The downside of taking James' bed, Keith muses first thing Sunday morning, is that it's too damn comfortable. The thick comforter keeps him a pleasant temperature against the slight chill of the room, and the (way too many) extra pillows have ended up strewn throughout the bed sometime overnight. Now, they cushion his body entirely too perfectly. He could stay here forever. Add in that he's still feeling a little tired even after eight good hours of sleep, and it's a recipe for a morning of lazing around.
And he would—no doubt about it—if he were home, but it doesn't feel right to sleep in while monopolizing James' bed in James' cabin on James' vacation and probably slowing down James' itinerary on top of all that. Instead, he hauls himself to his feet and puts a start to the day.
Combing his fingers through his hair to fix whatever mess sleep made of it, he ducks down to retrieve the dirty clothes he abandoned in the floor last night. He gives the nightstand a well-deserved stink eye as he approaches his bag next to it, dumping the dirty clothes out of the way for later washing before digging for a clean outfit. It's colder over here, next to one of the windows, and Keith shivers even after getting dressed, waiting for his body to get the message that he's already given it the warmth it's begging for. Maybe the rest of him would catch up if it would just be patient.
As he straightens up, he catches his first glimpse out the window and immediately freezes.
Snow. There's real snow out there, not like the thin dusting they get on the very coldest days back home. Real snow. It's so deep that the cars' tires are more than half obscured by it.
Suddenly plenty awake, he bounds downstairs to find out the plan for the day, all the while hoping for no real plan to detract from his first ever chance to play in snow. What could possibly be better than staying here and having the time of his life like in all the movies?
"Whoa there, puppy," Rizavi greets him as his socks slide along the living room floor in his haste.
"Puppy?" he echoes, feeling his face screw up in vague distaste for the nickname and earning a snort from her in response.
"Well, don't act like one if you don't want to be called one," she chastises before gesturing toward the dining room. "It's still too early for anyone to be that excited. Calmmmm down… Anyway, you'd better not keep Griffin waiting in there. You've gotta let me in on whatever you did to get him to get you breakfast every day though. I need some of that…"
"I didn't do anything."
Rizavi's clear initial doubt morphs to a smirk after a moment, and then she's shoving him toward the dining room.
"Get in there," she orders him with a wink. "Get your boy."
True to her word, James is once again waiting with an untouched plate next to his own. Today, it's a stack of pancakes that he gestures for Keith to help himself to.
"There's snow," Keith points out as he accepts the offering and begins to drizzle syrup over the pancakes.
"No, really?" Kinkade asks sarcastically.
James shoots him a look.
"Oh, yeah," James says as he quickly turns back to Keith. "I forgot this is new to you, isn't it? Guess we're having a snow day, then. So what's on the must-do list for you?"
"Sledding," Ina suggests without even peeking up from her book.
"Yeah!" Rizavi agrees as she joins the rest of them at the table with a plate of her own. "That's why you were excited. It all makes sense now. Leifsdottir's right; you have to try sledding. I can't believe I get to see baby's first snow day. Oh my god… do you even know how to ski yet?"
"No," Keith answers, dread sinking in as he realizes skiing must be on the agenda if she's asking about it.
"You and I can stick to the easy slopes," James jumps in, and Kinkade snorts in response. "You'll pick it up in no time."
"James Griffin on the bunny slopes," Rizavi muses. "Now that's something I never thought I'd see. Kogane, listen up. Don't you dare break his hear—ow!"
She's taken off guard when James whacks her on the arm out of nowhere. Ina eyes him apprehensively.
"We're not even skiing until Wednesday," Kinkade quickly redirects upon catching the same detail. "Why worry about it now?"
"Bold words from the guy who started worrying about finals four months ahead of time last semester…" Rizavi taunts. "Jesus, you hit hard, Griffin."
She rubs at her arm tenderly.
"That's different," Kinkade insists. "My grades are my future."
Ina nods in agreement.
"It's never too early to prepare for finals," she adds.
"Yeah, Miss Three Point Oh," Kinkade taunts, emboldened by the show of support.
"3.0 is a great GPA, and you know it!" Rizavi barks.
"What's that?" Kinkade asks. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you over my 3.94. Man, all these scholarships really muffle the outside noise."
"Well, don't come crying to me the next time you need girl advice," she tells him, "since you obviously know everything."
James clears his throat pointedly.
"Why does everyone keep ganging up on me?" Rizavi mutters on her way out, food left untouched and Ina chasing close behind.
"Go fix it," James says while Kinkade remains frozen staring after them. "Now, man."
"Me? So we're just conveniently forgetting how you've been treating her? You know how much she looks up to you."
"That's different," James echoes Kinkade's earlier defense entirely unconvincingly, shoving his chair away from the table. "Keith, we're gonna…"
He doesn't explain himself further, but he drags Kinkade away to the den, leaving Keith alone to uncomfortably poke at his rapidly cooling pancakes. The pancakes were delicious a minute ago, but the turn of the atmosphere seems to have taken the sweetness of the dish with it. Still, he shouldn't make James think he's ungrateful for the meal, so he robotically swallows the remnants bit by bit.
