Snowy Embrace

A white sea pelted the windshield, Fenris unable to see even the headlights pathetic attempt to highlight the road. All he could make out were the windshield wipers struggling to mop away the blizzard swarming above them.

He braced himself against the console, not a matter of if but when the truck he foolishly climbed into would spin out of control and upend into a ditch. Sadly, his companion appeared unperturbed by their plight.

Hawke had his seat pulled so close to the windshield, his knee knocked over an empty coffee cup. The cheap styrofoam rolled around on Fenris’ boots, probably working a new stain in, but he had bigger problems. Like surviving this night.

Tugging down the wrists of his jacket, Hawke tried to wipe away the condensation building up inside the cab on the windshield. A freezing cold winter outside, a broken heater in, and two men puffing away was increasing the fog like cataracts.

“Damn snow,” Hawke grumbled in his baritone roll. “Come on, baby. Hold it together,” he cooed to the truck as if the blighted thing could respond. Fenris tried to not roll his eyes for fear it might distract the driver. Why did he agree to this again?

No one else moved on the highway, the streaking lights through the slits of snow long abandoned to darkness. It was so desolate, Fenris began to wonder if they were the only two left alive on this blizzarding night. “Hawke…” he began, his voice rolling lower into a growl.

The man had his entire bottom lip jutted out, his eyes pinched to the size of raisins as he attempting to glare through the darkness. When it seemed no response was coming, Fenris tried again. “Hawke!”

“What?”

“We should stop.”

“Nonsense, just got another…” And, the man who was the only bulwark between them and being impaled on the drive shaft, dug out his phone.

Tevene curses rolled under Fenris’ breath as he glanced around wishing there was a second seatbelt in this rickety truck. No such luck, and — as he noted before — the nylon across his lap was held in place thanks to duct tape. How was Hawke not dead ten times over already?

“Hour and a half to go?” Hawke’s optimism deflated at that fact. The way they were already creeping over the highway, it was probably more likely going to take two to three hours. Fenris tried to burn his eyes into the man who was sheepishly placing his phone into the fallen shelf overladen in rusted bolts.

Hawke wrung his hands against the steering wheel, the bullheaded man never one to turn tail and run. Most situations, Fenris wasn’t either, but no one could defeat the weather. No one sane at least. They rumbled past another mile marker, the green sign reminding them that they passed the last one some ten minutes back.

With a groan, Hawke slammed the heels of his hands against the steering wheel. “Fine, get us some place to stop for the night.” He jerked his chin at the abandoned phone, Fenris fishing it up.

He was about to ask for the password, when a swipe of his finger opened it right to the home screen. Of course Hawke wouldn’t hide his things behind a password, look at the people he let into his life. Not staring at the lewd picture Isabela downloaded for Hawke’s wallpaper when he wasn’t looking, Fenris scrolled through the close options for the night.

“You know,” Hawke said during Fenris’ search, “they’re gonna wonder what happened to us.”

Fenris didn’t answer as he was too busy trying to close out windows asking him to rate places they hadn’t even been to. Curse this.

“Might worry too. Maybe it’d just be easier to…”

“Take the next exit,” Fenris declared, depositing the phone in Hawke’s favorite spot.

The man groaned, his head tipping up as both watched the sign above warn them about their oncoming ramp. Fenris glanced over once, his glare trying to tell Hawke that they were turning off and stopping. He had no intentions of pulling himself out of a crashed and crumpled pickup in freezing snow. Nor did he think he’d have the strength to carry Hawke towards whatever passed for a hospital out here in nowhere.

“Fine,” Hawke acquiesced once again, “you win. But don’t look smug.” He waggled a finger even while cranking on the wheel. As he did so, his precarious phone tumbled from its perch and landed beside Hawke’s feet. The man didn’t even notice, all his focus on keeping the truck from spinning off the iced-over ramp.