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The first thing you notice when you wake up is that your face stings.
Well, not really. Your face stings, sure, but your fingertips and toes sting as well, and after a little bit of thought you realize it’s because it’s so cold. Why is it so cold? You try to sit up but your limbs are stiff and unmoving. Your hair presses soft and cool into the cushion of your pillow, and you feel some sort of solid thing pressing against your back.
Some sort of dream about a road trip and a talking dog fades from your mind as you sink back into the pillow, screwing your eyes shut to block out any light. The house creaks silently around you, a rare quiet moment in the usual hustle-and-bustle of normal life, and you think if you moved at all, your body would shatter like glass. The alarm clock on your bedside table displays no time, and that’s not normal, is it?
You close your eyes again and try to go back to sleep, but now that you know something is wrong, you can’t do it. Behind you, the thing shifts, and a freezing foot presses against your bare ankle. It makes you yelp slightly, and that’s when the thing grumbles and sits up, and oh yeah, it’s just Bill.
“Whagh…” Bill’s voice comes out groggy and unclear. You turn around in bed, ignoring the way the sheets expose bits of your skin to the frosty air, and watch as a shiver runs down his spine.
“What’s going on…?” Bill mumbles. He runs a hand through his curly hair, which you can imagine feels like soft snow right about now.
You can feel your body start to lock up again, so you sit up as well, hugging your limbs close around your chest. It’s a good thing you wore a hoodie to sleep. The room is dark and drenched in deep blue light; the bedroom door is slightly ajar, and from there you can see the bright light of the thermostat right on the wall adjacent. Or, you would be able to, if it was on.
“Ted?”
Turning your head, you see Bill’s confused expression plastered all over his face. His lashes flutter pretty against his pale cheeks as he blinks slowly, stifling a yawn behind a hand. The blue paint on his nails is chipped from when you painted them last week.
Bill reaches out blindly, and you take his hand in yours, almost hissing at how icy his fingertips are. He leans heavily against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, and you sit there for a moment without saying a word. You can feel his breath against your neck, hot and tickling, and it runs down to your collarbone. The biting flush in your cheeks grows.
Why is it so cold?
“Ted, somethin’s super wrong,” says Bill, who pulls back to look you in the eye. The light from the lamp post outside casts his green eyes in a white glow, standing out in the blue-washed shadow of the rest of him.
You nod, and he twists his hand around to grasp at your wrist instead, and you hiss softly and pull back at his freezing fingertips. He mumbles an apology, but you don’t pay attention, instead focused on swinging your legs over the bed and stepping into your slippers. The sweatpants you’re wearing are too short, have been too short for years now, and you wish you’d chosen something else to wear.
The hallway is quiet and bare as you pad down to the thermostat. It’s almost unreal how cold it is- you know it’s December right now, but seriously, it never gets this cold in California. When you reach it, the thermostat is off, no light shining from its reflective surface. It only serves to confuse you even more, until you realize that all the lights in your house are off. You flip a light switch on and off a couple times to no avail. Looking out the window, you see the snow piled up outside the door, glacial hills about half a foot tall.
In the living room, there’s a stack of letters on the coffee table, right next to the balled up napkins and half-wound cassette tapes. You shiver against your skin as you lift up the top one, forcing your tired eyes to focus on the small lettering. The dim light makes it almost impossible to read, but you’re able to make out that it’s the electrical bill notice from two days ago, proudly declaring that until you pay, your apartment will no longer be receiving electricity.
The kitchen counter is littered with food wrappers and kitschy knick-knacks, but tucked away behind the microwave is a jar that usually contains your emergency funds for when times get tough. You reach out and take it, feeling its empty weight in your hand, and oh yeah, you already used that to pay the water bill. Placing the jar back in its place, you stand in the kitchen a little longer, a slight panic flaring up behind your eyes. The sad puppy statue next to your blackboard menu stares up at you in pity.
“Aw, shit…” you hear come from your mouth, and you shuffle back into the bedroom, letter forgotten somewhere between your kitchen and the hallway. The blankets are bundled up again, probably covering Bill as he tries to get back to sleep. You run your hands through your tangled hair and hang in the doorway, waiting for him to notice you the way he always does, even though you never make a sound.
Bill asks, “What is it, Ted?”
You shrug, though he can’t see it, and sigh audibly. “Electric’s out. I guess we forgot to pay.”
He shuffles until he’s sitting half-up, a vexed crease to his brow. You want nothing more than to smooth it out with your fingers, to make him happier and fix the cold. “I thought we talked to Richie about this, dude,” he says.