By the time he's done, he's realized this isn't a quick sidebar. Everyone's left him behind with no plan, not that the snow excitement of this morning has stuck around through the bickering. Something tells him it's not the right move to go get a head start on seeing the snow up close, or at least it seemed like they were making a plan for a snow day before it devolved into… whatever that was.
None of this fits into the mental image he's long held of James and his friend group. Knowing them individually didn't prepare him for seeing them argue, especially considering how quiet and easy their group hangouts with Ina have always been. What's so different between the three of them hanging out and throwing Rizavi and Kinkade into the mix?
Unless…
It's Keith, isn't it?
Fuck. It must be. The rest of them have done this trip before. Multiple times, even, and every time, they chose to do it again the next year. The only thing that's changed this time is adding in Keith.
It's not like he's doing anything, but maybe his mere presence is the whole problem. Something about having him here is ruining the trip for everyone else. And of course, now that he's already out here, there's no leaving. Nowhere else to stay, no way to get an early plane ticket, no way to get out of here without revealing his own realization that he's the issue.
All he can safely do is wait on the couch. Someone has to come back eventually. Hopefully someone who's not going to pull him further into the fighting.
…which starts out as a hypothetical thought, something totally unrealistic, and somehow morphs into seriously imagining how the trip would continue if it were to happen. If it were Kinkade… he might be fine. Kinkade hasn't exactly been friendly so far, not that Keith can blame him. It'd suck to piss off Rizavi when they're finally getting closer than their previous history of the occasional tipsy, cigarette-lit conversation and a mutual head nod when passing each other on campus. Ina would be worse since he sees her more days than not, and while they might not quite be friends yet… he can see them getting there, slowly but surely. They've come a long way from awkwardly ignoring each other and both only holding two-way conversations with James.
And god, James. There's no doubt in Keith's mind that James would be the worst option. Forget screwing up the rest of the trip. He'd be destroying his relationship with one of the closest friends he's got. The only person that knows him better is Shiro, and Shiro has the advantage of nine extra years of being friendly with Keith while he and James were still doing… whatever it was they spent so long doing.
He's seen what it's like to be fighting with James. He can't do that again, not after seeing how well they work together and get along.
His phone can't hold his attention when he tries it as a distraction. There's nothing to latch onto in the notifications, nothing he particularly cares to focus on. Usually when he's overwhelmed, he can reach out to Shiro, but Shiro's off-campus by now and enjoying his own winter break. Keith can't interrupt it just to whine about problems he knows his brain is making up for him. None of it is real.
Keith gets up, runs a hand through his hair, and starts pacing to and from the vacant fireplace.
James wouldn't have invited him if he thought Keith would cause fights. It's something else. It has to be something else.
Eventually, Ina is the first to return and interrupt his silent freak-out.
Part of him thinks he's supposed to ask her about how things are going, but that only brings to mind further visions of how he could make everything worse. As it is, she doesn't seem interested in talking about it. She disappears and returns with the book she had earlier.
But she's not turning the pages when Keith settles back onto the couch.
The basement door clicks open, and there's a long pause before James pushes Kinkade out. Neither of them seems particularly happy with how their talk panned out.
"Sorry about that," James says, eyes not quite meeting Keith's. "Snow day's still on. We just need to have a talk with Rizavi first."
"Both of us," Kinkade tacks on, irritated.
"Yes," James agrees with obvious frustration of his own. "Both of us. We'll… be back."
The two of them trudge upstairs like it's the last thing they want to be doing.
By the time they disappear around the bend in the staircase, Ina's back to her book, this time with her eyes actually scanning the page, albeit slowly. Then, they stop in place.
"This is normal," she announces out of the blue.
"What?"
"This," she repeats, gesturing toward the stairs where everyone else slipped away, "is normal for us. You seem uncomfortable. I thought it was because of the fight."
"Uhh…"
"I used to worry about it too, but it's just how they are. They fight, cool off, and make up again."
He doesn't know whether to feel comforted by Ina's matter-of-factedness or embarrassed that his own worry was so obvious, and he doesn't get a chance to decide before—
"Snow day!" Rizavi squeals, jumping the last few stairs and running full sprint at the couch, twisting her body at the last second to safely land on her back with nothing more than a surprised 'oomph!' as the air is forced from her lungs.
James isn't far behind her, worry lines no longer anywhere to be seen.
"We never decided what we're doing first," he points out. "Keith?"
"Say sledding," Rizavi loudly whispers, and Keith latches right on.
"Sure, sledding," he agrees.
"Cool," James acknowledges. "You guys want to get dressed and meet back down here?"
