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The room is freezing, the cold lingering and digging into Rowl’s bones as he yells, his throat burning and his tail lashing aggressively behind him, occasionally hitting against something hard enough for it to fall to the ground, something ignored by the both of them as they fight for maybe the fifth night in a row. It’s no use. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying so hard with Hax, the other isn’t ever going to listen to him but he’s never going to listen to the snowman either, so what else could he really do?
They’ve fought a lot in the past year or so, but it’s never gotten to the point where anything got physical at all. Rowl would never do something so stupid, seeing as the better solution was always just to walk out the house entirely and go sit on the seafloor of the ocean for as long as he needed before dragging himself out of the violent waves and returning home for a better day.
He doesn’t know what he said this time or even did wrong to set Hax off so badly. The room is constantly decreasing in temperature, and Rowl is unsure if he can keep fighting without his teeth chattering with how cold it’s getting, his clothes not even enough to keep the frost from biting at his skin. It’s not that Hax is anywhere near him. There’s a good amount of space between them, Hax is simply so… angry right now that he could clearly see the air being affected by the temperature coming from the enraged snowman. His voice cracks, and Rowl would tease him for it, but he feels so cold that he can’t get himself to say anything, his teeth chattering so hard and his fingers stiff with how frozen they feel, barely able to grab the fabric of his sleeve to just allow him to hold something. His tail is shaking, basically between his legs, and he wants to run, but he can’t, because–
Because Rowl is freezing, and it is all his fault.
Hax moves closer to him, hands moving and voice deafening in Rowl’s ears, and his heart is racing in his chest. He takes a shaky step backwards, voice dying in his throat when he tries to say something, unable to handle inhaling the freezing oxygen around him. All it takes is for him to croak out a helpless “Hax…” before something happens and forces his body to move on instinct, jolting backwards as ice sprouts out of nowhere from the floorboards, sharp spikes glistening in the fluorescent lights as his body fights for oxygen that doesn’t feel like it’s freezing his chest as he breathes. His eyes are wide, terrified, as he looks back and forth from the transparent blue and Hax staring at him from behind the barrier that had appeared between them. His heart thunders as he trembles, shivering intensely from the cold and unable to get his vocal cords to work as he just stares at Hax and the spikes of ice that had come so close to getting him.
He’s shaking. He can’t get himself to stop because the threat he faces is staring him down, barely enough room between them for Rowl to feel safe. If he hadn't– that was so close. If his body hadn't moved like it did, he's unsure if he could even handle the thought of what might've happened to him if his instincts didn't make him move backwards so far. Even with how far he had jolted with his frozen limbs, they had still come so close to touching him, and it's horrifying.
It's horrifying how close he was to possibly losing his life.
Losing his life to Hax's hands.
The same hands that he had always found comfort in seeing pressed against the glass of his tube. Those familiar cold hands that he would press his palms against, lining their fingers up and curious about the condensation that would gather around them on the clear material every time Hax touched it.
The same hands that had held him as he stumbled over his own feet, unable to use them simply from the fact he never was taught how to use them properly. Frosty hands that guided him step by step, patient even while they were on a timer, continuously ticking down by the second as he forced his weak legs to work, unable to understand the words being spoken to him in the panic of the moment.
The same hands that held his over and over time again, cold palms clasped around his webbed fingers in the early hours of the day, a comfort he never had until then.
The same hands that connected their pinkies gently, a promise being whispered into the light breeze of the night, the words being carried away; only heard by the two of them. On their first night of freedom, an oath was created, made with the purpose of never being broken.
The same hands that just now tried to hurt him– not kill him, because Hax could never kill Rowl, right?.
Right?
Those freezing hands reach out towards him, and he can’t help but flinch back– away from the cold that radiates from the fingers floating in the air trying to reach him. His throat is dry, but he’s sure that his vocal cords would be unwilling to work with him regardless if he had the words to say anything right now. He’s shaking as he lifts his head up to look at Hax, his terrified eyes meeting the frantic ones of his friend, and with each ragged exhale he forces from his body, his legs tremble yet feel so stiff, but he wills them to move– to get away from Hax.
