Snapshots

Warmer

a snowy night in new york

Mitch can't stray far from Scott's side as they walk down the slushy sidewalk. Their arms are linked together, and it's awkward because their gaits are so different and Mitch feels like he's going to strain himself trying to stretch to match Scott's long stride. He nudges closer and turns his arm just firmly enough, exerting just enough pressure, that Scott realizes he's walking too fast and slows his pace to suit Mitch's shorter legs. They shuffle along, kicking at the clumps of snow in their path, and Mitch glances over. He hopes Scott will look at him too, but Scott's staring down at the sidewalk, the crunching snow. All Mitch can see past the fuzzy rim of his hood is Scott's scruffy chin and the point of his nose. Mitch watches him for long enough that he almost walks into a parking meter and he has to dodge quickly, leaning his shoulder into Scott's arm.

Mitch faces forward again and quietly sucks in a deep breath. He takes his hand out of his coat pocket and slides it along Scott's arm, his wrist, slipping it into Scott's pocket. He finds Scott's fist balled up against the cold and Mitch pushes his fingers in against Scott's palm, fitting their hands together. Scott laces their fingers together and squeezes.

Mitch sighs and smiles as a comfortable heat spreads in his body. His hand is warmer in Scott's pocket, that's all.