With that, Rizavi and Ina take off upstairs, and James hauls his suitcase to the bathroom, leaving Keith to scoop his leather jacket from the rack by the door, zip it up, and tug on his shoes. The shoes have dried all the way since their trip out yesterday, so he steps back over to the couch to wait.
The bathroom door clicks open, and James' footsteps telegraph his movement back toward Keith, steady until Keith catches sight of him. Bundled in sweatpants and loose sweaters, it's impossible to make out his usually nice figure. A giant scarf blocks his facial features, and his hair has disappeared under a fluffy hat.
The small amount of visible skin tinges pink as he catches Keith checking him out, which… huh. File that under things Keith needs to revisit when he has a minute to himself.
"Where are your clothes?" James asks.
Keith arches a brow, gesturing toward his perfectly good outerwear that offered plenty of protection at the market.
"Okay, no. You're not wearing that," he tells him. "We're going to be out there for hours, and you are going to get frostbite in that. Where are your other boots? Your hat? Your gloves?"
"I don't have them?" Keith asks more than states, somehow doubting the fingerless gloves he left at home would even be acceptable to James.
"Come on, then," James tells him. "Let's go see what stuff I've left up here that you can use."
They end up in James' bedroom with James digging through the closet Keith has left alone up to now, in fear of invading his privacy by peeking inside.
"What's your shoe size?" James asks, muffled slightly from how deep he's progressed into the closet. "Can you wear a 10?"
"Sure," Keith agrees for lack of a better option. His size 9 feet will just have to bear with it for one day.
"Perfect," he says as he reemerges from the closet, now holding a bundle of clothing. "Bring those boots you wear all the time next year. Those are exactly what you want for snow, with the waterproofing. You'd be freezing your toes off within the hour in the ones you brought."
He passes Keith a puffy coat and a pair of brown leather boots, shiny and new. Still stuck on the 'next year,' Keith absentmindedly thanks him and sits down on the bed to get them on. James follows him there, starting to weave a scarf around and around Keith's neck while Keith is working to securely tie the boot laces. With one final rotation, James tucks the ends of the scarf under the coat.
Keith holds back a shudder as James' hands slide against his chest on their way back out. The way James hesitates before moving to slide a hat onto Keith's head leaves him convinced he hadn't hidden the reaction as well as he'd hoped.
"Better," James announces as Keith stands back up, all the borrowed gear firmly in place. "Here, glove up and then you'll be ready."
His glove is soft and warm where it brushes against Keith's hand while he's accepting his own equally soft pair. Thick as they are, they still slide onto his hands easily, nothing like his daily battle with the fingerless gloves back home.
Back downstairs, Keith has to admit to himself how right James was. Everyone else is bundled up the same, with bulky coats and hardly any skin left exposed.
Naturally, noticing this distracts him enough to stumble over the last stair.
Before the floor can bash his face in, he's grabbed by the back of his coat. Surprisingly, it's Kinkade whose grip sticks until Keith regains his footing.
He stares pointedly at Keith's feet once he lets him go.
"Get some other shoes on, dude," he says. "You're just going to trip again in those."
"Do you need boots?" Ina asks, and Keith shrinks.
"Yeah, what size are you?" Rizavi asks.
"Nine," he admits before he can beat himself up too much for not just telling James that in the first place.
"What's that in women's?" Rizavi asks the group at large.
"Ten and a half," Kinkade answers immediately.
Rizavi puffs out her cheeks.
"I'm choosing not to comment on you just knowing that," she tells him. "Works out, though. You can wear my other pair!"
With that, she disappears upstairs for the umpteenth time today and returns holding a pair of boots… but not just any boots. No, they're tall, sparkly, and very, very pink.
"You don't have other options," she reminds him before he can even consider politely snubbing the offering. "It's either my perfectly-sized boots or Griffin's giant ones that you're just gonna keep tripping in."
He (begrudgingly) thanks her and accepts that any photos from today will forever be used as blackmail against him, but damn if they don't fit as perfectly as she said.
And then they finally make it outside, well past morning but still sunny and… insanely bright, actually. Is the sun always this bright? Everywhere he looks, it reflects harshly into his eyes, even after giving up and staring down toward his shockingly pink feet.
Up close, the snow is less soft and more… crunchy. It packs down under his boots with each step, deep enough to touch his pants with each swing forward. A few strides in, and he can feel it beginning to wet the fabric everywhere it's contacted.
James is leading them to a shed out back. There's no lock, only a simple twist mechanism that leaves Keith wondering just how much they trust their neighbors. One small turn and a quick gust of wind, and the door is slamming wide open to reveal what must be thousands of dollars of snow equipment. Uncountable pairs of ice skates, snowshoes, and skis line one wall. On another, there's some sort of machine—"Snow blower," James tells him when he catches him looking, and what the hell even is a snow blower?—and a massive stack of firewood. Furthest back behind a sea of odds and ends, there are four sleds.
"We'll have to take turns," James says apologetically, like it's not a gift for Keith to get to do this at all.
