下一章 上一章 目录 设置
13、013 英文版 ...
-
The first snow fell earlier than anyone expected.
It came soft and quiet in the middle of the night, covering the city in a thin, glittering white layer, muffling the usual noise of cars and voices until the world felt gentle and hushed. Shane woke before dawn, drawn from sleep by the faint, pearlescent light seeping through the curtains, and slipped carefully out of Tahir’s arms so he wouldn’t wake him.
He padded to the window in bare feet, pulling the curtain aside just enough to look out.
His breath caught.
The rooftops, the fire escape, the distant streetlights — everything was dusted in white. The air looked cold, sharp and clean, and tiny flakes still drifted lazily down from the sky, slow and silent.
Shane had always loved snow.
As a kid, it had felt like magic.
As a lonely teenager, it had felt like quiet company.
Now… it felt like a gift.
A new kind of memory.
A new kind of home.
“…What are you doing up?”
A low, sleep-rough voice murmured from the bed.
Shane turned, smiling, to find Tahir propped up on one elbow, dark hair messy, eyes half-lidded, gaze fixed on him with that soft, endless fondness.
“Come see,” Shane said, quiet and excited.
Tahir swung his legs over the edge of the bed without hesitation, standing and crossing the room in two long, lazy strides. He came up behind Shane, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, pressing himself warm and solid against Shane’s back.
Together, they looked out at the snow.
Tahir’s breath warmed Shane’s neck.
“…It’s white,” Tahir said, faintly confused.
Shane laughed softly.
“It’s snow,” he said. “You’ve seen it before, remember?”
“Not like this,” Tahir murmured. “Not with you.”
Shane’s chest softened. He tilted his head back, staring up at Tahir’s face, illuminated by the pale winter light.
“Have you ever touched it?” Shane asked.
Tahir hesitated, then shook his head.
“The cold water I know,” he said. “This… is foreign.”
“Then let’s go touch it,” Shane said, bright with sudden, childish excitement. “Right now. Before it melts. Before anyone else wakes up.”
Tahir’s lips curved into a slow, sleepy smile.
“You want to go outside in the snow,” he said, “in your pajamas.”
“Yep,” Shane said, unashamed. “C’mon. Live a little.”
Tahir laughed, low and warm and helpless. How could he ever say no to that face?
“Fine,” he said. “But if you freeze, I’m holding you responsible.”
Five minutes later, they were wrapped in thick coats and scarves, standing on the sidewalk outside their apartment building, surrounded by quiet, untouched snow. The world was still asleep — no cars, no people, no noise — just the two of them and the soft, falling white.
Shane bent down, scooping up a handful of snow, cold and crisp and light. He held it out to Tahir.
“Here,” he said. “Touch it.”
Tahir hesitated, then slowly, carefully, reached out and brushed his fingers over the snow. His eyes widened slightly, surprised.
“…It’s cold,” he said, flatly.
Shane laughed.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpanned.
Tahir shot him a mock-glare. Then his gaze dropped to the snow in Shane’s palm, then back to Shane’s face, and a slow, mischievous light entered his eyes.
Before Shane could react, Tahir scooped up a handful of snow and gently, playfully, pressed it against the tip of Shane’s nose.
Shane yelped, jumping back, his eyes wide.
“Hey!” he protested. “That’s cold!”
“You started it,” Tahir said, smiling innocently.
Shane’s eyes narrowed. He looked down at the snow in his hand, then back up at Tahir, and a slow, matching grin spread across his face.
“Oh,” Shane said, low and dangerous. “It’s on.”
The snow war began.
It was not fierce. It was not violent. It was soft, silly, breathless, warm. They chased each other along the quiet sidewalk, laughing until their sides hurt, throwing soft handfuls of snow, dodging and stumbling and grinning like idiots. For a few perfect minutes, they were not mated Alphas, not marked, not bonded, not adults with jobs and responsibilities and histories.
They were just two people, young and happy and in love, playing in the snow.