(But could he really fault Hax? He brought this all upon himself. After all, this was his fault.)
“Rowl, wait–!” He shouts, reaching after his friend who bolts out the front door, getting control over his frozen legs again to surge forward to try to grab for Rowl before he disappears into the night (and possibly never comes back). He reaches out the front door, yanking his arm back in when raindrops land on his sweater sleeve, panting as he looks back and forth frantically, trying to find the glowing stripes of his friend, but the rain only comes down harder, blurring everything around him and the downpour worsens to the point that he has to retreat, unable to take the risk of dissolving into nothing with the rain.
Fuck. No– no! He– he needs to follow Rowl– he needs to find Rowl and apologize and–
No. No, he can’t chase after Rowl because Rowl is scared of him and he’s– and in this moment of time, he’s a threat to his friend. He’s dangerous and following Rowl would be the worst idea he’s ever had. Why did he do that–? he didn’t mean to– did he? He lashed out with the intent to harm Rowl, and– and he can’t really blame his friend for wanting to run..
“God– fuck! ” Hax paces the space he can walk in, the ice in the middle of the room remaining unmelted because of the cold layered down around the room, waves of it rolling off Hax as he walks the same path back and forth, biting his nails and thinking in loops. What could he do?
He can’t get the sight of Rowl’s terrified gaze out of his mind, his eyes wide with fear and his tail tucked between his legs, cowering before Hax, afraid of the one person he trusted.
Trusted.
Rowl trusted him and– and what is wrong with him?
Their arguments were never that serious. Why did he lash out– what was he thinking?! Was he even thinking? No fucking wonder the scientists always kept him away from Rowl! They did so much and yet he went against their warnings anyway when they were just trying to keep Rowl safe and out of harm's way.
At some point while he was stuck in his thoughts, his body had walked itself into his bedroom, only the click of his lock being the thing that snaps him out of his mind, staring down at his hand on the handle of his door and slowly pulling away, moving on autopilot as he goes back to his looping thoughts.
Hax wraps himself in his winter coat (a gift Rowl had gotten for him on christmas, and maybe it’ll be the only thing that remains of Rowl after today) and sinks into his bed, hiding in the thick blankets and staring off into nothing as he simply sits there, small, clear crystals sliding down his red cheeks and sniffling softly, curled up and making himself as small as possible, hiding in the shadow of the hood of his coat
He’s so… so terribly cold.
He feels so guilty and he can’t do anything about it. The sight of Rowl being afraid of him breaks his heart into tiny pieces, and he caused all of that fear too. Time passes, but it doesn't matter to him, because to Hax, time is frozen to the aftermath of the fight.
Would that be the last time he ever would see Rowl? He doesn't want that– he doesn't want that at all. It can’t end like this.
He doesn't want it to end like this.
But he can't fault Rowl for leaving. He really can't blame him at all. It's really the only correct thing to do when the only person you trust in the small world that you know nearly tries to fucking kill you over a useless argument. Part of him really wished that he didn't know where Rowl went, because then maybe his chest wouldn't hurt from the mere thought of the ocean near their home that Hax would never be able to face ever again, knowing that was where Rowl left him for, a much better place where he really belonged:
In the ocean; as far away from Hax he could ever get.
He doesn’t like crying.
It’s not enjoyable. It’s not a very good experience when the tears solidify before they even make it out of your eyes, and he’s just constantly sniffing and rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hands, and he feels utterly pathetic right now.
Why is he even crying? He’s the reason the night ended like this. Rowl was right to leave, he’s fucking useless. After all that– after–
“Do you promise to never leave me?” He asks, rolling over on his side to look at the experiment beside him, laying in the dew-covered grass and staring at the moon. He rolls onto his back, staring at the glowing ball in the sky that had captured the other's interest. Huh, this was Rowl’s first time seeing the moon ever in his life.
