It's snowing outside, and Wonshik feels like he is thousands of beautiful miles away from home. He's not, though, really. He's lying on wooden floor with his arm stretched out towards the kitchen table, his head leaned on his arm, too lazy to find a better position even though it hurts.

Morning is always beautiful in this house. He isn't exactly sure why it is, and though he never sees morning time any place other than here, he's sure there's nowhere else as beautiful. And while he lies there on the hard floor and contemplates this, tiny, glittering snowflakes are falling into his hand.

"What are you doing?" asks Hakyeon from a chair by the kitchen table. "That looks painful."

Wonshik turns his face towards him. The steady stream of snow that eventually ends up in Wonshik's hand starts from Hakyeon's outstretched index finger. "What?" Wonshik asks.

Hakyeon gives him a glare that wheezes as it rattles the windows. "I'm asking why you're lying on the floor, of course. What else?"

He decides to look away from Hakyeon's irritated face, and keeps his gaze locked on the small drift of snow in his hand. "I'm catching your snow."

"Yes, I can see that," Hakyeon says, and a gust of wind sends the flakes scurrying over the edge of the table. "But why are you catching my snow?"

Wonshik just shakes his head. "Because otherwise it'll melt and the floor will get wet."

"How do you know that? You don't let it touch the ground."

Wonshik smiles tiredly. "Because that's what snow does. It melts, and turns into water."

Hakyeon huffs in response. "You don't know. Maybe my snow is different. Besides, I know what snow does, you don't have to teach me." He shifts on his creaking chair, and through a quick glance Wonshik finds out that he's obviously offended. Wonshik nuzzles his face into his own arm to hide the smile that breaks out on his face. "It's not like it helps, you know," Hakyeon continues. "Now your hand gets wet instead."

And it's true, at least in a way. Wonshik's hand is angry red, frozen to the point where he can't even feel the sharp edges of Hakyeon's snowflakes as they bump against his skin. But even though it's true, it isn't really relevant. The snow is a lot more beautiful than it is painful. "Shouldn't your hand be cold?" he asks, as producing snow doesn't seem like the warmest work ever.

"No. Well, maybe a little bit. But it feels nice. It's kind of obvious, really, isn't it?" Hakyeon throws Wonshik a glance. "It'd be so much worse if I just kept it all inside. It doesn't just appear out of nowhere, you know. It has to come from somewhere."

"You talk a lot," Wonshik says. "It's okay to give just one or two word replies sometimes, you know."

Hakyeon huffs again and Wonshik swears he can feel a cold wind brush right past him. It feels like Christmas morning and the weight in your lungs after running up the stairs. "You know, I really don't like you."

Wonshik laughs, a dark and almost motor-like sound. "Is that so?"

"That is so," Hakyeon confirms, and the sheer outrage he feels makes Wonshik smile even wider. "You think I talk too much, when in fact if I didn't talk, we'd all be screwed. Especially you."

Debating with himself whether to say what's on his mind or not, Wonshik wets his dry lips. The anticipation and fear mold together and he doesn't know what he feels. "I said 'a lot'," he clarifies, "not too much."

Snow still pours from Hakyeon's hand to Wonshik's. The snow that falls outside the window behind Wonshik's back is light and careful, and completely silent. "There's no difference between 'a lot' and 'too much'," Hakyeon says, stubborn and moping. "Otherwise you wouldn't have pointed it out."

"Alright," Wonshik says. "So if I would have said you were 'very beautiful' or 'very smart', would it still be something negative?"

Hakyeon giggles, the sound appearing foreign to Wonshik's ears in the middle of all that resistant sulkiness. "No. You can never be too beautiful."

Wonshik looks at him again then, eyes lingering over bumpy cheeks, wide lips and tired eyes. He decides that Hakyeon doesn't know how wrong he is. "That depends on who you ask."

"What do you mean, who I ask?" Hakyeon questions. Part of Wonshik is sure that he's only arguing for the sake of not agreeing with him, and he's also sure that Hakyeon doesn't see how obvious it is. "Do you think anyone would say no to more beauty if they were offered it? More and more and more until all the flaws are gone from their face?"

He keeps it inside, but Wonshik still laughs. Flaws. The word seems almost funny when talking to Hakyeon. "Maybe not. But it makes it difficult for other people."

"For other people?" Hakyeon says thoughtfully, voice immediately turning dreamy, the way it always does when he doesn't understand and doesn't have the energy to pretend he does.

"Yes, it makes it hard for us mere bystanders."

"What do you mean 'us', you're handsome, too," Hakyeon grumbles. Wonshik wants to laugh again, because there's a big difference between 'handsome' and 'so gorgeous I want to lie down and cry'. But again, he keeps a straight face and doesn't let Hakyeon see what he's thinking. "And what do you mean, it's gets hard because of jealousy?"

The snow fills up almost his entire hand, but Wonshik watches the drift grow without worries. "No, I mean that it's hard to constantly be so close to someone so beautiful."

"Ow," Hakyeon says and hides it in a small gasp, but Wonshik always hears what Hakyeon has to say, whether he wants to or not. So when he notices the trickle of snowflakes has stopped, he sits up instantly and grabs onto the table to pull himself up. He crumples the snow into a ball in his hand.

"What's wrong?"

