The winter's wind shook the trees as Langa lay staring up at the beige ceiling of Reki's Bedroom, eyes tracing the lines where the walls interlock as he attempts to fall back to sleep. His teeth chatter and after a long moment he let out a huff.

No matter how long he spent living in the snow, he'll always be sensitive to the cold. It's the bane of his existence, a mockery. What type of snowboarder- no what type of Canadian gets cold this easy, it's ridiculous, absolute bullshit on all parts.

He's trying, he really is.

But finally, it's too much. If he stays like this he's certain he'll die from the cold.

He crawls out from under the pathetic blanket he was given to use and reluctantly gets to his feet. As quickly and quietly as possible he shuffled his way to edge of friends bed. "Reki" he whispers to the sleeping mess

Nothing.

"Reki"

This time he says it louder but still Reki's eyes stay closed, Langa takes in a long, shaky breath then slowly places the palm of his hand against his friend's shoulder. With as much care as possible, he gently shakes.

"Reki "

He lets out a breath of relief as he watches Reki's eyes flutter open, gently like the delicate wings of a moth, in the way one's does when they're reaching for the last strands of consciousness that evades their sleep rampant mind.

Long lashes cast soft shadows against his relaxed features, vibrant amber spilling out between the cracks of their curling masses, as he slowly comes to.

He blinks up at Langa through those lashes, eyes unfocused and heavy, and Langa's chest tightens.

Reki is so beautiful like this.

In all fairness Reki is always beautiful. It's a fact. Something to take in and understand without question.

But right now, as the ghost of a smile caresses his lips in the same way Langa yearns too and the hair that he longs to run his fingers through spills across his pillow in a tempting appropriation of an autumn's day? He's absolutely breathtaking

"Langa?' Reki questions sluggishly, voice rough with unuse, eyebrows pulled together.

"Are you ok?"

Langa swallows down the words he wishes he could say, the ones that threaten to burst out of him at any time, the words he whispered to himself when he's alone if only to make sure the dam holding them back doesn't crack and spill.

If the dam breaks he'll drown. Dragging Reki and their friendship down with him.

That can't happen

Not again

He refuses to submerge back into that cold and lonely place he was in before Reki.

But he can feel the phantom hands ready to shred into him and fill his chest back up with ice, the bad kind that knocks the wind out of you when you fall on it and leaves you with the worst kind of bruises.

Reki is the sun that thaws out that ice

If he disappears, Langa is sure it will slowly creep back

That can't happen again

Langa won't let it happen

"I'm fine, 'm just cold" he manages quietly

Reki's sitting up now, fingers catching on his hairtie as he pulls it from his wrist. Once he's finished pulling his hair up into a ponytail he yawns, then pats the space next to him gently

"Come here then" he states simply

Simply

As if sharing a bed is a regular occurrence

As if those three words don't shake Langa down to his very core

As if Langa's heart doesn't skip a beat or seven because of them

Reki's still patting the bed, a tired smile splayed on his lips. It does something to Langa, and he can't resist the temptation. The promise of warmth and protection, the sense of utter safety sharing a bed with another person brings

He hasn't slept in the same bed as another person since his dad got sick

That felt like a long long time ago

The bed dips as Langa cautiously takes a seat and Reki slides in slightly, he brushes up against Langa and stays there. Reki makes a noise that sounds something akin to a tired chuckle and a hum of approval before pulling the duvet back up to his shoulders and flopping back down onto the bed with a sigh.

Timidly Langa follows, pulling up the blanket and climbs under, letting out a sharp breath as the already captured heat hit him

It's nice. Warm. Safe.

By all means, the bed isn't small. But it wasn't meant to fit two gangly teenagers onto it and Langa is painfully aware of this as his shoulder brushes against Reki's. Where they touch feels like the scaulding heat of an iron rod.

In a futile attempt to put some space between them Langa turns on his side, it's for Reki's sake he reasons, he wouldn't want to be inconsiderate, this is Reki's bed and he wouldn't-

Arms are suddenly wrapping themselves around his waist and Langa can't control the shudder that ripples through him. It feels like his insides are alight, as though he's been set ablaze from the contact. By the time the sun comes up he'll surely be nothing but ash.

