swear.”
But how can Sion not swear right now? It wasn’t even supposed to snow, let alone the temperature dropping below freezing. They weren’t supposed to walk home so late, Riku wasn’t supposed to lose a glove, Sion wasn’t supposed to take his eyes off Riku long enough to lose him. “Let me give you my coat, or let’s switch pants—”
“I just want to go home,” Riku tells him, arms wrapped around himself. His face is so red, his eyes welled up with tears. Snowflakes land on Riku’s hat and on his bangs underneath. Sion wonders how he could hurt someone so precious. “Please, hyung. I want to go home.”
Perhaps it was unrealistic to switch pants anyway, out in the cold like this. Sion looks away from Riku for just a moment, just long enough to take in the weather. They’re in the blizzard now. No way to be seen in their dark coats and black hats. Sion can hardly see the cabin up ahead, but he takes a steely breath, switching places with Riku to walk along the river, and says, “We’re almost there.”
The walk has never been so long before. Not even on Sion’s little legs as a child, not even lugging back buckets of freshly caught fish. Riku follows a winded path, even as Sion steadies him. His footsteps are slow, weighed down by his wet clothing. Sion doesn’t know what’s right. Something like a flight or flight instinct battles away in his mind, but he knows he has to get Riku home. He promised. He won’t hurt Riku anymore.
It is shortly after Sion’s resolution that the nonsense begins. Riku is not usually so chatty, but suddenly he has everything to say. Something about meeting mom inside for hot chocolate, something about forgetting his gloves at home. And then, crystal clear and terrifying, he simply asks, “Where are we?” He stops in his tracks and looks around. “Were we out all night?”
“We’re going home, Riku,” Sion repeats, patient through his fear. He points a shaky finger to the warmly lit cabin in the distance. “We’re almost there. Can you see it? The lights are still on. It’s waiting for us to come home.”
Riku makes a face at Sion like he’s been offended and rips himself away from Sion’s side like a petty kid. “They’re gonna be so mad at us for being late,” he says pointedly, like he’s absolving himself from any fault. Like he’s blaming Sion.
“Who?” Sion asks, though he feels it too. They will be mad. Sion has never come home so late before. He’s going to be in so much trouble. It’s all his fault. Even Riku thinks so.
It is quiet for quite a few more steps. Every time Sion comes close to Riku, tries to scoop him back into his arms, Riku gets combative. He pushes Sion away as if he’s angry with him. Sion won’t let himself feel sorry for it—he needs to stay close. He needs to keep Riku safe. Panic sets in and it finally becomes a feeling that Sion can name. They can’t get home fast enough. Snow blankets everything they see, even piling up on their own shoulders. Mom should have called them in by now. Sion remembers the walk being more fun in his childhood. He remembers the snow and ice crunching beneath his feet, the footprints breaking up the purity, watching from the window and wondering if the world would ever be the same after the snow melted. He wishes Riku had been there then. That he’d known him his whole life. That he’d seen it all, shared it all with Riku. The awe and the wonder but never all the fear.
“Are we still going fishing?” Riku asks, delirium overtaking him. “I want to go fishing. I want to feel like family.”
“You are family,” Sion insists. “You’re my boyfriend now, but then you’ll be my husband. And then we’ll have kids and teach them to fish too.”
Riku stops walking. He starts fidgeting with his clothes, and Sion is just about to offer to switch coats or switch pants or carry Riku home when Riku rips off his singular glove and his hat and drops them into the snow.
“Riku,” Sion says in protest. Riku is already walking again, but in the opposite direction. Sion scrambles to pick up his dropped garments with freezing fingers before chasing after him. “Riku, no. We’re going home.”
“It’s so hot,” Riku moans. “It’s so hot that way. It was cooler back here.”
“No.” Sion grabs Riku by the shoulders and turns him back toward the house, trying to fit his hat back on over his ears. “No, no, no. We’re almost there, Riku. Don’t do this now.”
It’s a plea deal with himself more than anything. Sion will take all the blame, plead guilty to everything if it means Riku makes it home. “Hyung, I’m so hot,” Riku insists. He pulls off his hat again and then Sion watches in horror as he strips off his coat. “Help me take off all my clothes.”
The coat falls to the ground with a wet thud. Sion tries to pick it up, tries to stop Riku from taking off his boots too, but Riku’s only physical strength right now is found in fighting Sion off.
“Don’t touch me,” he groans, uncomfortable and overstimulated. He still pulls at his remaining clothes like it is far too many layers, like it’s ridiculous to be wearing all of them.
