Archive of Our Own

Out of the nearly six hundred students in the Faculty of Earth Sciences, only twelve made the cut for the annual winter field study tour. Fluixon had spent over two years clawing his way to the top of that list, and so, unfortunately, had Saparata.

There had been a time, during their first semester, when the faculty had entertained the naive hope that the two brightest students in the Geology Department would eventually learn to coexist. However, it did not take long for everyone to realize they had been hopelessly optimistic. These two were completely, utterly, unbelievably incapable of even sharing the same oxygen.

The first incident had taken place during an introductory mineralogy practical, when Fluixon had spent forty minutes methodically working through a hand sample using every diagnostic test the manual prescribed, streak plate included, and had arrived at a fully justified identification of pyrite. Meanwhile, Saparata had looked at the sample for no more than eight seconds before writing “pyrite, obviously” on his answer sheet and spending the remaining thirty-nine minutes doomscrolling YouTube shorts.

To Fluixon’s dismay, they received the same mark. 

He had not recovered from this quickly, or, some would argue, at all.

By the end of the semester, the professors had discovered that placing Fluixon and Saparata in the same practical group produced one of two outcomes. Either the group finished the assignment in half the allotted time, correct in every meticulous aspect because neither of them could tolerate the idea of the other one catching an error first, or the group finished nothing at all, because Fluixon and Saparata had spent the entire session arguing. There was rarely any middle ground.

Professor Ish, who taught structural geology and had the misfortune of supervising both outcomes in the same week, eventually instituted an unofficial policy: Fluixon and Saparata could occupy the same room, the same laboratory, and if absolutely necessary the same field site, but never the same group.

Such was the case for two whole years. Which was why, when the list for the field study tour went up on the bulletin board outside the department office, more than a few students instinctively glanced around in search of the inevitable argument.

It did not take long for said argument to occur.

Pinned neatly beneath the faculty crest, the rankings read:

1. ACULON, Fluixon — 97.6

2. THERIA, Saparata — 97.6

Fluixon got there first. He read his own name at the top before averting his gaze to the name below his. The number beside both names was the same; the order, however, was not. At this realization, an ear-to-ear grin made its way across his face. Fluixon was still standing there admiring the announcement, entirely too pleased with himself, when Saparata arrived at his shoulder.

“Oh,” Saparata shrugged as he read the paper. “We got the same score.”

“Maybe,” Fluixon replied as he tapped at the order number beside his own name. “But I’m still above you. Look at that. Ninety-seven point six, ninety-seven point six, and somehow I win anyway.”

Saparata scoffed. “Oh please,” he said. “They probably put you above me ‘cause your last name begins with an A while mine is T.”

Fluixon rolled his eyes. “Okay, blame the alphabetical order, why don’t you.”

“Blaming? I’m stating a fact,” Saparata said through gritted teeth as he tried his best not to let his irritation seep through. The last thing he needed was for Fluixon to know his ragebait was working. “I bet if my last name began with an A, I’d be above you.”

Fluixon blinked, his face flat as he looked at Saparata innocently. After a beat, he finally said, “Okay but it doesn’t though, so…” He trailed off into silence.

Saparata pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and stared at the latter in annoyance. “That’s your rebuttal?” He asked, unimpressed.

Fluixon clicked his tongue as he turned towards the paper once more. “It’s the current state of affairs.”

“The current state of affairs,” Saparata repeated mockingly, “is that we tied.”

In response, Fluixon only tilted his head, that sickening grin never leaving his face. “And yet,” he said, tapping his finger at the paper again, “you’re still reading my name before yours. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a major skill issue.”

“It’s a coincidence of my surname—”

“Number one,” Fluixon said, cutting him off as he pointed towards his own name. Then he dragged his finger downward to point at Saparata’s, “Number two. Say it with me, it might help you process.”

“You’re insufferable,” Saparata huffed as he crossed his arms, definitely not for the first time throughout their university careers.

“Takes one to know one,” Fluixon shot back, not looking away from the paper.

Throughout this whole exchange, neither of them noticed the small crowd that had gathered behind them. Not that this was unusual. By now, arguments between Fluixon and Saparata had become some sort of, for lack of a better term, faculty entertainment. Students would slow down, lingering within earshot to watch the two bicker their asses off, while professors and teaching assistants had long since stopped attempting to meddle. After all, meddling never changed anything anyway. The two of them were always far too invested in winning to notice, let alone care, that someone was trying to talk them down.

In front of the bulletin board, Saparata’s gaze drifted away from the familiar print of their names at the top of the list, idly scanning the remaining ten students selected for the expedition. Then, his eyes landed on the line printed beneath the rankings.

Field Study Group A

“There isn’t a second group?” He exclaimed in bewilderment before jabbing his thumb in Fluixon’s direction. “I have to be in the same group with this guy?”

Hearing this, Fluixon finally looked away from the rankings, his eyes following Saparata’s down the notice as the smugness faded from his face in lightning speed. He squinted hard at the bottom of the page, praying that if his glare was sufficiently hostile enough, the words printed on the paper would miraculously reorganize itself into a separate Group B. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

“Field Study Group A consists of all twelve selected candidates for the five-day mapping expedition,” Saparata read aloud from beside him.

“Five days?” Fluixon choked out, his head snapping toward Saparata. “Five days?”

“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault!” Saparata scoffed. “You think I want to spend five days in a group with you?”

Thankfully, before their dispute could spiral any further, the sound of someone clearing their throat rang out from the back of the crowd. From it, Professor Ish emerged, clutching a cup of lukewarm faculty-lounge coffee while looking thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Professor!” Saparata exclaimed instantly, stepping toward him with his hands clutched together in desperation. “There’s been a massive mistake on the announcement! You forgot to split the cohort into two groups.”

“There is no mistake, Saps,” Ish replied as he took a sip of his coffee. “The department budget covers precisely one charter bus, one set of tents, and one supervisor, which they couldn’t even afford to outsource this time so it’s just going to be me. Which means there can only be one group.”

"Professor, surely this cannot be right," Fluixon interjected, panic momentarily forging a united front between him and his arch-rival. "Unless I am mistaken, every field study cohort before ours was split into two groups." 

“That’s because every cohort before yours had twice the budget and wasn't dealing with a cut on departmental funding,” Ish replied, lowering his mug. “Now, you two are going to manage like the adults that you are,” he continued flatly. “Or you can choose to relinquish your spots. If you do, let me know by four o'clock today so I can call the student who came in thirteenth.”

Fluixon opened his mouth, closed it, and bit his lip in frustration. Give up his spot? After two years of working himself to the bone to secure first place? Absolutely not. Plus, there was no way in hell he was going to let Saparata have the field trip to himself. 

Also, winter was, objectively, the best possible season for a study tour like this. In summer, the heat would expand the rock surfaces which softened its fractures, while thick vegetation buried half the outcrops they were supposed to study beneath weeds and undergrowth. In the winter, meanwhile, the dead vegetation left clean rock faces that were infinitely easier to read, while the cold and dry conditions made fractures and fault lines stand out far more clearly. Better yet, you could follow those faults for miles without being eaten alive by insects or rummaging your way through thorny bushes. That was an absolute win! There was no way Fluixon was going to give that up.

“I’m not dropping out,” Fluixon said flatly, crossing his arms.

“Neither am I,” Saprata declared as he puffed out his chest. 