"Orrrrr," Rizavi adds with a wink toward James that does nothing to ease Keith's jealousy, "two of us could ride together."
He stomps it down before his face can announce his feelings to the world. So what if James wants to sled with Rizavi? As if Keith could ever be good enough for James. No one is good enough to deserve James.
"You volunteering?" Kinkade asks.
"Not me."
"If you wanted to…" James tells Keith while the others are caught up in the argument. "We could ride together. You know, if you want some help learning the ropes."
Oh.
The thick scarf spares Keith's dignity by concealing his blush at the invitation, but it does him no favors in buying time to figure out how to respond like a normal fucking person. All that's left is to wing it and hope for the best.
"Yeah," he answers, probably too loudly based on the looks he gets from the rest of them. "That would be… good."
Who ever said he couldn't pull off a passable job in social situations? Suck it, Lance. And Shiro… and Pidge. Whatever. None of them know shit.
And none of them get to share a sled with James.
Truth be told, Keith learns next to nothing about how to sled, as distracting as the experience is. If it's not the thrill of gunning down the hill, it's James' constant presence, always so close.
It takes no time to learn that touching is an intrinsic part of sharing a sled. Draped over James' back, hugging tight around his midsection… it's about the only secure way to do it, as it turns out. After the first couple times being coaxed into far too intimate a position, he finally accepts that James isn't going to blow up and push Keith off of him… even if his brain supplies plenty of visuals of that very thing from back in high school.
To be fair, Keith had been hurting James all of those times, had tackled him uninvited, out for blood.
The intimidation of being the worst one here wears off the more the two of them climb the hill and slide back down, the more James takes control. Contrary to his usual, here, it's freeing to give up his agency and rely on James and the easy way he handles it.
If he's supposed to actually be learning anything, he's failing spectacularly at that, but he can't bring himself to care. At the end of the week, they're all going back home to Arizona, and Keith? Keith probably won't be seeing snow again for a very long time. So what if he isn't learning how to sled? How can that ever be more important than getting to spend this time with James?
"Having fun?" James checks in as they huff and puff their way back uphill while Ina passes by in a blur.
In another reality, Keith could wax poetic on the high of molding himself to James, of feeling the wind through the exposed bits of his hair with none of the control he has on his bike back home, of knowing there's that small risk to it but not holding any true fear for it so long as James is in control. This reality's Keith doesn't have the words to say so much without it coming out as overly cheesy word vomit.
"Yeah," he says instead, hoping James can somehow read the other reality's Keith through that one word.
"Me too," James agrees as they wait for Rizavi to clear the way for them to go down again.
In the interim, they settle onto the sled again, staying in place while Rizavi whoops toward the end of her run. Kinkade is taking his turn to slog back up the hill with Ina far behind him, and Keith takes a moment to adjust his scarf back into place.
And James? James fidgets… something totally normal for anyone else, and yet on him, it feels distinctly wrong.
"I'm really glad you came with me," James blurts out like it's some dark admission held close to his chest.
"Me too," Keith finds himself echoing James' earlier agreement, wondering how it can sound so reassuring coming from James' tongue while falling flat from Keith.
It doesn't feel like enough. There's something more he should say, something that alternate reality Keith would know, something that doesn't leave his response sounding off-handed and uncaring. Something that singularly shows James exactly how much Keith wants to be here with him.
This could be normal—something they do all the time, even—if Keith hadn't wrecked their friendship from the start. If only Keith had known how important James would come to be to him, he would've found a way to avoid it all in the first place. But no. Instead, middle school Keith just had to walk around with that terrible, stupid belief that no one could ever like him. There's a reason he thought it… but it's on him for letting it ruin his shot.
Neither of them acknowledges the distinct awkwardness of the unsaid words, though. James kicks them into their next trip downhill.
He twists his neck to look back at Keith before they can pick up much speed.
"I don't think I'm being clear," James says, and it's once again in an entirely uncharacteristic blurt rather than a weighed and measured thought pre-filtered from every possible angle. "I'm trying to say—oof!"
The conversation and the fun come to an abrupt end when they ram directly into a tree.
Keith is the first to snap out of it, to the tune of Kinkade, Rizavi, and Ina calling out to the two of them.
"Shit," Keith hisses, aiming to scurry his way back upright only to be blocked by James' weight strewn over his chest. "Are you okay?"
All he can do is crane his neck, trying to catch sight of James and reassure himself that he's unharmed, but the angle is all wrong. James is worryingly still on top of him.
"Ow," he finally groans in response, shifting momentarily only to slip and drop back down heavily onto Keith's ribs. He forces the reactive whimper to die at the back of his throat. "Sorry, I'm sorry…"
On the next attempt, James successfully gets himself to his knees, freeing Keith to scramble to his own. His heartbeat finally starts to settle once he can see for himself that James looks fine.
"Are you okay?" he tries again.
"I should be asking you that," James insists, gloved hands reaching out to latch gently onto Keith's face, turning it this way and that while Keith wills himself not to visibly react. "I'm so sorry. I should've been watching where we were going."
