Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Toby
Things To Do Today:
Harry
The room has an eerie light when I wake up. The wind is howling, the sound punctuated by a soft pattering against the windowpane.
I stumble out of bed to peer out the window, and sure enough, the snowstorm is still raging outside.
How have I lived so many years on this planet and never fully appreciated how amazing the concept of walls is? And the concept of a roof. Both are such incredible inventions. We should have monuments erected to the inventors. We should have named countries after them.
“Come back to bed,” Harry says sleepily.
And so I get back into bed.
Harry immediately tugs me to him, and I come willingly. We lie there entwined in each other’s arms.
I never thought I’d have such an appreciation of Harry Matheson’s heartbeat. But I lie there with my head on his chest, listening to the reassuring lub-dub.
I almost lost him yesterday.
I shiver.
My survival chances would be reduced if something happened to Harry. That’s the reason the thought fills me with such dread.
Harry leans down and kisses me softly, teasingly, just enough for my cock to start plumping up.
Oh yeah, and I can’t deny I’d miss this aspect of Harry.
“Have you lifted the embargo on us doing this?” he asks against my lips.
“Yes, I feel that regulation was overturned during the night,” I whisper breathlessly, and he huffs out a laugh.
I stretch up to kiss him again, and it quickly dissolves into our hands wandering ceaselessly over each other’s skin.
I’m aware I’m touching Harry differently than I did the last time we got off together.
That was driven by pure lust and appreciation for an attractive man and a desire to make him lose control because I love nothing more than seeing Harry Matheson come undone under my touch.
But now, I have a new appreciation for every part of Harry.
I feel the need to kiss his fingers because the fact they’re still all in working order is some kind of miracle.
I need to trace the contours of his face, the gentle ridges of his laugh lines, lingering on the smooth skin where his cheekbone meets his jaw, across his bristling beard to the softness of his lips.
I need to kiss his neck, then work my way down, stopping again to appreciate his heartbeat, then teasing his nipple gently with my mouth until it peaks.
Harry’s body has always been the opposite of Harry. So responsive and easy to understand.
I venture further south to his cock, which is definitely the easiest part of him to tell exactly what it wants.
“Toby,” he gasps, and I take mercy on him.
Afterward, I lie with my head back on his chest, listening to the faster rhythm of his heart with deep-seated satisfaction. I stroke his arms, feeling his skin goosepimple under my touch.
“I can’t believe we survived yesterday.” The words fall out of me.
He tenses slightly beneath me, his arms tightening around my waist as if seeking reassurance.
After a moment, he speaks, his voice low. “There’s this book my godmother gave me when I was eight, when I thought I was too old for picture books. You might know it because it’s quite famous. It’s called We’re Going on a Bear Hunt.”
“You’re not going to suggest we start hunting bears, are you?” I ask with mock horror, sliding my hand through his hair, which now looks like he’s auditioning for the lead role in a mad scientist film.
He chuckles, and it’s a sound that shoots happiness through me.
I like hearing Harry laugh. It must be because he doesn’t do it frequently, so it’s satisfying when he does.
“In the book, the characters come to all these obstacles, and they basically say, ‘Well, we can’t go over or under or around them, so we’ve just got to go through them.’”
I watch Harry’s face, seeing the way his jaw clenches slightly as he speaks, a telltale sign of the emotions he’s trying to keep in check.
“And I used to recite that as my mantra at Dentworth. No matter what was happening to me, I used to say to myself, ‘I’ve just got to get through this.’”
My heart pangs at the thought of a smaller version of Harry using a children’s picture book to fortify himself against the brutality thrown his way.
“I was applying that mantra yesterday while we were walking through the snow,” he says quietly. “We just had to get through it. And we did.”
“You almost died,” I whisper.
“But I didn’t,” he counters. “You saved me.”
Somehow, the way he says those words sends a flush through me.
“You saved my life first in the river,” I counter. “And you wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t given me your survival blanket.”
The thought of Harry’s sacrifice sits like a hard lump inside me. Yesterday, Harry sacrificed his own comfort, jeopardized his own chances of survival, for me.