Ish let out a long, weary sigh before turning back toward the direction of his office. “That’s what I thought,” he said, already heading for the stairs. “The bus leaves at six on Monday morning. Don't be late, we’ll leave you.”

As Ish’s figure disappeared into the distance, Fluixon clicked his tongue and shot Saparata a look from the corner of his eye. “This is going to be terrible.”

“Just stay on your side of the tent and don't speak to me,” Saparata said as he turned on his heel. “It shouldn't be that hard.”

“Trust me,” Fluixon muttered, his fists clenched at his sides as he set off in the opposite direction, “avoiding you is the easiest part of my day.”

– –

When Monday morning finally arrived, Fluixon had been awake since half past four. His bag had been meticulously packed since three nights earlier, with each component arranged in what he believed to be ‘optimal’ positions and verified against the handwritten checklist he’s made months before. His field notebook sat neatly in one of the pockets inside his bag beside a fresh mechanical pencil, two spare lead tubes, and his newly-recalibrated compass-clinometer. He even brought fresh new batteries for his headlamp on the off chance they decided to fail.

There was, objectively speaking, nothing left to prepare, but Fluixon still re-checked anyway.

By five o’clock, he had repacked his bag twice, convinced himself that three pairs of spare socks were insufficient, added a fourth, then removed it after deciding it was unnecessary weight, then added it back after deciding that unnecessary weight was probably preferable to unnecessary regret. What if they had to cross a river on foot? What if they had to extend the expedition by a day? What if one pair tore on the terrain? Of course, there was no guarantee that any of those things would happen. There was, however, also no guarantee that they wouldn’t.

At precisely five-thirty, Fluixon slung the backpack over one shoulder, locked the door behind him, and set off for campus. The walk to campus took twenty-three minutes if he kept a brisk pace, which he did mostly out of habit. The streets were still nearly empty at this hour: Traffic lights changed for roads with no cars on them, shopfronts remained dark behind their shutters, and the only sounds accompanying him were the tapping of his own footsteps and the soft of his breathing that exhaled into plums of smoke in the cold.

Fluixon reached the department with exactly six minutes to spare.

A white university minibus sat waiting outside the entrance, its rear doors propped open while several people loaded crates of equipment into the back. From what Fluixon could make out, there were a bunch of rock hammers, sample bags, first-aid kits, surveying poles, coils of rope, and enough waterproof cases to survive the apocalypse, each checked off against a clipboard before disappearing into the vehicle.

Then Fluixon glanced toward the entrance. Leaning casually against one of the stone columns in a white hoodie layered with a black puffer, vending machine coffee in one hand and wired earphones dangling from one ear, stood Saparata. Upon seeing Fluixon, Saparata’s lips curved into a wide grin. Fluixon grimaced; there was only one reason Saparata would arrive this early with that idiotic grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well,” Saparata said, pushing himself off the column. “Look who’s late.”

“It’s five fifty-four,” Fluixon deadpanned, checking his watch to confirm it. “The bus leaves at six.”

“I’ve been here since five-fifteen,” Saparata beamed proudly before taking a sip of his coffee. “Which means I got here first and I win.”

Fluixon scoffed. “There’s nothing to win. This wasn’t a competition.”

Saparata let out a bewildered laugh. “Oh, so now that you’re on the losing side it's suddenly not a competition? What a poor sport you are, Flux.”

Fluixon only rolled his eyes in response, adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, and walked past Saparata without another word. By the time he finally reached and climbed aboard the bus, the other ten students had already settled into their seats, some chatting amongst themselves, while others were half-asleep with headphones on, making the most of the early hour. Nobody paid him much attention. Not that Fluixon minded. 

He quickly found a window seat about halfway down the aisle, put his bag neatly on the floor between his feet, and started running through his mental plan on what he would make of this study tour. Fluixon had read the itinerary enough times to know it by heart. The afternoon would be spent at the Tree of Life, widely known as the Warden Tree, to conduct a series of geological surveys, the details of which are not especially important unless you, too, derive an unreasonable amount of joy from identifying rock formations. Fluixon certainly did.

Not long after, however, he was broken out of his thoughts when a shadow fell over the seat beside him and the aisle cushion dipped under someone’s weight. Fluixon didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Nobody else on this bus had such an annoying and hateable aura, and nobody else would have chosen the seat right next to an occupied one on an otherwise half-empty coach. With a sigh, Fluixon turned his head slowly to face the window, frustratingly pressing his lips into a tight line. He didn't want to give Saparata the satisfaction of a reaction, but after a few seconds of agonizing silence, he just couldn't help himself.

"There are four empty rows behind us," Fluixon said, keeping his eyes on the view outside. "And three in front."

"I know," Saparata said smoothly, setting his half-empty coffee cup into the plastic holder on the seatback in front of him before pointing to his eyes with both his index fingers. "I have eyes??"

"So why are you sitting here?"

Saparata leaned in a little closer, resting his forearm on the middle armrest and smirking at Fluixon. “What, am I distracting you?” He teased. “Aww, that’s cute, Flux.”

“It’s destroying my perfectly peaceful morning,” Fluixon grumbled, shoving Saparata away. “Move.”

Saparata stumbled slightly into the aisle from the shove, but immediately leaned right back into Fluixon's space, his shoulder brushing against his as he reclaimed the position. Then, quite frustratingly for Fluixon, he only said a single word: “Nah.”

As Saparata said that word, the bus’ engine sputtered with a mechanical shudder, and the vehicle finally jerked out of the parking lot. Seeing that Saparata has yet to change his mind about invading his personal space, Fluixon let out a frustrated breath, turning his gaze back toward the window before he’d do something he’d regret. He pressed himself as far toward the glass as the cramped seating allowed, his arms crossed as his jaw tightened in annoyance, doing his level best to pretend the warmth of Saparata's shoulder that was practically burning through his hoodie didn’t exist.

It did, obviously, exist.

He ignored it anyway. No, rather, tried to.

The minibus lurked down the highway below the gray winter sky, the buildings slowly thinning until all that remained beyond the windows were bare branches and frost-bitten fields. Inside the bus, Fluixon felt like he was losing his mind. He kept his knees stiffly angled away from the other boy as he breathed against the glass, clouding it beneath his breath. Beside him, Saparata shifted again. It was the fourth time in less than ten minutes. First, he had crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, then shoved his bag beneath the seat, only to drag it back out moments later. Now he had begun bouncing one knee in place while bobbing his head to whatever trashy music his earphones were blasting.

It had took Fluixon nearly forty-five minutes before finally losing his patience, his head snapping to Saparata’s direction as he hissed, “Can you stop fucking moving?”

Saparata pulled one side of his wired earphones down, letting it dangle against his collarbone, and turned his head slowly to face Fluixon. "Huh? What?" He asked, unbothered.

Fluixon grumbled under his breath. ”I said, can you stop fucking bouncing your knee and fidgeting everywhere! Jesus Christ.”

"I'm like- six foot, Flux," Saparata replied lazily. "My legs don't fit in these tiny-ass bus seats. Is it such a crime for me to try not to get blood clots? Oh, that’s right. You probably won’t get it.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Fluixon scoffed as he bit his tongue in frustration. “I’m barely an inch shorter than you.”

“Ehh, I’d say you’re an inch and a half shorter at least,” Saparata corrected smoothly, an irritating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And that’s on a good day when you’re not slouching.” 