"No big deal. We're both fine. What was it you were trying to say? Before, I mean."
James clams up.
"Nothing. Sorry. It's… that was stupid. I shouldn't have gotten distracted like that."
Before Keith can press the matter, the others start reaching them one by one, each bringing another round of 'Are you okay?' and assurances from the both of them.
"Maybe it's time for something a little less active…" Kinkade muses aloud.
"Snowmen?" Ina suggests.
"Snowmen!" Rizavi echoes more enthusiastically, leading the way to the shed to get rid of the sleds and then herding them all to the front.
"We'll be able to look out the windows and see them later if we build them up here," she explains along the way. "Everyone, do a good job. I do not wanna see ugly snowmen!"
James huffs.
"Yes, Griffin. I do mean you."
"The one thing my parents never minded me being bad at," he mutters to Keith, "and somehow it's still a problem."
Come to think of it, Keith's never seen James try anything creative. Athletic activities, he'll throw himself in with gusto. If there's math involved, he'll blow it out of the water. Even literature, he'll dive right into the most boring of classics. But art? Keith has never even seen a single attempt.
He knows nothing about James' snowman-building abilities, but still, the words are springing to his tongue without any thought.
"You can't be that bad," he reassures.
James falters, slow to take his next step before shaking it off.
"Guess you're about to find out," he tells Keith, but there's none of the James Griffin who pushes and teases… just a resigned sadness to it.
Immediately, Keith knows it was the wrong thing to say. The rationale is unclear, but it's obvious that James is disappointed in Keith now. When they reach the front yard, James doesn't linger either.
"I'll grab supplies," he volunteers, stepping away from Keith and toward the cabin.
"Not all the carrots!" Rizavi calls after him. "I'm gonna eat some of those!"
"Uh huh…" Kinkade says. "You say that now…"
"Hey! You said you were done being mean to me. No take backsies!"
"I'm not being mean," Kinkade denies. "I'm just saying you did this last year, and we threw away a bag of carrot sludge when we left…"
"Well, maybe if you didn't keep making so much delicious food, I would've had an appetite for my carrots!"
Kinkade stops short of whatever remark was ready before.
"You thought it was delicious?"
"You thought it wasn't?" Rizavi asks in return. "Do you know how much weight I'd gain if I lived with you all the time? And that soup… god, I still dream about it."
"I could make it again…"
"You should!" Rizavi agrees. "Shouldn't he, Leifsdottir?"
"It was good," Ina agrees.
"And Kogane would get to try it this time," Rizavi adds. "What a good way for you two to bond more."
"Yeah, yeah," Kinkade waves a hand. "I get it. I'll make some soup."
"Right after this?" Rizavi prods.
"Yeah, no. You're not uninviting me now. I'm getting my drink on with the rest of you."
"You've got tiiiiiime," she insists. "We'll take a little break before party time."
"Standing on my feet over a hot stove is hardly a break."
"Where's the commitment to your craft? I thought you said cooking relaxes you!"
"No," Kinkade corrects. "Baking is relaxing. Cooking is a shitshow."
"Could've fooled me."
"Easy to say when you're not doing the work. You just get to skip straight to the eating."
"And have I said how much I love you for that?" she asks, not waiting for a response. "What would we do without you making that sacrifice for all of us?"
"Don't butter me up," Kinkade orders, a chuckle shattering the attempt at a serious facade. "Wait until tomorrow."
"Okay, then just promise you're not gonna let the hangover get in the way tomorrow."
"When have I ever?"
James emerges then, arms full of groceries and outerwear that he proceeds to drop unceremoniously in the center of the yard.
"Have at it," he invites.
This, at least, doesn't seem like it will take skill. Still, Keith hangs back, letting the others take their first pick of James' offerings before he picks through what's left. By the time he snags a spare hat, scarf, and carrot of his own, the others are elbow deep in the snow, molding it into various bases on the ground.
Keith starts on an ass for his own snowman, not overthinking it. It'll be the same as every movie representation of a snowman ever, but that's all he needs. The snow compacts much smaller under Keith's gloved palms, foreshadowing how much work this is really going to take.
No matter. When Keith glances up, everyone else is still early into their own snowmen. Ina is on her knees, rolling the snow into a large ball with much more ease than anyone else. Keith drops down and starts to do the same, because who is he to pass up a free tip? It seems to be working well enough for Ina.
Rolling the snow over the ground helps more than he could've even hoped, clearing a flatter space for the base to rest on once it feels large enough. He does the same for the middle and the head, plopping each onto the snowman in turn.
With the final touches, his snowman's not half bad. Or at least, it doesn't look any worse than any of the ones from the movies.
As he's stepping back to better admire it, he catches Rizavi rubbing her own snowman down, molding the middle section into—
Oh. She's giving the snow woman massive boobs. Hmm.