"Langa are you ok? You're shaking" Reki mumbles, consern lacing his voice like poison. Langa knows he's watching him, with those same scrunched brows and questioning eyes that creep into his dreams in the same manner frost creeps down and coats blades of grass, all consuming.

He's so close, so, so close. His breath grazes the shell of Langa's ear and it's the most torturous gift imaginable

Reki smells like mint and mango scented shampoo. He smells like home. It's wrong.

"Yes" he whispers, attempting to stifle another shudder that threatens to overcome him. "Just cold" it's a lie, of course it's a lie, but the only one Langa truly has to convince is himself

"Okay-" he yawns, mouth pulled wide, white and scarlet gleeming in the dim lighting "-if you're sure"

Maybe if Reki was less exhausted he would have realised how big of a lie it was, perhaps he'd even try and coax the truth out of Langa in the same way one coaxes a frighten animal out of a hole, but it's late and he's tired, so what he actually does is bury his head into Langa's shoulder, soft strands of blue tickling at his face, and promptly fall back asleep.

Langa breath is sharp, his heart is beating much faster than it should be, it's a surprise that Reki can fall back asleep so easily, surely he hears its excessive rythme too.

He knows he can't have much. So this, this closeness, this warmth that envelops him, keeping him from the hands of ice, this sadistic gift that Langa will cherish, commit to memory like a delicate treasure. It's enough.

It's enough. It's enough. It's enough.

It's a mantra

Because really It's not

It's not enough and Langa knows it

He also knows It's selfish, to want anything more, to even want this.

But there'll always be a part of him that yearns for more, more, more. That rears it's shameful head and twists his insides into his own kind of sharp, icey hell. Molding glances and touches into something he knows they're not, into something that would likely end their friendship if Reki ever found out. Into something that's dangerous and wrong.

He knows he should just try and be content with what he has, this beautiful boy with his head on his shoulder and his breath in his ear like the sound of waves crawling up the beach.

But oh god he wants so bad, and it's tearing away at his insides everyday. It's an ice not even Reki can save him from.

It's unfair, so very unfair, that he has to feel these things, these things that are so wrong and hurt so much. It's unfair that he wants more. He wants so much more, even though he knows it's wrong.

The fact is, even if Reki could stop it, thaw the ice that's threatening to push out from under his skin out, Langa wouldn't let him.

It hurts so badly but

He needs it, deserves it.

Wrong, deviant, perverted that all he is. That's the truth, no matter how many people say otherwise. What he feels is a sin. The way the ice cuts so sharply into him is a punishment, one he knows he deserves. But he'll push that aside for now, represe that truth, push it down, down, down. Further than he pushes this one, allow it to fester like an infected wound.

He lets out a single shaky breath and allows himself to be engulfed by the divine wamth, for now, he allows himself to pretend. It's wrong and cruel, he knows it is, taking Reki's kindness and friendship, that's all it is, all it will ever be, and twisting it into something else, something that Langa so selfishly and disgustingly desires. It's wrong and cruel but if Langa can't pretend, he has nothing.

His head is slowly filling with the words that he traps and soon there'll be no more space left, he'll suffocate. The words will spill out of him like blood. In the same horrifying way water gushes out of a broken dam.

The truth is, the dam's already broken. Langa's already drowning. Soon he'll be swept away by the great swells of the white waters, never to be seen again

Soon

But not now. Not right this very second.

So for now he'll pretend, he'll allow himself this single moment of weakness in the dark where the only one who can see him is God. Allow himself to image what it would feel like to fall asleep like this every night, the boy he loves, and oh how wrong that is, wrapped around him in the same way he's so securely wrapped himself around Langa's heart.

He drifts off to that warmth, that image of tangled limbs and soft smiles that he knows can never become reality.

He drifts off to the sound of waves crashing against the shores of his ears.

He drifts off in love. Painfully and utterly in love.