Fluixon gave him the side eye. “I don’t slouch. And you’re exaggerating.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Saparata dismissed with a wave of his hand. He put the dangling earphone back in his ear, leaning back into the bus seat and closing his eyes. "Try not to breathe too hard, Flux. I'm planning on sleeping until we hit the site."

As the annoyance prickled at him, Fluixon bit his bottom lip in frustration, though he ultimately decided that arguing with a wall would not have accomplished much. So he let the matter die. Beside him, Saparata drifted steadily into sleep. Fluixon remained awake, spending the next few hours staring through the bus window as the views slipped by. About fifteen minutes from their destination, the smooth asphalt ended and gave way to an unmaintained gravel road littered with potholes, loose pebbles and stones, as well as ruts deep enough to make the entire bus lurch. Fluixon braced himself against the armrest as the bus hit a particularly vicious pothole, the jolt shooting straight up his spine. 

He found himself unconsciously taking a brief glance at the sleeping man beside him, only to find out that the bastard didn't even stir. If anything, Saparata only seemed to sink further into sleep, his head rolling lazily with the motion of the bus. When they went over another nastily uneven part of the road, the jolt caused Saparata's body to sway sideways. His head slipped cleanly off the headrest and, before Fluixon could so much as react let alone lean away, landed squarely against his shoulder with a thud.

Fluixon stiffened, taking a bewildered look down his shoulder where Saparata remained blissfully unconscious and apparently very content to use him as an impromptu pillow.

The absolute audacity.

Fluixon violently shoved Saparata’s head off his shoulder. "Get off me!"

Saparata snapped awake with a disoriented groan, his hand darting out to grab the seat in front of him to prevent him from falling off his seat and into the aisle. He rubbed his face, blinking heavily as he glared at Fluixon through his sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

"What the hell, Flux?" Saparata grumbled, his voice raspy from the apparently amazing sleep he just had. "Why’d you wake me up like that?"

"Cause you were using me as a pillow, dipshit," Fluixon spat, aggressively brushing off his shoulder. "Go drool on someone else!”

"Relax, man. It’s not like I did it on purpose," Saparata said coolly, letting out a heavy yawn before leaning back against his seat. "Besides, your shoulder’s like- so stiff anyway. Zero stars as a pillow."

This bitch.

Just as Fluixon was about to deliver a furious rebuttal, the hiss of the bus’s brakes cut him off, signalling that they've arrived. Outside the condensation-streaked windows and rising out of the vast, pale limestone terraces was the Warden Tree—a huge towering tree with gnarled, leafless branches that looked like a jagged lightning bolt. 

"Alright, everyone out!" Ish’s voice echoed from the front as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Grab your daypacks from the back and gather near the rear bumper. It's fourteen degrees fahrenheit (-10 celsius btw lmao) outside, so zip up and don’t die, cause that’d be… really bad." 

Saparata took one look at the frosty landscape outside, shuddered, and pulled his hood up over his head before changing his puffer to a parka. “Jesus Christ, fourteen? Yeah, there’s absolutely no shot I’m surviving that shit.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Fluixon muttered, slinging his backpack over both shoulders and double-checking the chest strap before shoving past Saparata. “Move out of the way.”

The moment Fluixon stepped off the bus, the cold hit him like a punch to the chest. The air was brutally dry, way worse than how it was back in the city, instantly turning his breath into thick white plumes of smoke. The frozen gravel beneath his boots crunched loudly as he walked around to the back of the bus where the rest of the students and Ish already huddled together, shivering in their heavy parkas and stamping their feet to stay warm. Saparata tumbled out of the bus right behind Fluixon, his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his parka that he’d by now buttoned up to the max.

“Listen up, we're mapping the limestone terraces around the base of the Warden Tree today. Make sure to watch your footing, though. The black ice is nearly invisible here,” Ish called out, his breath fogging up his glasses. “Anyway, I want strike and dip measurements from every assigned section from every one of you within two hours. Each section is marked with a red flag so you shouldn’t miss it. Once everyone's finished, we'll head to the lodgings." 

Ish unlatched the storage compartment with a loud clunk, pulling out a crate full of rock hammers, measuring tapes, and water-resistant clipboards. Fluixon reached straight into the crate for a clipboard and a compass, but before his fingers could wrap around a hammer, Saparata snatched the last decent one right out from under him.

“Hey,” Fluixon said, his hand freezing in mid-air. “That’s mine.”

Saparata twirled the hammer by the handle with a shit-eating grin, his breath clouding up between them. “Should’ve been faster, Flux. First come, first served.”

“Are you twelve?” Fluixon glared at him, grabbing one of the older hammers with a chipped rubber grip. 

In response, Saparata only shrugged, throwing his hammer up and catching it effortlessly.

Fluixon rolled his eyes, zipping his heavy parka up to his chin. He snatched a datasheet, turned on his heel, and started trudging toward the limestone terraces on the far east side of the site. The snow crunched loudly under his boots, but after a few dozen paces, he realized he wasn't the only one heading in that direction. Another set of footsteps were tailing right behind him. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, only to see Saparata standing three feet back, hands shoved into his pockets while looking totally unbothered.

“Why are you following me?” Fluixon asked in annoyance. “Go do the other spots first.”

Saparata raised an eyebrow. “I’m not following you. I picked the spot since we were still on the bus.”

“Oh yeah?” Fluixon asked with a raise of his brow. “Which section is this spot of yours in, then?”

Saparata paused, his brain clearly scrambling before he just shrugged. “Section C.”

Fluixon scoffed. “Section C is literally on the other side, you fucking liar.” 

Saparata didn't even look embarrassed. He just kicked a chunk of frozen slush with the toe of his boot before walking past Fluixon. “Whatever. Point is, I'm taking this one right in front of us.”

“Are we deadass?” Fluixon asked with a bewildered laugh, gesturing wildly at the empty snow behind them. “There are literally a gajillion other flags. Go pick another one.”

“Hmm,” Saparata hummed, pretending to consider it. “Nah.”

Fluixon stood there with his jaw clenched before stomping right after him. There was no way in hell he was giving up his spot and admitting defeat. And to Saparata of all people. When they reached the ledge, Fluixon immediately dropped onto one knee on the icy ground, shivering as he pulled out his compass. He lined it up against the rock, trying to get an accurate reading through the frost. Meanwhile, Saparata didn't even bother pulling out his equipment. He just stood over Fluixon, lazily studying the exposed bedding plane for a few seconds. 

“Strike is about sixty, dip is twenty-five southeast,” Saparata said casually after some time.

Fluixon froze. He looked down at his compass needle as it slowly settled into place: Fifty-eight, twenty-five to one-fifty.

Fluixon’s stomach dropped. He’d been freezing his ass off trying to level his compass for two full minutes, and Saparata had just looked at the rock for like- ten seconds and basically nailed it

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Fluixon murmured.

“I’m just saving us time,” Saparata said, looking down at him with his hands raised. “Now we can move on to the next point.”

Fluixon didn’t know exactly why, but that sentence really pissed him off. He snapped his clipboard shut with a sharp clack before standing up fast, his boot nearly slipping a little on a patch of black ice, but he managed to steady himself and glare at Saparata.

“Stop telling me what to do,” Fluixon snapped. “You think you’re so much better than everyone, don’t you?”

Saparata’s eyes widened at the uncalled-for comment before scoffing. “When have I ever said that?”