Keith's snowman pales in comparison to Rizavi's already, but Ina's looks about like Keith's, so it can't be that bad. Same carrot nose, same stick arms, same scarf/hat combo - just in a different set of colors. The only real difference is that Ina has somehow dug up… are those strawberry marshmallows for the eyes and mouth?
Closer to the cabin, Kinkade has formed some sort of monstrosity. It might be a biblically accurate angel. The only thing for certain is that it looks like it got up and walked right out of an abstract art museum and plopped itself down in front of Kinkade.
Keith has to turn away quickly, lest the multitude of eyes sear themselves into his brain and return to haunt his dreams tonight.
That leaves… oh no.
Much like Rizavi, James is getting hands-on with his own snowman. It's clear he has a detailed vision for it. It's also clear there's some sort of barrier between his mental image and his hands preventing him from executing it well.
It sits on a pair of vaguely leg-like columns, and James has somehow maneuvered a leather jacket around its torso. Much like Rizavi, he's taken to rubbing his hands along various sections in an attempt to adjust the shapes, but with every attempt, it becomes less human and more… well, maybe he's also aiming for a biblically accurate angel. That could be it.
On its head, James has stabbed dozens of dead leaves to fashion what must be a hairstyle, and although it bears no true resemblance to actual hair, there is a sort of charm in it. As Keith watches, James stretches a mitten around the bottom of each sleeve of the leather jacket. One falls right off, but undeterred, James picks it up and tries again.
Then, he steps up close, straddling one of the snow-legs, and uses the stick to start carving snow away from the face.
Objectively, the snowman looks… as bad as James had implied it would. It would be a complete lie for Keith to go over and tell him it looks good.
But there's something about the way James takes it so seriously that stops Keith from being able to look away.
"You gonna kiss him?" Kinkade yells over, and Keith jumps involuntarily before realizing he's yelling toward James, not Keith.
"Fuck off!" James calls right back. "You're distracting me from my work!"
There's movement in the corner of Keith's vision, and he turns to find Rizavi stepping back to admire her own snowwoman.
"Tada!" she announces after a moment of taking it in herself. "This is my best one ever!"
The snowwoman has only grown more detailed since Keith last looked. Her simple mounds have turned into suspiciously well-defined boobs, complete with extremely pert sculpted nipples. Her base has morphed into a photorealistic set of thighs with the faintest hint of a hooded clitoris visible where they meet. Somehow, Rizavi has given her a full head of long snow hair and a face with bumps and angles and—
Jesus. That's an O-face if Keith has ever seen one.
"Why does she look so familiar…?" Kinkade asks, also squinting at the pornographic snowwoman.
"No reason," Rizavi hurriedly answers.
"No, I swear I've seen her before."
"No the hell you haven't!"
Kinkade quirks a brow.
"Why are you so defensive about this?"
"She does look a lot like that girl in one of my psychology classes…" Ina muses. "What was her name…? Romelle?"
Rizavi's eyes widen.
"Shut up!" she orders.
"Romelle!" Kinkade repeats enthusiastically. "You're right! That's who it is!"
"Why sculpt Romelle naked?" James asks, smirking like he already knows the answer.
"It's not Romelle!" Rizavi insists. "It's not!"
"Then what's this?" Kinkade asks, pointing toward the blemish on the snowwoman's face but not quite making contact with it. "Why does it have the same birthmark as Romelle?"
"Why are you paying so much attention to Romelle's birthmarks?" Rizavi questions in return.
Kinkade shrugs.
"She's cute," he readily admits. "So what if I notice?"
"Uh, no. Haven't you ever heard 'bros before hoes?'"
"Is that you saying you're going after Romelle?" Kinkade asks, challenge in his tone.
And Rizavi goes right for the bait.
"That's me saying, 'been there, done that,' and I will be doing it again," Rizavi boasts. "So back off."
"I knew you didn't just pull the design out of nowhere!" Kinkade accuses before stopping short. "Oh my god, are those Romelle's boobs?"
Caught in her own admission, Rizavi doesn't bother to deny that their whole group is now knowingly admiring a perfect rendition of Romelle on the verge of orgasm. Suddenly, Keith feels dirty for having seen it.
"You perv!" Kinkade yells, but it's watered down by the laughter he's almost choking on.
He punctuates the accusation with a well-aimed snowball, colliding against Rizavi's shoulder and shattering on impact.
"Am not!" Rizavi volleys back, her own snowball missing Kinkade by several inches.
"Are so!" James jumps in, landing his own successful hit on Rizavi's back.
And then it's all-out war, with everyone lobbing snowballs at each other indiscriminately after the first several attacks on Rizavi.
As it turns out, the snowmen were good practice for building snowballs, which Keith learns fast once the snowballs start flying his way. His snowman hardly serves as shelter from the near constant barrage, but it's something to hide behind as he builds up his own pile of ammo and prepares to jump back in on offense, getting in his own share of hits on the others in the chaos.