Rowl stares at him, owlishly wide eyes glowing in the darkness.
Right, his companion doesn’t understand him.
That’s okay though.
He knows that Rowl can’t understand him, but he knows that the experiment is smart enough to understand body language well enough. Slowly, he takes his own hand and crosses his fingers together over his heart, waiting for Rowl to do the same. It’s a tad more difficult with webbed fingers, he should’ve realized, but Rowl manages well enough all the same. Reaching out, he guides his friends hand over to him, nudging at the experiments pinky before connecting them, seeing the way Rowl stares curiously at the action.
“This is a pinky promise,” he says, and Rowl simply tilts his head at Hax. He can’t help but smile at the action. His friend is so silly.
“I’m going to make one for us. I hope you remember this moment when you learn how to understand me.”
“I, Hax Hacking Noises,” he starts, “pinky promise to never leave you, Rowl… “ he trails off, furrowing his eyebrows in thought before starting again with a shrug. “We’ll figure out your last name when you understand what I’m saying, but I promise to never leave you ever! And you’ll do the same for me, right??”
Rowl gives him a toothy grin at his enthusiastic tone, and Hax only returns the expression with a pleased smile.
“I swear on my heart to be your best friend forever, Rowl, no matter what the world throws at us. I hope you also want to be my best friend forever, too.”
His throat is tight, a muffled sob escaping him through bitten lips, eyes blurry and unable to focus on a single thing in his room, so he simply wills them closed, lowering his head and closing his eyes, willing the crystal tears away. He’ll just… sleep this off… no worries…
He’ll ignore the way his mind is still terribly loud with his worries when he presses his eyes shut, anxious to the point a pit has formed in his stomach at the possibility that Rowl may not ever return, something that has such a terrifyingly high chance of happening he can’t help but think about it, but a small flame of hope flickers in his chest, barely alive in the snowstorm brewing internally, but it’s there.
It’s still there.
Rowl returns when he’s thoroughly drenched to the core, shivering from the cold rather than fear this time, approaching the soaked steps of the home and reaching out towards the door. He loosely holds a crab and fish in his left hand, wondering if his peace offerings would maybe be enough for Hax to forgive him even the slightest bit. He spots the warm lights of the home still shining through the windows when he pulls himself out of his doubts. He blinks, questioning for a moment why none of the blinds had been pulled closed, but the thoughts disappear from his mind as he touches the cold door knob, already expecting the door to be locked and he would be stuck outside until Hax stopped hating him enough to let him back inside.
The door opens as easily as ever when he turns the knob.
Okay.. he really… hadn’t expected that.
He steps in after a second, cautiously looking around and it doesn't take him long to realize that absolutely nothing had changed while he was gone. The room was still cold, but it was inconsistent and mostly came from the mound of ice in the middle of the room rather than the blankets of frost that had come from Hax before, rolling off him in waves with his fury. The ice spikes have melted with the hours that have passed, so Hax hasn't been in the living room at all. In fact, the living room looks untouched, nothing moved or added to the scene.
Then where would Hax be if not home?
He takes a stuttering inhale in, remembering the last time that Hax had stormed out into the night and Rowl had decided to foolishly not follow after him, forced to spend the rest of the night waiting till the early hours of the morning for Hax after his anger had faded, being replaced with the overwhelming feeling of regret and panic. Both of them never left the home at the same time, so surely Hax had stayed back? Hopefully?
Carefully, he navigates the home, walking down the hallway to their rooms, the prey still held loosely in his hands, walking slowly. When he approaches Hax's room, the air around him suddenly gets colder, a chill being sent through him before it clicks in his mind that the low temperature was being caused by Hax himself, which was a dead giveaway of his location. The doorknob was freezing, and he's unable to turn it to get himself in, so he gets on his knees and starts the familiar routine of him lockpicking Hax's door, fish held in his mouth and crab in his lap.
