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The heating in the apartment was working overtime, humming softly through the vents, turning the place into something almost drowsy. Daniel hadn’t been outside since the first snow fell, sleeves pushed up, collar open, the outside world reduced to little more than a blur of white beyond the windows.
New York in winter was dramatic about it. Snow piled high along the streets, wind cutting between buildings like it had something personal to prove. But from the inside, it was almost decorative.
He only realised he was out of groceries when he went looking for milk to go with his coffee and came up empty. Daniel stared into the cupboard for a moment, as if something might materialise out of sheer stubbornness. It didn’t.
“Fantastic,” he muttered.
It wasn’t a big problem. The shop was barely a few blocks away. In and out, ten minutes, fifteen if the lines were bad. He didn’t bother with a coat, he just grabbed a windbreaker on his way past the door, already halfway out of the apartment before the cold had a chance to factor into the decision.
Jack and Lula had escaped to Florida when heavy snowfall had been predicted for New York. Merritt, claiming he’d grown too old for last minute travelling, decided to stick around without actually sticking around. While telling them he wasn’t up for taking a trip on such short notice was rich coming from a guy whose success relied on travelling and last-minute notices, Merritt had been too confident and then utterly disappointed when Daniel announced he wasn’t leaving either. His decision shouldn’t have been a surprise, Daniel had shrugged. New York was his home and he wasn’t going to leave if he didn’t have to. Snow or no snow.
“Remember the last time it was just the two of us, Atlas?” Merritt had argued, “Remember that?” he’d egged on.
“You don’t have to stay,” Daniel had simply said, very set on staying put. So Merritt had filled a backpack and set out to God knew where. Daniel couldn’t care less as long as it didn’t affect him and the, fragile, peaceful existence he’d created in The Eye’s apartment. It’d been some time since he’d properly lived alone and he’d rediscovered the joys of having a routine and food that didn’t disappear from one hour to the next. Only, he’d forgotten that even if he was the only one eating the food, it had to be replenished at some point. He’d only noticed when he tried to add milk to his coffee and found the fridge empty.
The building door closed behind him with a finality that would have been louder if the snow hadn’t swallowed it up immediately. Daniel’s lungs protested against the icy cold, seizing into a sharp coughing exhale as he breathed in the frigid air. He’d grown too used to the indoor heat. He should have grabbed a thicker coat, he thought.
He only made it a few steps down the sidewalk before he stopped. Something tugged at the back of his mind, the sense of having forgotten something. He frowned, already turning back towards the building. His wallet. He’d forgotten his fucking wallet of all things.
His hand went to his pocket, fingers brushing against nothing but fabric. He checked the other one and found it equally empty. His keys were missing.
“Right,” he said under his breath, more thoughtful than concerned.
It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t a disaster either. The door downstairs sometimes stuck if you shut it wrong, it wouldn’t latch properly. He’d done it before, come and gone without thinking twice about it. Worst case, someone else in the building would be coming or going. He wouldn’t be out here long enough for it to matter.
The cold bit a little deeper as he turned back, wind cutting straight through the thin fabric of his jacket this time, no longer softened by the warmth he’d carried out with him. Daniel ignored it, quickening his pace as he reached for the handle and pushed. The door didn’t budge, making him frown at it before adjusting his grip and trying again. He pushed, shoulder following through with the motion and finding it didn’t move.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbled to himself. He’d counted on the lock not working properly, as often had been the case.
Daniel exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound fogging white in the air before being torn away by the wind. It was fine. It was annoying, sure. Inconvenient, but not a crisis. He’d been in worse situations than being locked out of his own apartment for a couple of minutes.
He stepped back from the door, glancing up and down the street as if the solution might be walking towards him. The city was quieter than usual, the heavy snowfall muting the constant background noise into something distant and dull. No one was immediately nearby. No helpful neighbour stepping out at just the right moment.
Daniel shifted his weight, tucking his hands under his arms more out of habit than necessity. At least, that’s what he told himself. The cold had a sharper edge now, slipping past the thin barrier of his jacket, settling in places he hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t unbearable, just uncomfortable.
He could just … wait. Or ring a random person’s doorbell and hope he wouldn’t get shot for his troubles. He grimaced and decided that someone would come out. Eventually.
He glanced back at the door, then towards the alley beside the building, where the wind didn’t seem to cut quite as harshly. He should probably move. Standing out in the open like an idiot wasn’t doing him any favours.