Until one flies wide, right into Ina's snowman, knocking his head right off in its wake.
Everything comes to a stop.
"Oh my god, you killed Leifsdottir's snowman!" Rizavi exclaims in mock horror. "My friend is a murderer…"
Sure enough, her decapitated snowman stands forlornly, his fallen head completely crumbled and leaving only a carrot sticking straight up from the ground in its wake. As they all look, one of the stick-arms drops to the ground to join the lost carrot-nose.
James snorts while Keith gapes at the damage he caused… and at Rizavi referring to him so clearly as 'my friend.'
"He's fine," James tells Ina. "Just needs some quick snow-surgery…"
"Wow," Rizavi comments. "Don't gender her snowman… that could be a beautiful woman, or maybe they don't subscribe to gender at all. Did you ever think of that?"
"Did I ever think of nonbinary snowmen?" James confirms, pulling Keith by the hand and leading him to the scene of the crime. "No, can't say I have. Ina, what are your snowman's preferred pronouns?"
"I don't think the snowman has those," Ina answers.
"Fair enough. We'll fix they-who-shall-not-be-gendered. Come on, Keith."
Just like that, it's resolved as fast as it happened. Unlike when he was trying to bring his own snowman to life, James has no problem matching what Ina's snowman looked like before while Keith reaches in to do what he can without interfering with James' work.
"Your snowman looks nice," Keith tries, seizing the chance while he has it.
James falters but quickly goes back to reapplying the marshmallow features.
"You don't have to lie," he says. "I know it's bad."
"It's not. It's…" Keith struggles for the right thing to say before settling on, "I can tell what you were going for."
James looks up from his work.
"Can you?"
"Well, yeah. It's a snow biker, right? He's got the leather jacket and gloves," Keith muses. "And the hair is cool."
James sighs.
"It's you."
It's Keith's turn to freeze, but only for a moment, and then he's turning to get another look at James' creation. Huh. That… It doesn't not look like Keith.
"It's an honor," Keith tells him, but James only snorts at that.
They finish up just before Ina calls out, "Let's go warm up!" from several paces away, already making for the cabin. Suddenly without the distraction of all the snow-based activities, Keith realizes exactly how cold he's gotten in the time they've been outside.
Intercepting Ina and heading the group as they clump up at the front door, Kinkade beats everyone else inside and heads straight for the kitchen.
"Probably making more hot cocoa," James murmurs in explanation. "Let me go make sure he doesn't put milk in yours."
Seeing James discard his boots in a large plastic tray by the door, Keith follows suit rather than track the snow into the cabin. Kinkade's are already there, and Rizavi complains impatiently behind them. Still feeling half frozen, he holds onto his borrowed coat instead of hanging it up.
He moves over to the fireplace only to find it dark and cold.
"How do you turn this on?" he ponders aloud.
"Turn the key to start the gas and then use a lighter," Ina answers quickly enough.
"But it's finicky," Rizavi adds from where she now leans over the back of the couch. "I always wait for Griffin and his magic touch."
"My what now?" James asks.
"Just in time, Griffin! Kogane is in need of those magic fingers of yours!"
Keith barely restrains the instinctual squeak at her implication but manages to hold it back before he can accidentally reveal to James where his mind's at. The momentary thrill of arousal isn't anyone's business but Keith's, and Keith's experienced enough to know it'll never happen. If it were going to, it would have by now. He can't even imagine the horror of spending the rest of this trip having James know Keith actually spends more time than is reasonable thinking about him despite that very real knowledge.
Wise or not, Keith seems to find himself envisioning him quite a lot.
James' own squeak comes through loud and clear, telling Keith plenty about his feelings on the matter… which really shouldn't hurt as much as it does. Keith's spent plenty of time reminding himself James will never be on the table, so it shouldn't come as a surprise now that the very thought of it horrifies him.
He'll probably be afraid of Keith forever, and it's Keith's own damn fault.
"I was trying to start the fire," Keith corrects before Rizavi can make any worse innuendo. "Rizavi said you're good at it."
"Magic fingers," Rizavi adds again, earning an eyeroll from James… but it softens when he looks back to Keith.
That does dangerous things to his heart even after the whiplash of the past thirty seconds, things he can't afford to be convincing himself could be reality. So he shoves them away, same as always, and holds the lighter out to James when he approaches.
"There's no trick to it," James explains, fire coming to life under his ministrations. "You just turn this and light her up."
Keith nods along as though he wasn't doing the exact same thing to no effect before James came over. Maybe James does have magic fingers.
"So, what now?" Keith asks while James is within reach. "We built a snowman, went sledding, and had a snowball fight. What's left to try?"
"You still want to go back out there?" James questions. "You're shivering so hard right now…"
"No, I'm not," Keith denies even as he does, in fact, catch himself shaking.