Again, you shrug, and this time he just groans and flops back down, bunching the bedding up around him. It draws an amused huff from your throat, and you pause in the doorway a bit longer before migrating to the closet. You pull out Bill’s favorite sweater, one of the only ones he hasn’t cropped, and toss it back to the bed as you change into some warmer bottoms.
You think about the fridge, and all the food in it that’s probably going bad. Briefly, the thought crosses your head to go check the breaker box behind the building, but you’re way too tired to even think of getting your boots on. Bill’s right, you did talk to Richie about being a little late on some utilities this month, but you guess he didn’t listen; Most landlords are like that. Money’s been kind of tight for the past few months, though, so you know how to handle it.
Inside the linen closet are three extra blankets that you really only use when the usual one is in the wash. You pull them down and lean back on their weight, barely able to see where you’re going as you trudge back into the bedroom and dump them right over Bill’s poor head. If the electricity was working, you’d pop them in the dryer for a few minutes to warm them up. But then, if the electricity was working, you wouldn’t need the blankets, would you?
Crawling back into bed, you press yourself up against Bill, who at this point has sorted the blankets out into a pseudo-nest to stay warm. He tucks his face into your neck, cold nose pressed right against you as he breathes toasty air into your goosebumps. You wrap your arms loosely around his waist, toying with the hem of his sweatshirt as you breathe in the scent of his citrus shampoo.
“So, we gotta talk to him in the morning, huh?” Bill mutters into your neck.
“Mhm.”
He sighs, but presses a soft kiss to your skin, and it makes you huff out a little laugh even as you kiss his hair right back. The two of you lie like this a little, just breathing in the bitter air as you try to get back to sleep in time for work tomorrow. At least you have your shared shift then.
When you were a kid, probably about thirteen, you only had the heater turn off once, and that was because your dad wanted to teach you a lesson. Apparently you’d been taking too long in the shower or something, so he’d turned off the breaker box in your room specifically, just so you’d wake up cold. When you woke up the next morning, there’d been a hearty lecture waiting for you. That day at school was one of the worst you’d ever had.
Now, though, you’re twenty, and there’s a soft weight against your chest as Bill kisses lazily up and down your neck. That voice in the back of your head calls you all sorts of unspeakable things for enjoying it, but you drown it out in favor of sliding your now-warm hands under Bill’s shirt to trace patterns into his back. He shudders slightly, and you’re sure it’s not from the cold.
“You know, uh…” Bill starts, taking your hand in his, “We could ask for our paychecks early.”
“Bill, my most esteemed partner, that is a most excellent idea,” you respond sleepily, yawning softly into his curls.
He hums in agreement, and then makes a little air guitar noise that draws a languid laugh from you. Bill’s always been able to make the best of situations like this, and he’s the best at finding solutions to tough problems. You think if you weren’t so sleepy, you’d probably be freaking out right around now. But it’s too late (or early) for that, and all you want to do is get back to sleep.
“’M sorry,” you hear yourself mumble. Bill’s hair tickles under your nose as he shifts slightly.
“What for, Ted?” he asks into your jaw, ghosting his lips over your skin.
You shrug, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “Dunno. ’M sorry for not saving up enough.”
“Nah, duder, that’s not your fault,” he murmurs with a sigh. “Couldn’t’ve known the most heinous situation we’d be in right now.”
A soft smile forms on your lips, and you bury your nose in his locks, letting the press of your cheek against his forehead serve as your answer. There’s a reason you and Bill have been together, platonically and romantically, for so long. He always knows how to quell your fears with just a few words.
After a bit, when the silence has settled over you like the blankets of snow outside, your limbs feel heavy and nearly ready for sleep. But then, a shock of cold against your ankle, and another, and you chuckle softly as you push back a bit from Bill.
“Dude, your feet are like ice cubes,” you tease, and he just sticks his tongue out at you and pulls you back in, rubbing his face into the soft fabric of your hoodie.
“Get used to it, Teddy,” he mumbles, and you know he must be exhausted because he only uses that nickname when he’s almost asleep or completely distracted.
The house falls silent again, still against your beating heart, and all you’ve ever wanted is here. It’s tucked beneath your collarbone right next to your lungs, tucked beneath your chin and breathing into your chest. It’s times like these that you could almost burst with all the love in your gut. The wind makes the tree branches scratch gently at the glass pane of the window.
Tomorrow, you’ll talk to Richie after your shift and sort all this out. And tomorrow you’ll probably have to empty out the whole fridge, because all that stuff will probably be spoiled. But tomorrow is a lifetime away, and for now, you’ve got the one person you need with you, and you’re happier than you’ve ever been at this moment. Nothing could ever take that away from you. You feel warm despite the cold.
You think you’ll take Bill’s advice. You could get used to this.