With his hands tucked close to his body and his shoulders drawn close to his head, he approached the alley and found it marginally better. There was less wind, but the cold had a way of lingering there, pressing in rather than passing through. It settled into the concrete, the air itself, wrapped around him in a way that felt like an unwelcome hug that felt inescapable. So he started pacing. His fingers had started to stiffen, the slow loss of dexterity more irritating than alarming just yet. He flexed them, feeling the ache in his bones, but brushing it off because that’s just what happened when hands got cold.
He was shivering, his body trying to generate heat, tremors uneven and increasingly ineffective. He hadn’t even been out in the cold for long yet, but all he was wearing was a thin windbreaker and Merritt had called him a stick with legs more often than he cared to remember. With no fat to his bones, the cold had settled into his body and he was starting to ache something fierce.
He kept pacing while occasionally moving to look at the door to see if anyone was going in or out.
At some point, he stopped keeping track of how many times he’d crossed the alley. The door remained stubbornly closed, unchanged no matter how often he checked.
And as more time passed, pacing stopped feeling productive. Daniel wasn’t entirely sure when that had happened. One pass through the alley bled into the next, footsteps muffled by the thin layer of snow that had started to settle even there. The door remained stubbornly closed every time he checked it, the handle just as unyielding as before, as if repetition alone might eventually wear it down.
He exhaled, watching the shape of it dissipate into the air. His fingers had gone from stiff to clumsy. When he flexed them now, the movement lagged, like they belonged to someone else and he was just borrowing them. Which was a train of thought that made him vaguely nauseous.
He focused back on the door, not sure when he’d turned back to it. Someone would come out sooner or later. They had to.
The thought had circled back so many times it had lost some of its meaning, flattening into something rehearsed rather than reassuring. He leaned briefly against the wall, just for a moment, the cold of it seeping through the thin layer of fabric at his back. It wasn’t better than pacing, but it was less exhausting.
Daniel pushed himself upright again almost immediately, more out of habit than urgency, and resumed pacing. He had to keep moving. His toes were numb while his fingers finally started to feel warm again. He kept his shoulders drawn in, chin tucked slightly in an attempt to conserve heat he knew he didn’t have. The shivering hadn’t stopped, but it was less violent now that his fingers were warming up.
He paused, wading through his muddy thoughts to recall why that made something in the back of his mind light up red. The feeling slipped away as soon as it had arrived, dissolving before it took shape. Daniel stood still, staring at the ground, and waited for it to return while also revelling at the heat spreading through his hands. He looked up at the door, allowing himself to drop his arms to his sides. It was still closed, of course. He hadn’t expected anything different. He was getting used to the temperature now anyway, he could wait this out just fine. He slipped further into the alleyway and out of the wind entirely where he sat down with his back against the wall. Pacing was getting too exhausting with nothing to fuel the irritation. He almost felt comfortable. If only the snow wasn’t so wet.
He grimaced down at the ground, getting up again in a staggering motion that almost sent him straight back down. He didn’t feel the cold anymore. In fact, he was starting to feel hot. He shrugged out of his windbreaker and laid it out so he could sit on something dry. There. That was better.
Daniel settled against the wall, the wet snow pressing faintly through the windbreaker beneath him. For a moment, it was oddly comforting. The soft muffling of the world, the small patch of relative shelter. His fingers flexed again, and the warmth lingering in them gave a brief sense of triumph. He allowed himself a slow exhale, letting his eyes drift over the alley entrance. He couldn’t see the door to the building from his position though.
Time became slippery. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out here. Just a couple of minutes? Ten? More? The sky was eerily white, but still somehow darker than when he’d set foot outside the first time.
He shifted, drawing his knees closer, the motion not a conscious decision. The shivering was sporadic, almost gone now. The numbness in his toes was creeping higher, which he didn’t notice at first. Distracted by the warmth spreading across his hands, he focused on the soothing sensation of rubbing his fingers together.
It’s fine, he told himself. He was just resting for a bit.
But resting felt easier than it probably should have. His mind seemed to slow down, thoughts circling the same phrases over and over. Someone would come. The door would open. The snow was wet, but only a distant nuisance. He tried to focus, but the edges of his awareness were softening, melting into the alley until it personified into an entirely different being. No longer bound to him and completely out of reach.