"Uh huh… anyway, usually 'warming up' means quitting for the day, so if you're going back out today, it'll probably just be the two of us. It's getting dark, anyway, and it'll be even colder if we go back now. You know I'll spend the whole time worrying about your stubborn ass freezing to death."
"I wouldn't freeze to death."
"Says the guy who's actively trying to go play in the snow when he's supposed to be taking a break to warm up."
"You just said it's not a break!" Keith argues.
"Whatever," James dismisses, tugging Keith onto the couch with him. "Come here, popsicle."
While Keith recombobulates, James pulls an impossibly soft blanket over the two of them and snuggles up closer, herding Keith into one corner of the sectional.
"This alright?" he asks Keith quietly. "I just figured body heat will help you warm up faster."
Keith shakily nods, grateful that he can pass that off as him still shivering rather than the nerves it really is. James hums and finishes settling in more comfortably.
"Don't fall asleep," Rizavi warns. "We're not canceling the party even if you do."
"Wasn't going to," James says.
"Could've fooled me. You're looking awfully cozy over there…"
"When is the party, anyway?" Ina asks, blessedly pulling the conversation away from the best few minutes Keith's had all year.
"Why not now?" Rizavi suggests. "We're not doing anything, are we? Hey, Kinkade! Spike those cocoas! It's party time!"
James makes a face into the blanket.
"What could you possibly spike hot chocolate with?" he murmurs so only Keith can hear.
The unfortunate answer is tequila, as Keith learns a minute later with a hesitant sip that sends him coughing in the wake of the direct assault to his taste buds. Of all the poorly thought out drinks he's ever faced in his years of underage drinking, this is the most offensive one he's had the displeasure to face. The warmth of the drink only makes it worse, somehow bringing out the tequila taste even more. Rizavi slurps it down without a fuss, though, and Keith can't bring himself to back down from the implied challenge.
He's absolutely not jealous of how easily Ina declines her own tequila-cocoa… and even if he were, it's less awful facing the horrors of his mug with James suffering right alongside him. James, for one, doesn't hide his grimace at the flavor.
"You suck, Rizavi," he comments, but he takes another sip anyway. "And you'd better watch yourself tonight."
She kicks her legs up onto the couch cushion and swings her feet over to prod at James' thigh. Kinkade grunts as the shift sends her back shoving against him.
"Ooh, you gonna get me, Griffin? Watch out. I might like it."
"Of course you would," he grumbles. "You'll drink anything…"
"Only anything with alcohol!"
"Chasers," Ina interrupts, returning with a glass of what could be beautiful, untainted tequila and placing a bowl of candy canes onto the coffee table before retreating with her nice, normal drink.
"Pussy," Rizavi goads, but she immediately claims one of the candy canes for herself.
Keith is quick to follow in the hopes of anything detracting from the horrible taste plaguing his mouth. The peppermint quickly takes over as the dominant flavor, enough that he can almost forget the tequila. Almost.
At least the drink warms him up.
And so does James, still inexplicably pressed tight against Keith even now that they're both sitting up. Keith should probably move before James can notice and think it's weird… but no part of him actually wants to slide a couple inches to the left, so he simply doesn't.
"Jackbox?" Kinkade suggests.
While the others murmur their assent, James twists his neck to look to Keith. This close, Keith can see every last detail in his face, down to the glint of gold in his irises.
A kiss, Keith's brain nonsensically supplies. He wants a kiss.
But before Keith can embarrass himself by acting on that thought, James smiles softly and looks away to give his own approval of the game.
So that's that.
The game on the TV screen looks vaguely familiar from some of the parties Keith's been to. The difference is that this time, he's not just catching a glimpse on his way to finding another drink. Today, apparently, is the day he finally sits down and learns how to play.
Or he tries, at least. Mostly he spends the game distracting himself with the candy bowl and watching his responses flop amongst all the inside jokes that Keith doesn't get.
Maybe it'll bother him later. For now, he's too tired to care about much beyond the fact that James remains warm along his side, following along even when Keith tries to shrink away at his first few failed responses. His chest bumps against Keith's back whenever he bursts into laughter at another one of those inside jokes. Nothing else can take up brain space in the wake of that.
Between all the day's activity and the steady flow of alcohol, it's no wonder Keith keeps catching himself nodding off on the couch. This time, when his head jerks back up, he takes it as the sign it is and calls it a night.
In whatever amount of time he's been asleep, everyone else has wandered off elsewhere, to the den from the sound of it. Music now thumps steadily from down there, but the main floor is quiet enough, and upstairs is blessedly silent.
It feels weird to sneak off to bed without telling anyone, but it would be weirder to go down just to tell them all he can't keep up with them. That's probably worse than the fact that they definitely all caught him passed out on the couch already and made the conscious choice to move downstairs to spare him the chaos of the celebration.
So he slips away upstairs instead, surprised to find the noise of the music fading away completely with the extra floor of distance.
There's hardly any time to appreciate it before he's happily unconscious, completely unaware as the rest of the party takes its time to slowly fizzle out to nothing.