“You don't have to say it, you act like it every single day!” Fluixon exclaimed, stepping closer. “You put zero effort into anything, all you do is mess around, and now you just throw out a random guess?!”

“It’s not a random guess if it’s right, Flux,” Saparata scoffed again. “How is this even that deep, anyway?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Fluixon hissed as he clenched his fists at his sides.

“Seriously, you're so sensitive it’s insane,” Saparata said bitterly. “I literally just gave you the numbers so we didn't have to stand out here in the freezing cold, and you're throwing a total fit about it.”

“Sensitive?” Fluixon echoed. “Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you are? You don't take any of this seriously! You even fucking doomscroll in lectures. And even now you—“ He inhaled sharply. “How can someone like you be my biggest competitor?”

“So that’s what this is about,” Saparata laughed dryly. “What do you want me to do, Flux? Dumb myself down? Sorry I don't need to sit in the library until two in the morning like you do.”

“Fuck you,” Fluixon spat stepping closer and pointing his index finger at the latter. “I work hard because I actually give a shit. You’re just lazy.”

Saparata took a step closer as well in retaliation. “If I’m lazy and still beat you, what does that make you? It’s not my fault you have to try so hard just to be on my level.”

At that, Fluixon’s brain short circuited, and before he could even register what he was doing, he lunged forward and shoved Saparata hard in the chest. Saparata stumbled back onto the icy snow, his boot slipping slightly on the black ice.

“Shut up!” Fluixon yelled, coming right at him again and throwing a punch straight at Saparata’s face, but the latter caught his wrist mid-air, the force of the impact stinging his palm through his glove. 

“Flux, stop—” Saparata gritted out, trying to push Fluixon’s arm down.

“Let go of me!” Fluixon snarled, swinging his other fist blindly. It landed squarely against Saparata’s jaw with a heavy thud.

Saparata’s head jerked sideways from the blow, a sharp stinging pain radiating up his cheekbone. He bit back a groan, but he didn't raise a hand to strike back. Instead, he just grabbed Fluixon’s other wrist, pinning both of Fluixon's hands between their heavy jackets, wrestling him backward until Fluixon couldn't swing anymore.

“I’m not fighting you,” Saparata breathed heavily, his face inches from Fluixon’s, his grip tight around Fluixon’s wrists as his jaw throbbed from the punch. 

“Fuck you!” Fluixon yelled, his chest heaving as he tried to wrench his hands out of Saparata’s grip. He was shaking all over partly from the freezing cold, but mostly from the sheer embarrassment of having lost his cool. “Let go of me, Saparata, I swear to God—” 

“No,” Saparata said flatly. “Not until you get a hold of yourself.”

Fluixon took a deep breath, and as the freezing wind howled around them, the raw adrenaline that previously burned bright enough to blind him finally started to melt. His hands stopped wrenching against Saparata’s grip, going limp in his hold. He dropped his gaze to the snow-covered ground between them, his chest heaving as he forced his breathing to slow down. It was only then that Saparata loosened his grip on Fluixon’s wrists.

"Get your shit together, Flux,” he spat before turning away.

As Saparata’s figure faded into the distance, Fluixon stood there alone in the cold, his wrists still burning where the latter had held them. He pulled his gloves tighter around his hands and sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the fact that the freezing air was literally searing his lungs. His knuckles throbbed from where he'd landed the punch, but the pain in his hand was nothing compared to the mortifying knot twisting in his gut. He had broken his composure and lost his mind. Him. Fluixon flexed his hand experimentally and winced. Fine. Probably deserved, considering how he did that to himself. But in his defense, Saparata had made him do it. That was how Fluixon chose to phrase it in his head, even though a part of him understood that wasn't quite fair. 

By the time Ish called everyone back to the bus, Fluixon dropped his hammer and clipboard back into the crate without looking at anyone, his face still numb and stiff from the wind. He purposely sat on the far back side of the bus, staring out the fogged-up window the entire ride to the lodgings, while Saparata sat three rows ahead of him. 

When they finally arrived at the lodge, Fluixon unpacked his gear in silence. He didn't see Saparata again until dinner.

In contrast to the cold air outside, the communal dining room had its heater on full blast. Long wooden tables lined the room, and as everyone filed in, its matching wooden chairs scraped loudly against the floor. Fluixon grabbed his tray of food and found an empty spot at the end of one of the wooden tables. He pushed his food around more than he actually ate it, still replaying the events of the previous few hours in his head.

A few minutes later, Saparata walked in, an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel pressed casually against his jaw. Seeing him, Fluixon’s stomach did a sick little flip. He braced himself, waiting for Saparata to walk over and berate him or glare at him from across the room. Instead, the latter just sat down at a table on the complete opposite side of the hall, flanked by three guys from their study-trip. He dropped the ice pack, started laughing at something one of them said, and stuffed food into his mouth. He didn't look over nor even glanced in Fluixon's direction. Not once during the entire one-and-a-half-hour-long dinner did Saparata so much as acknowledge his presence.

Fluixon stared down at his bowl of soup, picking at a chunk of potato with his spoon.

Fine, he thought as he forced himself to swallow a bite. This is better anyway.

Regardless, Fluixon barely slept that night, tossing and turning in the bed while listening to the wind howl outside.

By six in the morning the next day, Ish had already rounded everyone up in the main hall. The night before, he had practically shouted over the noise in the dining hall, telling everyone to pack on every thermal and thick layer they owned for Day 2. "I don't care if you look like a walking sleeping bag! Tomorrow is going to be brutal!"

Sure enough, as Fluixon entered the main hall, he was greeted by the entire cohort looking like an army of over-stuffed marshmallows. Everyone was wearing massive, puffy parkas, heavy snow pants, and insulated boots.

Then, Ish clapped his loud, interrupting the sleepy chatter that reverberated around the room. "Alright, gather around! Quick morning briefing!"

As all twelve students huddled around him, fanning themselves from the warmth of the heater combined with their thick layers, Ish announced, "Today, we're heading up the mountain to study the lower glacier section," he said, pointing toward the white fog-shrouded peak visible through the windows. "Because of the winter conditions, we aren't going up super high; just high enough to get the structural and flow data we need." 

He paused, adjusting his glasses before looking back at his clipboard. "Now, heads up: I just got word from the weather station that a snowstorm is forecasted for later today, so we have to get back down ASAP before it hits. Don’t worry, I’ve calculated it and it’s possible. The temperature will be negative thirteen degrees (-25 celsius)."

A collective groan echoed through the room.

“Hey, settle down,” Ish warned, raising a hand. “It’s fine, as long as we stay on schedule. One tiny setback, though, the snow on the access road is way too thick, so the bus can only drop us off at the foot of the mountain. We’ll have to hike the rest of the trail up.”

Everyone began grumbling, but Ish just waved his clipboard off.

“It’s not that high, guys,” he said. “Now, come on!”

The hike up to the lower glacier field was grueling, but the view at the top almost made the burning in Fluixon’s thighs worth it. Massive, pale-blue sheets of ice curved between the dark granite peaks, glittering under the pale winter sun. The wind was cold enough to sting his cheeks, and the sound of ice cracking echoed somewhere off in the distance in this low groaning rumble.

Throughout the entire morning and afternoon, as they trudged between the designated glacier spots, Fluixon and Saparata didn't exchange a single word nor even made eye contact. The latter stayed near the front of the group with a few other students, casually hammering away at ice or writing down measurements, while the former walked near the middle, sticking close to the edge of the line. Whenever their paths crossed on a narrow ledge, Saparata would step aside, letting Fluixon pass like he was a complete stranger.