He noted the heaviness in his limbs. How shifting his legs was a monumental effort and how his arms ached and made it clear they’d rather stay where they were. His hands, no longer kept busy by the endless stimming, were motionless as well. He also took note of the wall behind him, holding more of his weight than he’d previously allowed. He blinked rapidly, confused by how his senses felt like they were under water and how reasonable it sounded for him to just rest a little longer until he was less tired. Until the door opened and he could go inside. Until … until he was warmer. He already felt warm, he vaguely thought.
He curled up tighter, knees drawing closer to his chest. The wind couldn’t reach around the corner of the alley, but the cold seemed to find its way in anyway, creeping up from his feet, through his legs, settling deep in his core. But Daniel couldn’t feel its presence anymore. In fact, he couldn’t feel much of anything anymore.
A nap sounded really good right about now.
Merritt’s bag was quickly thrown off his shoulders when he stepped into the apartment. He’d forgotten his phone charger, and why buy a new one when he had a perfectly functioning one at their shared apartment? He’d broken into one of The Eye’s other safehouses. One they’d already been before, but the heating wasn’t working and he’d read his book cover to cover twice already. Having forgotten his phone charger had just been the cherry on top of his miserable time spent alone in an equally miserable apartment. When not even Candy Crush could keep his spirits lifted anymore, he’d gathered his things and made his way back home.
“Atlas?” Merritt called out, shaking off his wet boots and jacket. “I forgot something,” he started, “Think I’d rather stick around, though.” Merritt made his way into the kitchen, hissing through his teeth at the lingering cold in his extremities.
“It’s getting cold outside,” he explained, opening the fridge only to find it empty. “Really? Even the milk?”
He closed the fridge and grumbled something about the stack of Twinkies he usually kept in his bedroom, knowing he’d run out before he even left when the snow hit. The words jumbled together while he walked into the living room.
“Danny? When’s the last time you-“ The living room was empty. “Really? With my,” he lifted his phone and squinted at the display, “5% battery, you’re expecting me to have a whole goddamn conversation?” He knew Daniel wasn’t expecting him to call at all, but Merritt’s exasperation had to go somewhere.
The call didn’t go through immediately. It never did. All those technological advancements and calls still took ages to actually go through. A buzzing in the direction of the couch made it clear his call wasn’t going to be answered. Cursing colourfully, he reluctantly accepted that his Twinkies weren’t going to be restocked anytime soon. Merritt didn’t think twice about Daniel’s phone having been left behind. Daniel often left it at home while he ran groceries. Something about not wanting to carry too much.
Though leaving his keys and wallet was another thing entirely. Merritt looked at the table where both items were welcome to start explaining themselves any time now.
He paused, staring at the items before looking out into the room again.
“Danny?” He called out again, leaving the living room to check the other rooms for any sign of life. He ended up in the hallway again, already pulling on his still dripping jacket before he even had a plan. He should probably call Dylan, he figured. Going out now wasn’t smart because he didn’t know where Daniel was. For all he knew, he could have taken shelter somewhere warm. Like a store. Something a reasonable person like Daniel would have done, wallet or no wallet. But then what? He didn’t have his keys on him, how was he going to return?
Cursing again, Merritt slipped into his boots and bolted out the door. His own keys were in his jacket pocket, he knew, but he felt for them anyway before he hit the stairs.
He practically ran out of the building, boots crunching on the snow clinging to his soles. The wind had picked up, white flurries swirling into little drifts along the sidewalk. He scanned the street, and every shadow that might conceal a figure. Just in case.
Daniel!” His voice sliced through the whiteness. The usual bustle of New York city was quiet with the weather prediction heading towards blizzard territory. It had already started snowing again.
There was an alleyway just around the corner and there, a shape, small and hunched into itself, almost hidden in the corner where the walls met. A figure sat curled into itself. Merritt’s stomach dropped at the familiar hunch of the figure’s shoulders.
He ran the last few steps, breath short, mind racing. The figure didn’t move as he approached. Not until Merritt was close enough to see the slackness in the body, the shallow rise and fall of the chest.
“Daniel?” His voice cracked. The wind snatched it away before it could carry. Even in the short distance between them.