Somehow, despite the precariousness of so much out here, Harry’s making me feel the one thing I haven’t truly felt since my mother died.
Safe.
It’s almost impossible to believe that Harry Matheson is the person making me feel this way.
Harry opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t want to hear the words about to come out of his mouth.
“Let’s just…let’s not keep a scoreboard on this, okay?” I say. “It is what it is. We’re both trying to keep each other alive.”
“We’re both trying to keep each other alive,” he echoes.
He pulls back so he can study me, those blue eyes appraising. “Is that what we’re doing?” he asks in a low voice.
“Yes, that’s what we’re doing,” I reply.
I’m factually correct. Harry and I are both trying to keep each other alive.
So I don’t understand why the words feel like a lie.
The next day, we wake to sunshine glistening off the fresh snow, and we can get a proper look at our surroundings.
The cabin is on the edge of a small lake surrounded by towering pines.
It’s a simple structure built from sturdy logs and topped with a sloping metal roof.
A small porch wraps around the front, offering a place to sit and take in the view.
To the side, I spot a tiny wooden building with a chimney—a sauna, as if we needed reminding of the fact we’re in a Nordic forest.
We scout around the lake, but there is no trace of any roads, obvious hiking trails, or any other sign of human habitation. It’s like the cabin has simply been dropped from the sky into the wilderness.
Some trees on the opposite shore of the lake are changing color, their gold, orange, and crimson mirrored in the still waters of the lake.
It is almost too perfect, too beautiful. It feels like we’re inside a postcard.
But seeing the trees engaged en masse in their late autumn spectacle and the remains of the snow on the ground reminds me of our predicament.
The weather is getting colder. We are heading towards winter.
The snowstorm scared me. We can’t continue to trudge through the wilderness with no idea where we’re heading.
I can imagine what my mother would say.
It’s all fun and games until the snow starts to fall.
I’m about to say this aloud to Harry, but I stop because thoughts of my mother and Harry aren’t co-existing happily in my mind right now.
It feels like I’m somehow replacing her with him.
I turn to Harry, taking in the sight of him in the borrowed oilskin coat and the fur hat with ear flaps we found inside the cabin, his cheeks pink with cold.
“Winter is coming,” I say in my best Game of Thrones voice.
“Yes, the seasons are definitely changing,” Harry says primly.
I roll my eyes. “Did you never watch Game of Thrones?”
“No. I have to admit I did not.”
“Political intrigue, backstabbing, power struggles, and ruthless ambition…actually, I’m not surprised you didn’t bother. After all, it’s just a day in the life of a Tory politician, isn’t it?”
It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.
I take a deep breath and let it out, watching it mist in the air. “I think we need to decide what our priority is. Being found or staying alive.”
Harry gives a crisp nod, and I can see from his expression he’s been having the same thought process.
“Here, we have shelter. We can stay warm. We have food. If we stockpile enough firewood and keep fishing, I think we can survive the winter,” he says.
“If we continue to walk on, we could find help. But more storms will come, and if we’re caught out in the open, we may not survive,” I say.
It’s a big decision. If we decide to stay at the cabin, we’re basically conceding we won’t be rescued for months. And for Harry in particular, time is ticking down to the election in May.
“If we wait until spring, there will be more people around, I’m sure,” Harry says. “More chances of being found.”
“I guess the big question is, do you think we can survive a winter trapped in a small cabin together without one of us murdering the other?” I say.
Harry’s lips quirk up. “As long as we agree not to discuss the nationalization of utilities, I think we’ll be all right.”
“As long as you don’t hog the blankets or leave your socks everywhere,” I counter, which is funny as I’m definitely more naturally the messy one.
Harry struggles to contain his smirk. “I’ll endeavor to do my best.”
As I contemplate the long, bleak months ahead, fear threatens to overwhelm me. All the things that could go wrong.
But I force the fear away.
I’m not doing it alone. I have Harry.
And I need to stop worrying about the future. I need to go back to my mantra to simply enjoy the moment. Because right now, I’m standing in the autumn sunshine with Harry.
So I just enjoy the warmth on my face.