Chapter 7 Snowbound #2
"I wanted to see what happened."
Noah laughed.
"I'm beginning to understand your childhood."
"I was curious."
"You were dangerous."
"I've matured."
Before Noah could respond, every light in the condo blinked once.
Then twice.
The television switched off.
The refrigerator stopped humming.
The heating system fell silent.
A second later, darkness swallowed the entire apartment.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Mason sighed dramatically.
"I think I broke the city."
"You didn't."
"There's no proof."
Noah walked toward the hallway closet where management had stored emergency supplies.
"I remember seeing flashlights."
"You actually read the emergency information packet."
"I always read emergency information."
"I definitely don't."
"You've made that obvious."
After a brief search, Noah found two battery-powered lanterns along with several large candles and a box of matches.
Within minutes, warm candlelight flickered across the living room.
The fireplace crackled softly after Noah lit the gas logs, quickly filling the condo with gentle warmth.
The room transformed completely.
Instead of bright ceiling lights and glowing television screens, everything was illuminated by soft amber light dancing across the walls.
The storm outside suddenly felt much farther away.
Mason settled onto the thick rug in front of the fireplace.
"This is actually kind of nice."
"It is."
"I take back every complaint I've made today."
"I'm sure you'll make new ones tomorrow."
"Almost definitely."
Noah carried over two mugs of hot chocolate before sitting beside him.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Comfortable.
For several minutes they simply watched the flames.
The silence felt peaceful rather than empty.
"I used to love storms," Noah said quietly.
Mason glanced toward him.
"As a kid?"
"My grandmother always lit candles."
He smiled at the memory.
"We'd lose power almost every winter."
"What did you do?"
"She told stories."
"What kind?"
"Family stories."
"Stories about growing up."
"About meeting my grandfather."
"About mistakes she'd made."
Mason rested his elbows on his knees.
"My family mostly played cards."
"Who won?"
"My sister cheated."
"You let her?"
"I didn't realize until years later."
Noah laughed softly.
"You still sound offended."
"I absolutely am."
The conversation drifted naturally from childhood memories to favorite holidays and embarrassing school stories.
Mason admitted he'd once forgotten an important history presentation because he'd been practicing slap shots in the garage.
Noah confessed that he'd broken his front tooth trying to jump off the roof into a snowbank with neighborhood friends.
"I thought the snow was deeper."
"It wasn't?"
"It absolutely wasn't."
Mason winced.
"Ouch."
"I learned something."
"What?"
"Never trust children with measurements."
The laughter gradually faded into another comfortable silence.
Outside, the storm continued without pause.
Inside, the fireplace popped gently as another log settled deeper into the flames.
After a while Mason looked toward Noah.
"You've never really talked about juniors."
Noah's smile softened.
"Not much."
"You always skip over that part."
"I suppose I do."
"You don't have to tell me."
Noah stared quietly into the fire.
For several long seconds, he said nothing.
Finally, he took a slow breath.
"My last season wasn't exactly how I imagined it would end."
Mason didn't interrupt.
He simply listened.
"I was seventeen."
"We'd just qualified for the playoffs."
"Hockey was everything."
He turned his mug slowly between his hands.
"I thought I'd be drafted high."
"You probably would've been."
Noah shrugged.
"Maybe."
"What happened?"
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then Noah spoke so quietly Mason almost missed the words.
"Someone found out I liked guys."
Mason's expression changed instantly.
"They...found out?"
"I'd been seeing another player."
"Secretly."
"No one knew."
He gave a humorless smile.
"At least we thought no one knew."
The fire cracked loudly between them.
"It only takes one person," Noah continued.
"One teammate saw us together after practice."
"He told someone."
"They told someone else."
"Within a week..."
He shook his head gently.
"...everyone knew."
Mason felt something tighten painfully inside his chest.
"What happened?"
"The usual."
"Whispers."
"Rumors."
"Jokes that stopped being jokes."
His eyes remained fixed on the flames.
"Some teammates avoided sitting beside me."
"Others suddenly didn't want to shower after practice."
"My billets asked the team to move me somewhere else."
Mason stared.
"They actually did that?"
Noah nodded.
"They said they had family concerns."
Silence settled again.
Noah's voice remained calm.
Almost too calm.
"I lost scholarship offers."
"Draft rankings dropped."
"Scouts started asking whether I'd be a distraction."
Mason couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"That's..."
He struggled to find words.
"...unbelievable."
"It happens."
"It shouldn't."
"No."
"It shouldn't."
The room fell quiet once more.
Eventually Mason asked the question that had been sitting heavily in his mind.
"Why didn't you quit?"
Noah smiled faintly.
"I almost did."
"You almost walked away?"
"For about a week."
"What changed?"
"My grandmother."
He looked down at his hands.
"She drove six hours just to sit beside me."
"What did she say?"
Noah laughed softly.
"She told me hockey belonged to the people who loved it."
"Not the people who hated me."
Mason swallowed hard.
"She sounds incredible."
"She was."
The fire continued burning between them.
Neither noticed how much closer they had gradually moved during the conversation.
Not intentionally.
Simply inch by inch as the evening unfolded.
Mason reached out without thinking.
His hand settled gently over Noah's.
"I...I'm sorry."
Noah looked down at their hands.
Then back at Mason.
"You don't have anything to apologize for."
"I know."
"I just..."
Mason struggled to explain.
"...I hate that someone made you feel like you didn't belong."
Their eyes met.
The room suddenly felt impossibly quiet.
The candles flickered softly.
Outside, snow struck the windows in steady waves.
Neither of them moved.
Mason's hand remained resting over Noah's.
Noah didn't pull away.
For one suspended moment, everything else disappeared.
The storm.
The fire.
The darkness.
There was only the space between them.
Mason's gaze drifted almost unconsciously toward Noah's mouth.
Noah noticed.
His own breathing slowed.
Neither man fully understood why neither of them looked away.
The distance between them seemed to shrink without either consciously deciding to move.
Just a little closer.
Close enough for Mason to notice tiny flecks of green hidden inside Noah's hazel eyes.
Close enough for Noah to see uncertainty mixed with something softer in Mason's expression.
Neither spoke.
Neither seemed willing to break whatever fragile moment had settled between them.
Then—
The overhead lights burst to life.
The television beeped loudly as power returned.
The refrigerator hummed.
The heating system restarted with a low mechanical rumble.
Both men instinctively pulled back at exactly the same moment.
Mason cleared his throat and stood so quickly he nearly knocked over his mug.
"Power's back."
"Yeah."
Noah looked toward the suddenly bright room.
"It is."
An awkward silence settled where something entirely different had existed only seconds earlier.
Neither mentioned how close they'd been.
Neither mentioned the way Mason's hand had still been resting over Noah's.
Or the fact that for one impossible heartbeat, it had felt as though the world had narrowed to the space between them.
Instead, Mason busied himself blowing out candles while Noah quietly switched off the fireplace.
They moved around each other naturally, exchanging small practical comments about resetting clocks and checking the refrigerator.
Yet beneath the familiar routine, something fundamental had shifted.
Neither could name it.
Neither was ready to face it.
But as they finally headed toward their separate bedrooms later that night, both carried the same unsettling realization.
The moment interrupted by the returning lights hadn't felt accidental.
It had felt inevitable.
And that frightened them both in ways neither was yet prepared to understand.
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