46

There is actual snow on the ground for the first time in weeks. It glitters in the morning sunlight, reflecting in a targeted attack right at his eyes, and Winston squints by the side of the outdoor ice rink. It's technically a school day, but the campus is temporarily shut for renovations in one of the wings so everybody got come much coveted time off. So, obviously, they're out and about at nine in the morning instead of sleeping in.

It's Winston's fault, actually. He fully acknowledges this and takes complete blame; if he hadn't pointed out that the ice rink was likely to be utterly beset by people at a more reasonable hour (not to mention the state of the actual ice) they might not have bundled up against the winter chill and headed out so early.

So. Yeah. His fault.

For once, Jason is actually wearing mittens. They're bright pink, a cute glittering pattern on the back of the hands, and Winston's eyes are drawn to them time and again. Right now, Jason is blowing into one of the mittens and then hurries to put it on, exhaling when his bare hand is warm again. Winston tears his gaze away, looking to the large rink again.

Despite the early hour, there's already a few people out on the ice; a pair of children giggling like lunatics as they go back and forth at a snail-like pace, some teens lingering by the railing around the rink, watching something on their phones. An older couple is skating slow circles, somebody in a wheelchair doing spins in the middle of the rink.

Winston looks down at his feet, the [insert the name of ice-skating shoes here] securely fastened. He inhales, grabbing the railing and reaching to remove the blade protectors. Then, with one hand on the railing and the other holding on to Jason's thick arm, Winston steps onto the ice.

He slides, legs splitting wide, and a breathless "Fuck" spills from his lips. "Shit" gets added when he nearly pulls Jason down with him, sliding over the ice for nearly a meter before he gets his feet properly under him and stands up straight again. He walks, slowly, back to the railing and Jason who is reaching over and holding out the hand Winston is still clinging onto.

"Sorry," says Winston, smiling sheepishly and scratching his nose.

Jason laughs. Squeezes his hand and steps out onto the ice himself without any trouble. "It's no problem," then he winks, "You know I'll always catch you when you fall."

Winston's lips part and he exhales on a shuddering breath. Licking his lips, he shakes his and smiles up at Jason. "Thanks, still," he rasps out and clings tighter onto Jason as they begin to skate over the ice, his feet unsteady and legs unsteadier still. The sun is shining, not yet in the highest point in the sky, so it feels like a direct attack every time he looks even the slightest bit upward. Glancing at Jason, he jealousy spots the sunglasses perched snugly on his handsome nose.

Stomach swooping, he almost slips on the ice in his loss of concentration.

"Fuck," wheezes Winston, Jason outright laughing at him. Glaring up at him, Winston promises, "If I die, I'm going to haunt you forever."

"Thank you for your devotion," Jason solemnly replies, and all the wind goes out of Winston's sails. He sighs, switching his grip so they're fingers are no longer entangling; he doesn't want to take Jason down with him if he slips. They continue onward.

The ice must have been fixed up before the rink opened this morning, for some sections appear entirely unused. They glide over them at a snail-like pace, Winston unable to let go of Jason for even lest he land flat on his face and break his nose.

It'd be just his luck.

The powerful sun reflects on the equally powerful ice as they skate, Winston squinting so much it's starting to get painful. He glances jealously at Jason's sunglasses again, but he can't possibly ask for them. They're black-framed and the front is studded by something that glitters. But more importantly, Jason needs them more than him, no matter how irritated his eyes are.

It's not like it's actually painful, or something.

Just annoying.

An hour passes on the ice; people come and people go, the ambience around them slowly turning more and more energetic. The noise level goes up, too, and Winston glances at Jason every few minutes to see what he's doing, trying to copy his movements on the ice. It doesn't go very well; Winston hasn't done this in years, not since those mandatory sessions during PE in elementary school.

But he doesn't fall.

Another hour and his legs are aching, Jason is starting to frown at the sun, and there are so many people on the ice Winston is starting to get nervous. (That's a lot of knives on a lot of people's shoes, after all.)

"You wanna get out of here?" Winston leans up and murmurs to Jason so he can be heard over the cacophony around them.

"Yeah."

And so they do. Returning the skates, they amble arm in arm around the park the ice rink is located in. It's beautiful even in winter; maybe especially in winter. Snow lays heavy on the grass, the trees stand naked in their grooves, the path is beaten down by thousands and thousands of footsteps.

Winston breathes in the winter chill, and it warms in his chest.

"My brother wants to meet you," says Jason. Winston glances at him, slowing down slightly and Jason is looking right back ta him. His eyes are warm, his ears red from the chill, his mouth slightly curled like he wants to smile but isn't sure if it's appropriate.

Winston nods.

Jason licks his lips and grabs Winston's hand on his arm, squeezing it once with his mitten-covered hand, and says, "He said I talk about you a lot."

Winston's skin flushes, and he ducks his head. Speeds up as he says, "I'm looking forwards to meeting him."

Jason doesn't respond, and it takes a second for Winston to gather up the courage to look at him. When he does, he's not really sure how to interpret the expression, and so he instead says, "He's related to you, so I'm sure he must be amazing."

Jason squeezes his hand again. "He is amazing, you know," Jason says. "He took care of me since I was little; he's nearly fifteen years older than me and our parents were kind of... done, with the whole parenting thing by the time I came along. I was an accident." His mouth twists, but his expression brightens as he continues on, "But he took care me. Better than them. He raised nearly single-handedly."

Winston can not say anything, and he doesn't try. Merely listens, holding on to Jason's trembling hand all the while.

"Ryder [is that his name?!] is really very amazing, you know," Jason repeats after a while, "I haven't seen him a lot since I went to college. We live in different cities now, and his work is always tiring--he works too much--and I--really miss him."

Jason blinks. He stares ahead, and Winston stares with him, squinting as he wonders if he should say something.

But it's started snowing again, and Jason's eyes are shining like he's about to cry, and the tips of his ears are still red. And so Winston, still, merely holds onto him and--listens.

Jason is always so free with his emotions, Winston thinks. He doesn't hide them away like Winston does. Always, his passion shines through, his joy is infectious, his love obvious and reverent. And Winston can easily imagine spending the rest of his life like this.

No, not only imagine it—he aches for it.