By the time they wrapped up at the third glacier location, the previously blue skies above the peaks had already turned bruise gray, and the wind had started to pick up, sending light sprays of spindrift to swirl around them.

Ish checked his watch, frowning. “Alright, everyone, that’s a wrap! We need to start heading down to the bus right now. We’re running a tiny bit behind schedule, but if we pick up the pace, we’ll be totally safe before the storm hits!”

The cohort groaned in relief, packing away their gear with freezing fingers before falling into a single-file line to begin the descent. Fluixon hoisted his heavy backpack onto his shoulders, also stepping onto the snow-covered trail. But before he could take more than three paces, a hand tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, Flux, hold up a second,” Ish said, pulling him slightly to the side as the rest of the group shuffled past them down the path.

“What’s up?” Fluixon asked.

“I was going through yesterday’s logs from the Warden Tree while you guys were gearing up this morning. Your datasheet from Section B is completely blank.” 

Fluixon’s heart dropped. “Wait, what? Blank?”

God fucking damnit. It must have been because he had been so consumed by the sheer anger and humiliation of the entire incident with Saparata that he’d completely forgotten to measure Section B.

“It’s not my fault you have to try so hard just to be on my level.”

Those words had spent the last day echoing inside Fluixon’s head, cutting right through his most pathetic insecurity that no matter how much work he puts in, Saparata could just breeze in effortlessly and still be better than him.

“Yeah, unfortunately I do need everyone to have complete data sets,” Ish said, giving him a sympathetic look. “But don’t panic, it’s not a huge deal. You don’t need to go back for it or anything. You can just grab the numbers from someone else.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll ask someone,” Fluixon nodded.

“I know you’ll hate this,” Ish added, “but you should ask Saps if you want to maximize your data quality and accuracy.”

At this, Fluixon froze. “Saparata’s?” 

Ish grimaced a little before nodding. “Yeah. I mean, technically you can ask someone else. It’s just… you know… if you want the most accurate one–”

“Okay,” Fluixon interrupted as he forced a smile. “I’ll ask Saparata.”

Fluixon waited until the trail narrowed, forcing the cohort to spread out before he finally shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and picked up his pace to approach Saparata. The latter was trudging near the side of the path, his hood pulled low over his beanie while his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, while the purple mark of the bruise on his jaw was clearly visible against his pale skin.

Fluixon swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and stepped up beside him.

“Hey,” Fluixon said, trying to keep his tone completely neutral and professional.

Saparata didn't even turn his head. He just kept walking, his eyes fixed on the snowy trail ahead. “What do you want?”

The cold response made Fluixon’s jaw tighten instantly, but he forced himself to stay civil. “Ish told me I missed the strike and dip readings for Section B at the Warden Tree yesterday. He said to ask you for the data.”

Saparata scoffed. “And?”

Fluixon took a deep breath. Just be civil. Get the numbers and leave. “Can I just copy the numbers off your datasheet when we get to the bus?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “I just need the section log.”

“No,” Saparata said simply, not slowing his pace for a single second.

Fluixon stopped dead in his tracks on the narrow trail. “What do you mean, no?”

Saparata finally stopped a few paces ahead and turned around. “I mean no,” he repeated sternly. “Why the hell would I give you my data after yesterday?”

Fluixon’s face flushed bright red. “I’m asking you nicely, Saparata. It’s literally just two numbers.”

“You punched me in the face because I gave you two numbers, Flux.” Saparata shot back as he stepped a little closer. “Then you berated me for not working hard enough, didn’t even apologize, and now you want to freeload off my notes? Are you serious right now?”

“I am not freeloading!” Fluixon snapped, his voice rising as the civil manner he intended to show completely crumbled. “I made a mistake because I was distracted—”

“By what?” Saparata interrupted, glaring at him. “Your own damn ego? You were so busy throwing a fit because I eyeballed a reading that you didn't even finish your own work. That’s your fault, not mine.” 

“You treated me like I was stupid!” Fluixon yelled back, stepping closer until they were practically toe-to-toe. “You just had to one up me, didn’t you?”

“I literally only gave you the strike and dip so we wouldn't freeze our asses off!” Saparata scoffed, flinging his arms wide to his sides. “And what do I get in return? A punch and this damn bruise on my face! So why the fuck would I help you now?”

“Because it’s just data!” Fluixon yelled, his voice cracking. “You don't even care much about this class, so why are you being so petty?!”

“Because you’re an asshole!” Saparata yelled back.

“I hate you,” Fluixon spat, his jaw trembling from rage and the biting cold. “I genuinely fucking hate you.”

“Good! Keep hating me while you submit an incomplete datasheet!” Saparata turned on his heel to walk away, but stopped after taking two steps. The trail ahead was empty. 

Saparata blinked, squinting through the hazy white mist that had begun to roll over the mountain ridge while they were yelling at each other. The crunching sound of heavy snow boots was completely gone, there were no bright red parkas visible down the slope–nothing. Fluixon noticed this, too.

He frowned as he looked past Saparata’s shoulder. “Where... where’s the rest of the group?”

Just as he said that, a sudden sharp gust of wind blasted over the ridge, driving a wave of needle-sharp ice directly into their faces. Fluixon gasped at the sudden drop in temperature, shielding his eyes with his arm. Then the wind changed, now no longer blowing but howling, picking up snow from the ground and covering the air in a thick cloud of white. 

“Shit,” Saparata muttered. He turned in a circle, looking around frantically. The trail behind and in front of them was slowly getting covered by the drifting snow.

“Are you kidding me?” Fluixon murmured dreadfully as he bit his lower lip in frustration. “Did they keep walking?”

“We stopped for like five minutes,” Saparata said, pulling his neck gaiter up over his nose as their surroundings turned even colder, searing their lungs with every breath. “They couldn't have gone that far.”

“Ish said we were running behind schedule,” Fluixon pointed out as his heart started to pound heavily panic. “They were moving fast to get to the bus before the storm.”

“Well, the storm’s here,” Saparata said, staring out into the whiteout. “We’re left behind.”

Fluixon shook his head as he walked past Saparata. “We need to catch up before we get even more left behind,” he said. “Come on.”

Saparata followed closely behind him, and the two jogged as best they could in their heavy boots, squinting through the flying white powder of snow to the path beyond to try and catch a glimpse of their group. But after barely two minutes of walking, Saparata abruptly slowed down, then stopped completely.

“Flux, wait!” He exclaimed, calling after the man ahead of him. “Look at the ground.” 

Fluixon stopped in his tracks as he looked down. The footprints they had been relying on were becoming less and less until they eventually stopped completely. The wind had swept the flying loose snow across the terrain, smoothing out every single track. There was no sign that twelve people had just walked through here not even that long ago, presumably. 

“Okay, so now what?” Saparata asked, his breath hitching in panic. “Surely we can just follow the ridge down. Isn’t it just a straight path?”

“Is it?” Fluixon asked, his index finger pointing to the trail ahead.

Just past a large, snow-dusted boulder, the main trail didn't continue smoothly down the mountain. Instead, the terrain split into five narrow gullies that all headed downhill in different directions, and all looking completely identical under the thick sheet of white fog.

“Shit,” Saparata muttered, stepping up to the edge of the split. He examined each path thoroughly, but in the whiteout, limited visibility made every one of the paths look exactly the same. “Which one did we take on the way up?”