Fucking stick on legs and he wasn’t even wearing anything appropriate for the weather! Merritt forced himself to kneel, brushing snow off Daniel’s shoulders, checking his pale face for any sign he was at least conscious. His lips were tinged blue. His eyes were closed, and he looked, quite frankly, dead. Lowering his gaze towards the ground, Merritt noticed Daniel was sitting on blue and red fabric. By now, it was mostly covered in snow, but he could vaguely make out a sleeve. So he’d had a jacket and taken it off?
“Hey,” Merritt muttered, gripping Daniel’s shoulder tight before feeling brave enough to shake him lightly. He felt fragile and cold under his warm hand. He had to get him inside. Fast.
Merritt scooped him up, holding him close for warmth, trying not to panic even as the cold seemed to seep into Merritt’s own bones. Daniel’s head lolled into the crook of his neck, giving him the impression he was carrying a block of ice. Only, Daniel was somehow lighter in weight. The building wasn’t too far away, though. He could handle this.
He muttered small reassurances, more to himself than to Daniel. “Almost there. Just hold on. You’re going to be fine.”
The snow muffled most sound, but every crunch of Merritt’s boots felt deafening in his ears. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered. Not until Daniel was inside where it was warm.
The heat hit him the second he kicked the door shut behind him, a stark, almost violent contrast to the cold outside. It didn’t help as much as it should have.
“Alright- alright.” Merritt’s voice was tight, breath erratic as he half-carried, half-dragged Daniel further into the apartment. Snow melted instantly against the floor, soaking into fabric, dripping in uneven patterns that he ignored completely.
He eased Daniel down onto the couch, hands hovering for a second like he wasn’t sure where to start.
“Don’t- don’t do that,” he muttered, more as an excuse to say something rather than instruction. Daniel’s head lolled slightly to the side. Merritt caught it, steadied him while the brushing of his fingers against ice cold skin made his stomach twist. He was way too cold.
“Okay. Okay, think.” He settled Daniel against the throw pillow and forced himself to move, quick but with a plan. Merritt tugged his own jacket off, dropping it to the floor without a second thought, then reached for the nearest blanket, then another, layering them over the too still form. He tucked him in with clumsy urgency.
“Wake up,” he said, tapping lightly at Daniel’s cheek. “Hey. Atlas. Open your eyes.”
There was no real response. His eyelids might have moved the slightest bit, but it could just as easily have been Merritt’s imagination.
He swore under his breath for what felt like the umpteenth time and grabbed Daniel’s hands, immediately flinching at the temperature. Cold, stiff and just plainly wrong. He rubbed them between his own, trying to coax some kind of warmth back into them, friction over numb skin that didn’t seem to react.
“Come on,” he pressed as if he could bargain him back. “You don’t get to do this.”
His gaze flicked towards the kitchen, thinking. A warm glass of water might help a little, but he had to be awake for it. Turning back to Daniel, he resisted the urge to hit himself over the head at his own stupidity. Daniel was still wearing his soaked clothes. He pulled the blankets off with an apology and started tugging at Daniel’s soaked shirt before moving to undo his shoes so he could start pulling off his jeans.
“This is not how I imagined our first time, Danny,” Merritt said. “Actually, I don’t imagine this kind of thing between us at all.”
He expected some kind of retort. Maybe a drowsy “are you sure?” or anything along those lines, but Daniel remained quiet.
“Work with me here,” he gritted his teeth, making quick work of Daniel’s jeans and socks before tucking him underneath the blankets again. Merritt watched him, afraid that if he took his eyes off him, he might slip away completely. He should call someone, he knew. But then Daniel shifted and all reason flew out the window.
The movement was small, but it was clearly there. Something had shifted under the heap of blankets. Merritt leaned in, focusing on his face and willing him to open his eyes.
“There you go. Yeah, that’s good. Come on, buddy,” Merritt encouraged. “Up and at ‘em.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed, a sluggish but familiar reaction. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but there. When he tried to speak, the sound that came out was little more than a slurred exhale.
“Cold.”
The word was barely audible, but Merritt latched on to it.
“I know,” he said quickly, relief and fear tangling together in his chest. “I know, I’ve got you. You’re inside, you’re fine.”
Daniel didn’t seem to process that. His gaze flickered unfocused, drifting past Merritt rather than landing on him, like he couldn’t quite make sense of what he was seeing. He moved again, a weak, uncoordinated adjustment that looked like he was trying to curl in on himself.