The white door unlocks with a satisfying click, and he slowly opens it, afraid of making any noise at all and alerting Hax of his presence.
Nothing about Hax's room had changed, and he nearly misses the one important thing in the room when he looks it over. There's a soft sniffle, and his head snaps over to the sound, eyes darting around to see where it might've come from. His eyes land on the small mound on Hax's bed, and cautiously, he approaches it, standing in front of it before sitting down, the bed creaking with the additional weight.
He sits close enough to Hax to know that the other would feel the way the bed dips, and he's right, because Hax's head flies up, eyes wide with surprise and red from… crying.
Hax was crying.
Rowl’s heart twists at the sight before him. Hax is hiding and staring at him, and even with how covered the other was, he could practically see the way his shoulders slumped from relief when he looks over Rowl’s drenched form, and normally, Hax would probably yell at him for sitting on his bed while wet, but this isn’t how the day normally is, and it’s all wrong. There’s a brief moment of eye contact between them, and the only thing he sees swimming in Hax’s eyes is guilt and it’s…
It’s not right.
Guilt isn’t usually an expression that Hax wears, and it’s not something that is often with the both of them, but when it does come up, it’s never pretty. The snowman snaps his gaze away, hiding his face again and looking directly away from Rowl, laying his head on his arms draped over his knees. He reaches out towards the other, and even without looking at him, Hax shies away from his attempt to touch him and provide some sort of comfort to his… friend.
They’re still friends.
No, not just friends.
Best friends.
They’re still best friends.
After all, he had promised.
He doesn’t know what to say, and he knows that words would most definitely help in this situation, but he can’t get his vocal cords to operate, so he only keeps reaching, placing his hand on Hax’s shoulder. He doesn’t grip it, he just rests his hand there, and if Hax wanted, he could easily just shove Rowl’s touch off of him immediately.
But he doesn’t.
The tenseness in Hax’s posture doesn’t go away, but Rowl feels him relax just the slightest, and he’ll take that as a win for now.
Now he doesn’t know what to do.
He’s never been in a situation like this ever.
It's kinda awkward.
He pulls his legs up onto the bed (his shoes are off, he’s not a barbarian) and he lets his tail curl around him before moving over closer to the small frame of his friend, pushing the hood of the coat off and revealing the familiar face of Hax, no longer hidden by the shadows from the puffy jacket. Hax only looks at him for a moment before looking away again, stubborn as ever. He frowns, but he doesn’t push, only sitting back against the wall, mere inches from Hax who was still swaddled up in his blankets.
The silence is weird, but he’s patient enough, and a moment like this is rare with them, so he simply just sits and waits for Hax to break the silence whenever he wants to.
Though, the fish and crab need to be stored, so he hopes they could get this done and over with quick enough that the food would still be good enough to eat later.
Hax’s room is cold, but to Rowl, it’s a comfort more than anything. It's a refreshing type of cold, far from the bitter frost that hurt his throat to breathe in and always bit at his exposed skin whenever he went outside for winter and the wind blew a little too hard. It's a nice chill that he’s very quickly learned to associate with Hax as a person.
“What are you doing?” Hax questions, his voice cracking and terribly small. There’s a slight wobble to it still, and Rowl doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever heard Hax sound like this.
He doesn't like it.
Rowl looks up at Hax from where he was picking at his nails, confused. “I'm just sitting here, is there something wrong with that?”
“I– no–” Hax huffs, “that’s not what I meant.” He grumbles, and Rowl shrugs, sitting back against the wall surprisingly relaxed. “I just… don’t understand why you’re back.” Hax says in a defeated tone after a few beats of silence, finally turning to look at Rowl in the eye but still curled up in the blankets.