“I—I don't know, I was near the back!” Fluixon answered, his eyes also scanning the five identical paths frantically. “I wasn't paying attention to the specific split, I was just following Ish!”

“Well, I wasn't looking either!” Saparata exclaimed. “Oh my God, this is how we die.”

Fluixon took a step toward the middle path, but the wind blasted a wall of snow directly into his eyes, forcing him to stumble back. The cold was sinking deep into his bones now despite the heavy layers, and without footprints to follow, both of them knew that taking the wrong gully could lead them miles off course, down a dead-end cliff, or straight into a deeper ravine.

They were completely stuck.

“Call Ish,” Fluixon told Saparata, his hands shaking as he fumbled to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Just call him and tell him we got separated.”

Saparata had his phone out before Fluixon even finished the sentence. He tapped the screen repeatedly, but nothing happened. “My phone doesn’t work. It’s too cold up here.”

Fluixon pressed the power button on his own device but to no avail. “Fuck. Neither does mine.”

“Great,” Saparata muttered, shoving his dead phone back into an inner pocket and crossing his arms to hold in warmth. “Amazing.”

“Should we go back up?” Fluixon yelled over the wind, squinting upward. “Maybe we can find a rock shelter near the third glacier site!”

“No way,” Saparata answered immediately, shaking his head. “The storm’s coming from the top down. If we go up, we’re walking straight into our deaths. We have to figure out how to get down.”

Unfortunately for the two, they didn't have time to weigh their options. With the wind picking up speed and the temperatures seeming to drop drastically every second, sitting around debating was practically suicide. Saparata pointed toward the second gully on the left—a path that looked completely identical to the other four—and without a word, they both plunged into it. They stumbled downward as their boots slipped over ice patches hidden beneath the fresh snow, hoping that the narrow ravine would eventually drop them somewhere familiar.

As they reached a more even surface, however, the wind started to blow significantly harder than how it already was, carrying with it a high-pitched whistle and a wave of snow straight into Fluixon’s face. He pulled his neck gaiter over his nose, his breath coming out in ragged bursts as he squinted through the unclear view. Just ten minutes ago, they could still see the trail and their surroundings. Now, they couldn't even see ten feet in front of them. 

To make matters worse, the sunlight was rapidly setting and giving way to dusk, settling darkness over the mountain. This made visibility even more nonexistent and navigation virtually impossible.

"Shit," Fluixon gasped, fumbling through his freezing parka pockets until his numb fingers finally caught the strap of his headlamp. "Put your light on!"

"Way ahead of you," Saparata muttered, clicking his own headlamp on.

Fluixon started walking again, but even with both their headlamps cutting through the dark, all they could really see was thick snow drifting through the air.

“Flux, wait!” Saparata cried out over the gust, his voice muffled by his gaiter as he cupped his gloved hands around his face to focus his view. “The storm’s getting way too thick. We’re not gonna make it back to the lodgings like this.”

“We have to keep moving!” Fluixon called back through chattering teeth. “Surely the road’s just down there!”

“Even if it was, we can’t see shit and the trail is completely covered!” Saparata snapped, stepping right into Fluixon's path to block him. His eyebrows were frosted over and his face even paler than it usually was from the temperature. “It’s dangerous to keep wandering around out here in a fucking blizzard, Flux. We need to seek shelter. Right now.”

“Where??” Fluixon yelled back, gesturing wildly at the empty, freezing void around them. “It’s literally just rocks and snow! Where are we supposed to go?”

“I don’t know, just look around!” Saparata yelled, turning in a circle against the wind.

Fluixon shielded his eyes as he looked around at his surroundings. It was then that he saw it: Illuminated by his headlamp not that far to their left, through the dense sheets of falling snow, stood a dark, blocky shadow.

“Wait,” Fluixon stammered, pointing at it. “Look over there. What is that? Is that… a roof?”

Saparata squinted in the direction Fluixon was pointing. “Holy shit. Yeah. Come on!”

Without waiting, Saparata grabbed Fluixon by the sleeve, yanking him along as they trudged through the knee-deep snow. As they got closer, the shape became clearer. The structure in the distance was a tiny wooden cabin nestled right against the cliff face. Though, perhaps ‘cabin’ was too generous a term, for the building looked abandoned and extremely dilapidated. Its weathered timber walls had grayed with age, barely holding up a roof buried beneath layers of snow, while its heavy wooden door was left slightly ajar, rattling against its frame in the wind. Regardless, Saparata shoved the door open with his shoulder, sending some snow to trickle down into the interior. He practically threw Fluixon inside before diving in after him and slamming the door shut.

“What’s the difference between this and having no shelter?” Fluixon asked sarcastically as he pointed his headlamp around, examining the run-down conditions of the cabin.

“Well, I’m sorry this isn’t a five star resort, princess,” Saparata said mockingly. “At least this’ll keep us safe from the wind. Would you rather die out there?”

Fluixon scoffed, shining his headlamp along the rotted floorboards and up to the ceiling, where a bunch of cobwebs hung. “I’m just saying, if a gust of wind hits this place hard enough, the whole roof is coming down on us.”

“Then we die crushed instead of frozen,” Saparata said sarcastically, sliding a nearby table against the door to hold it shut against the howling storm outside. “Win-win.”

Fluixon rolled his eyes in response, taking a few steps further into the small space. In the far corner sat an old wooden chair with a rusted lantern on it, and next to it, an unmade cot with a faded, threadbare wool blanket.

“Whose place even is this?” Fluixon asked, kicking a fallen piece of wood out of his path.

“I’on know,” Saparata shrugged. “This is prolly some old ranger station or something.”

“What if whoever owns this comes back and kills us for trespassing?” Fluixon asked, gesturing around him. “What kind of freak lives in a place like this in the middle of nowhere anyway?”

“Flux, we’re literally in subzero temperatures in a full-blown blizzard,” Saparata laughed exhaustedly. “If some mountain murderer wants to hike up here right now just to murder us, he lowkey earned it to be honest.”

Fluixon let out a small laugh, though he quickly stifled it into a cough. He quickly turned his headlamp toward the stone wall opposite the door and stopped.

“Hey,” he said. “Look.”

Built right into the rock face was a small, dusty stone fireplace. And sitting right beside it in an old iron basket was a neat stack of dry, chopped firewood.

Saparata’s eyes lit up instantly. “No way.”

“Do you have a lighter?” Fluixon asked, scrambling over to the fireplace and dropping to his knees on the cold floorboards.

“No, I don't smoke,” Saparata replied, pushing himself up and walking over. “Do you?”

“I think I have waterproof matches,” Fluixon said, his hands shaking slightly as he unzipped his outer pocket and pulled out a small orange plastic case.

“Holy shit, Flux,” Saparata breathed out as a relieved smile broke across his face. “You're a lifesaver.”

Fluixon’s heart did a strange leap at the praise, but he ignored it, quickly stacking a few small logs and some dry wood shavings in the grate. He struck a match against the side of the box, and a bright flare of orange illuminated the small stone hearth. Within moments, the firewood crackled with a yellow flame, illuminating and warming the inside of the cabin a little.

Both Fluixon and Saparata collapsed onto the floor in front of the fire, pulling off their thick gloves to hold their numb hands out toward the heat. They sat there in silence, basking in the warmth and the sound of the wind screaming outside the thin wooden walls. But despite the glowing embers, the cabin was still painfully cold. The tiny fireplace barely did anything to fight off the freezing air seeping through the cracks in the walls.