A last, oversized snowflake that looks more like a broken clump of ice rolls over the table, falls off the edge and hits the floor with a crash. Wonshik ignores it. The ball in his hand falls to the floor, too, with a thud. On the tip of Hakyeon's index finger, a small drop of blood is forming, and Hakyeon himself is staring at it like a child who let go of his toy in the middle of the air, but would never have guessed that it would actually break when it hit the ground. "It hurts," he mumbles.

The drop continues to grow until it becomes too big, and slowly starts leaking down Hakyeon's finger. Wonshik pulls his sleeve over his hand without thinking, and carefully wipes the blood away with his own shirt. Then he takes Hakyeon's hand, and between his one warm hand and one ice cold hand it feels like the only thing he wants to hold on to ever again. He lifts it to his lips, and kisses it softly. When he lowers it again, Hakyeon is looking at him seriously, like he's expecting Wonshik to suddenly smack him across the face or tell him that he tastes awful. "Better?" Wonshik asks. The bleeding stops, and there's no more snow.

"Stop," Hakyeon says.

"Stop?"

"You have to stop being nice to me."

Wonshik places Hakyeon's hand on the table carefully, and then he walks to the opposite end and sinks down on one of the wooden chairs there. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I mean it," Hakyeon says, and he seems more confident now that Wonshik isn't standing right in front of him. "Stop it all. No more laughing at my jokes, no more covering for me when I'm being stupid, no more high fives, hugs, handholding, no more."

Wonshik wants to laugh again but knows it probably isn't a very good time. "Why, if I may ask?"

Hakyeon's nose twitches. "Just do as I say."

"That's gonna be hard," Wonshik replies, and now he lets out a little laugh with it. "We're on the same team, you know."

Hakyeon waves his words away with a flick of his wrist. The impact whistles through the walls. "You can do it. I have faith in you."

"What's going on? What brought this on, suddenly?" Wonshik asks, but Hakyeon's eyes are suddenly avoiding every single part of him, showing more interest in the melting snowball on the floor. "Hakyeon, come on," he begs, "I barely ever have to ask you to speak. You always tell me what's going on. Let's not make this an exception."

Hakyeon looks him in the eyes then, apparently so eager to tell him but also so eager not to, that all it takes is Wonshik's second question until he can't hold it inside anymore. "Because if you don't stop, I'm going to fall in love with you."

Wonshik blinks. "You, what?"

"If you don't stop being so nice to me, I'm going to fall in love with you," Hakyeon repeats, without batting an eyelash.

He feels so stunned he can barely speak. He just stares back at the man in front of him with his mouth open, shaking his head, waiting for the words to fall onto his tongue and come out, but it seems there's nothing there. When it does happen, it's not at all what he was hoping for. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, and maybe the question is meant more for himself than for Hakyeon.

"That's my point," Hakyeon says. "So stop it now. There's nothing I can do about it. And when I do fall for you, things are going to get very, very awkward. And we can't have that."

"No, we can't," Wonshik mumbles, staring down into the table.

"So are we agreed?" Hakyeon questions. "You will stop treating me like I'm God's gift, and there will be no falling for each other. Yes?"

Despite the situation, Wonshik finds joy in the fact that at least Hakyeon thinks he treats him well. Because that's all he's ever wanted to do. And even though he wants to make Hakyeon happy, he can't agree to his request. He shakes his head. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Hakyeon says, eyes immediately turning sad and pleading. "You heard what I said. It'd be a disaster."

"You're important to me," Wonshik says. It's the biggest understatement that has ever passed his lips. "I can't treat you..." 'As a friend', his brain fills in helpfully, and Wonshik resists the temptation to smack himself. "I can't treat you like you aren't," he finishes weakly.

Hakyeon sighs. "Well, then. Don't say I didn’t warn you. When I fall in love with you and you're all with the 'ew' and 'what the hell is wrong with you', don't blame me. It's on you now."

Wonshik's throat feels unbearably dry. The temptation to run out into the snow is overpowering, and he's sure everything would feel easier out there. Because hearing Hakyeon say the words makes him want to wrap them both up in a blanket and kiss until their lips are chapped – easy to come by in the winter, especially with Hakyeon's snow – but Hakyeon apparently does not have feelings for him. Not yet. So he pulls his hands over his face, through his hair, and says simply: "we'll see what happens."

And never before has it felt so hopeful. Hakyeon looks dejected, and there are a million things he wants to tell him, but he can't, because it would ruin everything. If Hakyeon found out how Wonshik worships the ground he walks on, then who knows what would happen. One thing is clear in Wonshik's mind: anything that might distract Hakyeon's prophecy from fulfilling itself will have to wait.

So when Hakyeon gets up from his chair and walks out of the room without another word, obviously upset with Wonshik for jeopardizing their friendship or not taking him seriously, Wonshik turns around on his chair and stares out the window, into the still falling snow. He wants to run out there, feel the thick flakes on his face, feel his own steps being pulled back by the twinkling mass of white on the ground, maybe even catch some of the flakes on his tongue (only if no one else is watching of course; except for maybe Hakyeon). But he's still sure that Hakyeon's snow is better. So he leans over the table, but the snow has already melted into a puddle on the floor.

He might need Hakyeon to make some more.