When they finally stopped, breathless and pink-cheeked and covered in tiny flakes, Shane stumbled forward, burying his face in Tahir’s coat, laughing helplessly. Tahir wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight, pressing his face into Shane’s snow-dusted hair, laughing too.
“You’re impossible,” Shane mumbled into his chest.
“You love me,” Tahir returned.
Shane didn’t deny it.
They went back inside when their fingers were numb and their noses were red, stomping snow off their shoes, shedding coats and scarves and laughing at the state of each other. The apartment was warm and bright, the smell of coffee already drifting from the kitchen.
Shane stood on tiptoe, pressing a cold, quick kiss to Tahir’s lips.
“Warm me up,” he said.
Tahir’s smile softened, warm and endless.
“With pleasure.”
They spent the entire snowy morning curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket, drinking hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, watching the snow continue to fall outside the window. Shane’s head rested on Tahir’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, his cold feet tucked gently under Tahir’s thigh.
“…Is this what human winters are like?” Tahir asked quietly.
“Pretty much,” Shane said. “Cold. Gray. Sometimes pretty. Mostly just cold.”
“I like it,” Tahir said.
Shane lifted his head, staring at him, surprised.
“You do? But it’s so far from the ocean. So dry. So cold.”
Tahir’s thumb brushed gently over the mark on Shane’s neck.
“I like anything that’s with you,” he said simply.
Shane’s throat tightened. He buried his face back in Tahir’s chest, hiding his warm, tear-pricked eyes.
“Cheesy,” he mumbled.
“Yours,” Tahir returned.
The snow melted a few days later, replaced by crisp, clear winter air and bright, pale sunlight. The ocean was calmer than usual, sharp and blue and cold, and the shore was quiet, with only a handful of brave fishermen still heading out in their small boats.
Shane had a half-day at work, so he met Tahir at the pier earlier than usual. The sun was low, golden, glinting off the water, and Tahir was standing at the end of the wooden planks, leaning against the rail, talking quietly with one of the elderly fishermen who spent his days there.
The man — Mr. Hale, Shane had learned — was thin and weathered, with a white beard and eyes that held the kind of quiet wisdom only a lifetime with the sea could give. He’d never asked questions about Tahir, never seemed surprised by his quiet intensity, his strange calm, his obvious connection to the water.
He just treated him like an old friend.
Shane slowed as he approached, not wanting to interrupt. He leaned against a nearby post, watching them, his chest soft.
Tahir was listening intently, his gaze focused on the old man, nodding at the right moments, his posture respectful. Mr. Hale was gesturing toward the ocean, saying something slow and serious, his voice too quiet for Shane to hear.
After a moment, Mr. Hale clapped Tahir gently on the shoulder, a quiet, fatherly gesture, then turned and ambled back toward his small boat.
Tahir stayed where he was, leaning against the rail, staring out at the ocean, his expression soft, distant, thoughtful.
Shane pushed off the post and walked toward him.
“Hey,” he said, quiet.
Tahir turned, his face lighting up immediately when he saw him.
“Hey,” he said. “How was work?”
“Good,” Shane said, stopping beside him, leaning against the rail. “What were you and Mr. Hale talking about?”
Tahir hesitated, then smiled faintly.
“He was telling me about his wife,” Tahir said. “She died many years ago. He still brings her favorite flowers to the shore every week. Talks to her like she’s still here.”
Shane’s chest softened.
“That’s sweet,” he said.
Tahir nodded, his gaze drifting back to the waves.
“He said something,” Tahir said quietly. “Something I want to remember.”
“What?” Shane asked.
Tahir looked at him, his dark eyes soft and endless and sincere.
“He said love isn’t about where you are,” Tahir said. “It’s about who you’re with. Even when they’re gone… they’re still with you. In the waves. In the wind. In every quiet moment.”
Shane’s throat tightened. He reached over, lacing his fingers through Tahir’s, squeezing gently.
“He’s right,” Shane whispered.
Tahir squeezed his hand back.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m never letting you go.”
They stood there for a long time, watching the sun sink lower, painting the sky in pink and orange and gold, their hands tightly laced together, no words needed. The pier creaked softly beneath them, the waves rolled in gently, the cold winter air nipped at their cheeks, but neither of them felt the cold.