Fluixon shivered violently, his teeth starting to chatter as the adrenaline fully wore off, leaving him utterly exhausted. Saparata noticed. His gaze drifted from the fire over to Fluixon, watching his shoulders tremble and his face paling by the second. 

“You’re still freezing,” Saparata said softly.

Without waiting for an answer, the taller man shuffled closer on the wooden floorboards, unzipping the front of his heavy parka before reaching out and bluntly grabbing Fluixon by the upper arms. Fluixon’s eyes went wide as Saparata yanked him sideways, hauling him straight against his neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fluixon choked out, trying to push Saparata away, but his hands were so numb that Saparata barely moved.

“Saving both our lives, idiot,” Saparata muttered, ignoring the feeble shove completely. He tightened his grip around Fluixon’s waist, hauling him in even closer until there wasn't a single inch of air between them. He then threw the flaps of his unzipped parka over both their shoulders. “Body heat is our best bet on surviving right now.”

“I’d literally rather freeze,” Fluixon snapped, his voice muffled into Saparata’s collarbone, though he made no more effort to push the latter away.

“Too bad. You can’t die before we graduate and I beat your grade average,” Saparata answered, his breath warm against the top of Fluixon’s head as his chin came down to rest lightly on his hair. “Also I don’t wanna die either, so…”

Fluixon squeezed his eyes shut. He hated this. He hated Saparata, he hated Saparata’s stupidly warm jacket, and he especially hated how his own traitorous body was finding comfort in this ridiculous situation. He couldn't help it—the air was so cold it pierced into his bones, while Saparata felt like a furnace. Eventually, Fluixon stopped trying to pull away. He let his forehead sink into Saparata’s shoulder, his fingers hesitantly gripping Saparata’s hoodie under the coat.

“Fine. Just don't look at me,” Fluixon mumbled.

“Can’t really look anywhere else, can I?” Saparata laughed softly.

Fluixon didn't respond. He just buried his cold face a little deeper into the crook of Saparata's neck, his heart beating loud and fast. “I thought you’re mad at me,” he said after a while.

“I was,” Saparata admitted as he adjusted his arm so it wrapped more securely around Fluixon’s back, pressing him closer. “I mean it when I said I genuinely only wanted to save us time when I eyeballed the measurements. But then you punched me for it.”

Hearing this, Fluixon swallowed hard. He grimaced, gripping the fabric of Saparata’s hoodie a little tighter. “I... I’m sorry,” he murmured ever so softly, his eyes not even looking up as he was too embarrassed to face the latter. “I shouldn't have punched you. It was... I completely lost my mind. I'm sorry.”

Slowly, Saparata pulled back just enough to look down at him. Fluixon was forced to lift his head, his eyes meeting Saparata’s in the flickering orange light of the hearth. His hand drifted up from Fluixon’s waist to cup the back of Fluixon’s neck, thumb brushing gently over his freezing cold cheekbone. Then his eyes dropped to Fluixon’s wind-chapped lips before flicking back up to his eyes. 

“I’m also sorry,” Saparata said. “I was being a dick this whole trip.” 

Fluixon blinked, taken aback by the sudden apology that he had to do a double-take to make sure the man in front of him was still the Saparata he knew. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Saparata repeated softly. “Yesterday, in the Warden Tree, I didn't mean to make you feel like... whatever. You work harder than anyone in our department, Flux. I know that.”

Fluixon felt his breath hitch. Hearing those words come out of Saparata's mouth without a trace of sarcasm nor a mocking smirk made it feel like the air had been knocked right out of his lungs.

“I just... I like getting a reaction out of you,” Saparata continued. “You’re always so intense, it drives me crazy.”

“You drive me crazy,” Fluixon whispered back.

A crooked little smile found its way on Saparata’s face. Instead of answering, he tightened his grip and pulled Fluixon all the way back into his collarbone. He tugged the heavy coat fully over both of them like a cocoon, trapping all their warmth inside. Fluixon didn't resist this time. He let out a long breath and melted completely, burying his face right into the warm hollow of Saparata’s neck, wrapping his arms around Saparata's waist under the jacket. Saparata rested his chin back on Fluixon’s head, his arms holding him tightly as the blizzard continued to rage on outside. 

“Can I ask you something?” Fluixon murmured.

Saparata opened his eyes, looking down at him. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“How do you do it?” Fluixon’s asked. “Like… how are you so good at all this without even trying?”

Saparata only laughed in response, so Fluixon continued. “I’m serious. It drives me crazy,” he said, his voice muffled against Saparata’s hoodie. “I study for hours on end just to keep up with you, and even then you still beat me a lot of the time. Hell, you don’t even show up to class! And on the rare occasion that you, you’re literally either half asleep or doomscrolling. Not to mention I’ve never seen you in any 8 or 9AMs. How, Saparata? How is that fair?”

“You keep calling me Saparata,” Saparata pointed out, ignoring his question.

Fluixon frowned slightly. “Yeah. That’s your name?”

“Yeah, but literally everyone else calls me Saps,” Saparata remarked, hugging Fluixon tighter. “Profs call me Saps, my friends, frat brothers, and even my entire bloodline call me Saps. You’re legit the only person on the planet who uses my full four-syllable name.”

Fluixon flushed a little, shifting his position so he could glare at the latter, though it lost all its bite from how tightly he was still clinging to Saparata. “Well, Saparata sounds more official,” Fluixon grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Calling you 'Saps' feels too friendly.”

“We’re literally having a heart-to-heart right now,” Saparata laughed in response. “I think we’ve made it to friendly”

Fluixon bit his lip, his gaze dropping to Saparata’s mouth before darting back to his eyes. He let out a defeated sigh before burying his face right back into the crook of Saparata’s neck.

“Fine,” Fluixon muttered. “Saps.”

Saparata beamed, extremely pleased by this development. Then, he stared at the ceiling for a moment while his thumb absently rubbed small circles onto Fluixon’s back.

“To answer your question, I don’t know. It’s just... how my brain works, Flux,” Saparata said quietly after some time. “I pick up patterns fast. I’ve always been good at memorization and taking tests. And I’ve also been good at geology.”

Fluixon lifted his head slightly at that, chin propped against Saparata's collarbone. "That's not fair either," he mumbled. “That some people just get to have brains like that."

“I do try, Flux,” Saparata answered, turning his head slightly to look at the top of Fluixon’s dark hair. “Albeit not as much as you, but I do.”

“You do?”

Saparata nodded. “Honestly, at first I didn’t care about geology at all,” he admitted as he let out a breathy sigh, thumb still tracing small circles against Fluixon’s back. “My dad’s a structural geologist and my mom works in hydrogeology, so I practically grew up around rocks. In my senior year of high school, I only applied for geology majors for college because I felt like I had to follow in their footsteps. They were so happy, but I hated it at first.”

Fluixon lifted his head a few inches, blinking in surprise. “Wait, what? You hated it?” 

“Mhm.”

“Then what changed?”

“You,” Saparata answered shortly.

Fluixon flushed slightly, his grip on Saparata's hoodie tightening. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Do you remember that stupid pyrite identification task thingy?” Saparata asked. Fluixon grimaced; of course he does. “When the prof gave us both commendations in front of the lecture hall, he put both our answers up on the screen. I actually read yours, and it was so detailed. I could tell you were so passionate about it. I’d never seen anyone care about rocks that much.”