This isn’t Riku. Sion imagines some fictional story where this isn’t Riku, Riku is waiting for him in front of the fireplace. His Riku is kind. His Riku doesn't push him away. But then, Sion supposes, he’s never betrayed his Riku like he’s done tonight. Maybe this is his Riku when wronged. Maybe Sion deserves worse. Worse than to be pushed—Sion should be punished. Punished for every time he’s wanted to ruin something, to control it, to plead and force and destroy. Riku never wanted to go fishing. Riku wanted to stay in. Sion will punish himself until he learns to listen.
Riku has peeled his shirt off now, shucked his pants down until he’s nearly tripping over them. Sion reaches out to steady him, and now naked, Riku is docile once more. His skin runs deathly cold. Fear lodges itself deep in Sion’s chest, freezing within him, turning him rigid from head to toe.
They’re so close now. Sion can see the smoke billowing from the cabin’s chimney. He can feel Riku’s pulse through his grip on his wrist, thrumming a slow, uneven beat.
“Riku,” he says, voice desperate and cracking. He takes off his own coat, still dry, and wraps it around Riku. “Just do this for me. Please.”
Even if you hate me. Even if you never forgive me. Sion is not sure if he’ll survive even that. Riku has never been quick to anger. He never yells, never pushes, never loses patience.
Sion’s mother always told him how fiercely he loved. It wasn’t something he started slowly, but rather fell headfirst into. His love is all-encompassing. His love hurts him, she used to say. It cracks him open. Sion wonders if it’s obsessive too. If it’s destructive. If it’s so painful, it would ruin Riku’s life too. Riku has always smoothed out Sion’s tense edges, but Sion wonders if he has cut into Riku’s softness too. Something delicate and fragile, ruined by his hands.
Everything in Riku’s world seems to have slowed down. He accepts Sion’s coat, like he’s too tired to refuse. He blinks at Sion slowly as if he’s falling asleep. In his daze, he remembers who he is. He clings onto Sion.
Sion has always thought pain felt cold. Others described it as burning hot, but for him it feels ice cold and frozen.
“Hyung,” Riku whimpers with a hoarse voice, so quiet Sion can hardly hear it.
“I’ve got you,” Sion tells him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Riku falls to the ground, legs weak and giving out beneath him. The cabin is just a few meters away. Sion goes down with him, Riku’s arms clutched around Sion’s torso.
Sion squeezes his eyes shut and prays to a god he doesn’t believe in. If god is real, Sion will get another day with Riku. Although, if Sion did believe, maybe he wouldn't need to pray so hard right now. Maybe believing would be enough to save Riku. He feels like a cheat even in his fraudulent faith. He can’t do that right. He can’t believe in something beautiful, something Holy. Sion takes his bare, calloused hands to mold it instead into what works for him.
Riku is so cold against him. Sion has never felt a human so cold. Forget fight or flight, it’s closer to sink or swim and Sion feels somewhere deep in an ocean of dread. Weighted down with lead tied to his ankles. Sinking slowly and unstoppably. Lungs filled up with water and constricted breathing.
As he holds Riku, Sion imagines making the phone to his parents. From a hospital, he hopes at the very least. He hopes Riku will fight this time. Not to go docile but to fight. To kick and scream and give himself a chance.
I’m sorry, Sion would say. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I take responsibility. The doctors said— Sion doesn’t know what the doctors would say, can’t even imagine it when Riku is in his arms right now, heartbeat slowing, body temperature dropping. Sion fumbles for his phone in his coat pocket on Riku’s body and shakily dials 119.
He barely hears himself ask for help. “My boyfriend is freezing,” he says. “I’m cold. I think he might be dying. I’m scared.” He hardly remembers telling the address. They tell him help is on the way. They tell him to keep him as warm as possible.
Waiting for an ambulance, Sion imagines the call made to his own parents. We’re sorry. Your son… we couldn’t save him. He hears it ringing around in his head but it doesn’t scare him. Not nearly as much as losing Riku.
He wasn’t fast enough. He didn’t do anything right. “Take me,” he pleads, looking up to the sky. “Take me instead.”
Sion opens his shirt and hugs Riku tight against his chest. He prays the little body heat he has left is enough.
The snow falls heavily around them, housing them in a life sized snow globe. Riku lies still against Sion’s chest. He watches the large snowflakes whipping around them, an endless flurry pouring out from the sky like the punishment Sion thought he deserved. He lays back against the ground, letting his body guard Riku’s from the snow covered, freezing cold earth beneath him while his own coat shields Riku’s back from the blistering air.
The blizzard will take him now.