“Why wouldn’t I be back?” He asks in return, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the absolutely absurd question. “I literally live here,” he points out, the tip of his tail flicking on the bed, going back to mindlessly picking at his nails.
Not the right thing to say, apparently, because Hax groans frustratedly at him, and Rowl frowns. He didn’t come here to make Hax upset again. No, he came to make things better–
“Don’t you…” Hax trails off, biting his tongue and hissing softly, upset at the way he can’t get his words out. “I don’t know–” He tugs at his hair, growing more irritated by the second. For a second, Rowl expects Hax to give up on trying to get his sentence out entirely, but he’s proved wrong nearly immediately.
“Aren’t you at least the slightest bit scared of me?!” He shouts, exasperated at Rowl’s indifference after everything that had happened. For someone so cold, Hax's anger is explosive when it shows up. It's a contrast that takes him off-guard, eyes widened a bit at the yell and at the sudden frost that floods the room all over again, the cold seeping into his bones and making chills pass through his entire body.
“Why would I be scared of you?” Rowl sees the way confusion morphs on Hax's expression, desperation joining it soon afterwards as Rowl says nothing else, letting the question linger in the air as Hax's mouth opens and closes uselessly, unable to piece together a sentence, stunned into silence.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” He tries, and his voice is a miserable sound, wavering as he tries to make sense of Rowl’s actions.
He inhales sharply before uttering out his next sentence, confidently.
“Because you're my best friend, Hax.”
It’s something he would normally never admit out loud ever, really, but right now, it seems to be the best thing to say to Hax.
“You still believe that?!” His friend hisses out in disbelief, eyes searching Rowl’s body and face frantically for any sign that maybe he was lying or pitying Hax enough to be saying something like that because– because surely– the real Rowl would never admit something like that of all things.
Not to Hax.
“You still trust me after– after everything?” Hax’s voice cracks, pathetic as he stares at Rowl with red eyes, and with the way his voice shakes and trembles, and Rowl blinks once, then twice, before he realizes that Hax is about to start crying again.
Damn it.
Stubborn bastard.
“That’s a dumb fucking question,” Rowl snaps, tail lashing on the bed beside him, emotions flaring up to frustration at Hax’s words, it’s his stubbornness coming into play and making him believe the most outrageous things ever and be impossibly confident in that belief. “Of course I trust you, you’re my best friend! How many times do I have to fucking repeat myself?!” If Hax is going to be stubborn, then Rowl can too.
Hax falls silent at that, and the anger and annoyance that had made Rowl bristle very quickly leaves his system, and he deflates with a sigh. “We made a promise,” he mumbles softly, “I’m not going to be the one to break it.”
At his words, he hears Hax’s breathing hitch before a choked hiccup escapes him, and his eyes widen in panic, for a moment afraid he said something wrong because Hax is crying again and–
Arms wrap tightly around him, Hax pressing his face on his shoulder and shaking with tears as Rowl sits there, stunned with his hands hovering in the air, unsure on what to do with them or where to place them. It takes him another second more before he wraps his arms around Hax, relaxing his stiff posture to sink into the embrace.
It’s cold. Obviously it would be cold, and maybe after what happened hours earlier he shouldn’t be so relaxed around such temperatures, but just the simple knowledge that it’s Hax is enough for him to find comfort in such an odd thing. He trusts Hax more than anyone– more than anything in the world, and nothing will change that.
“I’m sorry– ‘m so sorry–” Hax chokes out between dry sobs, gasping for air against Rowl’s sweater, his tears melting into the fabric, and he would most definitely be grossed out by the snot getting on his precious clothing, but right now, he doesn’t care. His tail coils around them, his touch running up and down Hax’s back, rubbing soothing patterns on the jumper underneath the puffy winter coat. Hax repeats the words over and over again, his apologies broken by hiccups and ragged inhales, and Rowl hushes him each time, because he knows. He knows.
“I know,” he whispers, squeezing Hax gently.
“I’m sorry too.”