Fluixon laughed a little at the comment, so Saparata continued: “Seeing you work so hard actually made me want to put in a little effort, so I started actually reading the material ‘cause I wanted to keep up with you.”

Fluixon blinked, using his right hand to pinch his left hand behind Saparata’s back to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “You... what?”

“I’ve always respected you, and I wanted your attention,” Saparata explained, looking down into Fluixon’s eyes. “Why do you think I kept bugging you and picking arguments with you?”

Fluixon stared at him, his brain stumbling over the words in bewilderment. “You wanted my attention?” He repeated before laughing a little at the absurdity. “And the way your genius ass decided to go about that was by being the most insufferable annoying asshole on campus for two years?”

“Well, yeah,” Saparata admitted with a sheepish grin. “You were always so hyper-focused on your books and your grades. The only time you actually looked at me or spoke to me was when I managed to rile you up. So... I kept doing it.”

“That is the most childish thing I have ever heard in my life,” Fluixon muttered, though his face was burning hot.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Saparata replied with a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I mean, look at where we are.”

After that, a comfortable silence settled over the small cabin. Outside, the wind rattled the weathered door forced in place by the table and threw spray after spray of snow against the frosted windowpane. But inside, the fireplace crackled steadily and Fluixon felt extremely warm tucked against Saparata’s neck liek this. Regardless, the wooden floorboards beneath them seemed to grow harder and more uncomfortable by the minute. Fluixon shifted slightly where he sat, his knees aching from staying in the same bent position for so long.

Saparata noticed him wiggling and loosened his hold around Fluixon. “Are your legs dead?”

“A little,” Fluixon admitted tiredly. “And my back hurts.”

“Yeah, sitting upright like this prolly isn't great for posture,” Saparata agreed. He reached out with one arm, snagging Fluixon’s backpack and tossing it down onto the cleanest patch of floorboards, positioning it right beside them. “Here. Lie down.”

Saparata carefully maneuvered himself first, sliding down until his head rested on the backpack. Fluixon didn't hesitate; he immediately stretched out on top of him, resting his head directly over Saparata’s chest and wrapping an arm over his ribcage. Saparata pulled the thick flaps of both their parkas back over them like a massive heavy quilt, cocooning them together against the cold.

“Better?” Saparata asked.

“Much better,” Fluixon nodded, his eyes already fluttering shut. “Don't you fucking dare move.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Saparata whispered.

Fluixon’s eyelids eventually started to feel heavy, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him now that his nervousness and adrenaline had both completely faded. He felt Saparata’s chest rise and fall slowly, an arm wrapped securely around him to hold him close. As Fluixon was drifting off, he felt Saparata shift slightly beneath him.

Saparata leaned down, brushing his thumb softly over Fluixon’s jaw, before pressing a kiss right against the center of Fluixon’s forehead. Fluixon’s eyes snapped open instantly.

“What... what was that?” Fluixon whispered.

Saparata’s eyes went wide, a sudden flush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheeks bright red. “Fuck—sorry,” Saparata stammered quickly as he looked everywhere except Fluixon’s eyes. He scratched the top of his head awkwardly. “I—I didn’t mean to make it weird, I just... you looked sleepy and I wasn't thinking. Sorry, I didn't mean to cross a line or—”

“Saps,” Fluixon interrupted, causing the latter to stop rambling. Fluixon felt his own face burning, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his hold around Saparata, shifting up just an inch until his nose almost touched the latter’s jaw.

“It’s fine,” Fluixon mumbled, burying his face right back into the crook of Saparata’s neck so he wouldn't have to look at him while saying it. “I liked it.”

Saparata went completely still for a second. Then, a relieved laugh vibrated through his chest, the previous stiffness from tension fading as he wrapped his arms back around Fluixon, squeezing him tight against his chest. “Good,” Saparata whispered into his hair. “Let’s go to sleep and pray the storm dies down tomorrow.”

By the time the morning arrived, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the cabin walls, the storm had finally burned itself out. Fluxion woke up first, his back pressed snugly against Saparata’s chest. Meanwhile, Saparata had an arm wrapped securely around Fluixon’s waist while his face was buried into Fluixon’s shoulder. 

Before Fluixon could process the situation, however, faint muffled voices from outside the cabin broke through the silence. 

“—IXON! SAPARATA!”

It was this that truly woke Fluixon up. His eyes snapped wide open as he shuffled to frantically sit up. "Saps," Fluixon muttered, nudging Saparata's chest. "Hey, wake up. I think someone's out there."

Saparata groaned, his eyes blinking open sleepily. "Wha...? Where are we? What time is it"

Before Fluixon could answer any of those questions, the heavy wooden door of the cabin was shoved wide open with a loud thwack, flooding the room with bright sunlight.

"Holy shit! They're in here!"

Not even a second later, Ish was already standing in the doorway, bundled up in a massive neon orange search-and-rescue parka, his face pale with absolute panic before it melted into pure shock. Behind him, two local park rangers and a full mountain rescue team came skittering to a halt in the snow, carrying emergency stretchers and thermal gear.

"Flux?! Saps?!" Ish yelled, practically throwing himself into the cabin. He looked between the two of them. "Holy fucking shit, we thought you guys were dead!" 

Ish dropped to his knees beside them. "We've been out searching since the snowstorm stopped! What the hell were you two thinking separating yourselves from the group like that when I clearly warned you that there’ll be a literal blizzard?!"

Saparata slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Morning to you too, Ish."

"Don't 'morning' me!" Ish yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "The department head is having a literal heart attack right now back on campus! We thought we were gonna have to dig your frozen corpses out of a snowbank!"

One of the lead rangers stepped inside, scanning the fireplace, the waterproof matchbox on the floor, and Saparata’s disheveled parka that gave clear indication that the two of them had shared body heat to survive the night. "You two got insanely lucky," the ranger said, shaking his head. "If you hadn't found this old shelter, you would have both died."

Fluixon stood up, wincing as his stiff legs protested, but he offered a hand down to Saparata. Saparata took it without hesitation, pulling himself up. Then, he grinned at the ranger and said, "Yeah well, dying next to him wouldn't have been the worst way to go."

The search and rescue team immediately ushered Fluixon and Saparata out of the decaying cabin, down the mountain, and into an emergency transport vehicle, wrapping them in heavy foil shock blankets while medics ran a flurry of quick vitals checks. As it turned out, aside from a touch of mild hypothermia, wind-chapped skin, and sheer exhaustion, both of them were remarkably fine. The lead ranger credited their survival entirely to their quick decision to seek shelter in the cabin and using body heat to keep their core temperatures stable through the night's lethal drop. 

Moreover, the department head, who had spent the entire night convinced that two of his top students had died in a category two blizzard, had officially canceled the remainder of the field study trip. Fearing further weather hazards and legal liabilities, he ordered all participants to pack up their gear immediately so the entire department could return to campus ahead of schedule. By noon, the students were loaded onto the long-haul charter bus for the grueling six-hour drive back to the university.

Fluixon sat by the window, staring out at the snow-covered peaks receding into the distance as the bus rolled onto the highway. Next to him, Saparata didn't stay awake for long. Exhausted from the night's ordeal, Saparata leaned over, his eyes fluttering shut as his head heavy-slumped right onto Fluixon’s shoulder.

But this time, he did not push him away.