They only felt each other.
That night, they stopped at a small, warm café near their apartment — the kind with dim lighting, soft music, worn leather seats, and the rich, constant smell of freshly brewed coffee. It was busy, but not loud, filled with quiet conversation and soft laughter.
They slid into a small booth in the corner, pressed close together on the bench seat, shoulders touching, knees brushing under the table. Shane ordered a black coffee; Tahir ordered something sweet and creamy, his one quiet human weakness.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their drinks, watching the people around them, just… being together.
Shane was the first to speak.
“…I was thinking today,” he said quietly, staring into his coffee.
“About what?” Tahir asked, gentle.
“About before,” Shane said. “Before the crash. Before the island. Before you.”
Tahir didn’t push. He just waited.
“I was so lonely,” Shane whispered, so quiet only Tahir could hear. “I didn’t even realize how much until I met you. I thought I was fine. I thought I was strong. I thought I didn’t need anyone.”
He glanced up at Tahir, his eyes bright and vulnerable.
“I was so wrong,” he said.
Tahir’s expression softened, warm and painful and infinitely gentle. He reached across the small table, covering Shane’s hand with his, holding it tightly.
“You weren’t wrong to be strong,” Tahir said quietly. “You were surviving. But you don’t have to survive anymore. You get to live. And I’m here. For all of it.”
Shane’s throat bobbed. He squeezed Tahir’s hand.
“I love you,” he whispered. “So much it scares me sometimes.”
Tahir leaned forward, his voice low and sincere and endless.
“Love shouldn’t be scary with me,” he said. “Not ever. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to leave you. You’re safe. You’re home. You’re mine.”
Shane’s eyes glistened. He nodded, swallowing hard.
“I know,” he whispered. “I really do.”
They left the café when their drinks were finished, walking slowly home through the cold night air, hands tightly laced together. The streets were quiet, the lights were warm, the sky was clear and dotted with stars.
When they reached their apartment building, Shane stopped outside the front door, turning to Tahir, lifting a hand to brush gently over his cheek.
“…Kiss me,” he whispered.
Tahir didn’t need to be told twice.
He leaned down, kissing him softly, slowly, deeply, right there on the sidewalk, under the streetlamp, in the cold winter night, for anyone who might be watching to see. He didn’t care about the eyes. He didn’t care about the world.
He only cared about Shane.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Shane rested his forehead against Tahir’s, his eyes closed.
“Let’s go home,” he whispered.
Tahir’s smile was soft and warm and endless.
“Lead the way,” he said.
The apartment was dark when they stepped inside, but it didn’t feel cold. It felt like a hug — familiar, safe, theirs. Shane flipped on a small lamp in the living room, casting soft, golden light over the sofa, the bookshelves, the framed photograph of them on their wedding day.
Tahir closed the door behind them, pressing Shane gently back against it, one hand resting on the wood beside his head, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and warm and unrushed.
Shane melted against him, wrapping his arms around Tahir’s neck, kissing him back like he was starving for him, like he would never get enough. The cold from outside melted away, replaced by the warmth of Tahir’s skin, the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his love.
When they finally pulled apart, Shane’s cheeks were flaming, his lips were swollen, his eyes were dark and soft and completely undone.
“Bed,” he mumbled, half-embarrassed, half-desperate.
Tahir’s smile was slow and heated and entirely pleased.
“Lead the way,” he repeated, his voice rough.
They fell asleep that night wrapped tightly in each other, the cold night held safely outside, the warm lamp glowing softly on the bedside table, the distant sound of waves faint through the window. Shane’s head rested on Tahir’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, feeling the soft, constant thrum of their bond, safe and loved and completely at peace.
He thought of the cold, lonely boy he’d once been.
He thought of the sky falling.
He thought of the waves.
He thought of the island.
And he thought of this — of the warm bed, of the strong arms around him, of the endless love in his chest — and he knew.
He had been saved.
He had been found.
He had been home.
Forever.