“No, hey,” Merritt caught his shoulders, steadying him. “Don’t-“ The movement was wrong. Slow and sluggish. His hand slid to Daniel’s wrist almost without thinking, fingers pressing in search of a pulse. It took a second to find, but when he did, he counted the faint, thready pulses. They were uneven and barely there. Something cold settled in Merritt’s stomach and it had nothing to do with the weather outside.
“Shit.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing the panic back down since it wouldn’t help either of them. “Okay. Alright. We’re not doing that,” he told him as if this was a conscious choice.
Daniel made a soft sound, something between a protest and confusion, his head tipping forward before Merritt caught it again. His eyes slipped half-closed, lashes sticking where melted snow hadn’t fully dried.
“You don’t get to check out now,” Merritt said, tapping his cheek urgently. “Stay with me. Look, I made a mess of the floor.” He wasn’t sure how that would rouse him, but he felt like his effort deserved some kind of response.
Daniel’s eyes opened again. They didn’t quite focus, but they lingered longer this time, like he was trying, failing, but trying to follow the sound of Merritt’s voice.
“Tired,” he mumbled, the word dragging and taking more effort than Merritt felt comfortable with.
“I don’t care,” Merritt shot back, harsher than he intended. He exhaled sharply before trying again, softer, “You can sleep later. Not now.”
He shifted closer to the couch, pulling the blankets tighter around Daniel, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck, keeping him upright. The warmth in the apartment was starting to work, slowly pushing back against the lingering chill.
Daniel shuddered suddenly, a weak tremor that barely qualified as a shiver. But it was something. Better than nothing.
“Just stay awake, alright?” Merritt rubbed at Daniel’s arms through the layers of blankets, trying to coax some kind of response back into him. He wasn’t sure how much it was helping, though. Daniel wasn’t answering and his head was dipping again, heavier than before, body slacking further into Merritt’s hold. His breathing was deeper and he’d clearly lost consciousness again, but he seemed to be doing alright, generally speaking.
Merritt didn’t stop talking, muttering encouragements before slowly moving on towards different topics. Twinkies, mostly. Then winter coats. Then anything at all, as long as Daniel kept shivering through it, which he was doing now almost violently so.
The shivering ran through Daniel in waves, jerking his frame beneath the blankets, teeth catching faintly against each other with the force of it. Merritt watched him from where he’d settled on the floor beside the couch.
“… and maybe next time, you add a few extra sweaters if you’re that allergic to winter coats. Actually, I think we left that poor excuse of a rain coat outside. I’m not getting-“
Daniel made a small sound, something indistinct, more breath than voice, but it was something and it stopped Merritt in his tracks. He’d pulled one of Daniel’s hands free from the blankets and started rubbing it back to life. It was an angry, painful red, but at least it wasn’t freezing anymore. He tightened his grip just slightly in response to the noise.
“Danny?” Merritt asked.
“Can … shut up.”
Merritt snorted. This is exactly what he’d been waiting for.
“Not if it keeps you awake, sleeping beauty.” A smarmy grin formed on his lips, relief bleeding through despite himself. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He was still rubbing warmth back into Daniel’s hand. “There he is,” he added when Daniel frowned.
There was no immediate response, his eyes were still closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. Merritt could tell by the way he was breathing, inhaling and exhaling through measured movements.
“Hey,” Merritt nudged, a little gentler now. “Don’t fall asleep. I worked too hard for that.”
A faint grimace flickered across Daniel’s face, slow and delayed. “Warm,” he mumbled, the word slurring slightly.
“Well, that’s the idea,” Merritt shot back before softening again, “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”
Daniel didn’t open his eyes at that, but he did move his head to lean a fraction closer to where Merritt sat beside him, making it look like gravity had decided for him. Merritt watched the motion, waiting for a pair of dark blue eyes to peek from beneath what appeared to be heavy lids.
“Here’s a revolutionary concept,” Merritt started again when he remained quiet. “Take your keys, next time.”
Daniel lifted his eyebrows in a gestured that told him he’d heard.
“And maybe don’t strip in an alley in the middle of winter,” he added. “That’s generally frowned upon.”
Daniel made a small sound that might have been a laugh. Or a complaint. It was hard to tell, but Merritt would take either. A win was a win.
They stayed like that for a while until, eventually, even Merritt fell quiet. He was going to need help getting off the floor, which meant a call to Dylan might be in order after all.
How embarrassing.