Huddling for Warmth

The sun was stuck. That was the first thing Jude noticed, before the cold set in, before the panic started to itch under his skin like hives. It was hanging just above the horizon, a bruised, swollen pomegranate of a thing, bleeding red light onto the water. It should have dipped below the line an hour ago. Maybe two.

"Steven," Jude said. His voice sounded thin, snatched away immediately by the wind. The wind tasted wrong. Not like salt and brine, but like copper. Like old pennies and wet iron. "Steven, stop."

Steven was three paces ahead, his shoulders hunched against the gale. He didn't stop. He marched with that terrifying, rhythmic determination he applied to everything—calculus tests, track meets, ignoring Jude for three years of high school only to invite him on this disastrous trip. The sand crunched under Steven’s heavy boots. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It was the only sound in the world besides the ocean, which wasn't roaring so much as… hissing.

"Steven!" Jude lunged forward, grabbing the sleeve of Steven’s windbreaker. The nylon was slick and cold.

Steven stopped. He didn't turn around immediately. He held himself stiff, a tension rod in a human shape. When he finally looked back, his face was shadowed, the sharp jawline cutting a silhouette against the weird, stagnant light. He looked tired. Not sleepy-tired, but soul-tired. The kind of exhaustion that lives in the marrow.

"We're almost to the access road," Steven said. His voice was calm. Too calm. It was the voice he used when he was lying to teachers. "It's just past the dune."

"We passed the dune," Jude snapped, his breath hitching. He pointed a shaking finger back the way they came. "We passed that crooked piece of driftwood twenty minutes ago. And twenty minutes before that. And… God, Steven, look at the sky. It’s not moving."

Steven looked up. He squinted at the bleeding sun. He didn't say anything. He just stared, his Adam's apple bobbing once as he swallowed. He looked back at Jude, his dark eyes unreadable, reflecting the red horizon.

"It's just a trick of the light," Steven said, but the conviction was gone. "Atmospheric… whatever. Refraction."

"Refraction doesn't make the world loop," Jude said. He felt nauseous. The cold was seeping through his hoodie, a damp, insidious chill that made his teeth want to chatter. He clenched his jaw to stop it. He wasn't going to be the weak one. Not now. "We’re trapped, Steven. The beach… it’s broken. Or we are."

Steven turned fully then, stepping into Jude’s space. He was taller, broader. Usually, Jude hated the way Steven loomed—it felt like a challenge. Now, with the ocean hissing like a pit of snakes to their left and the infinite, grey dunes to their right, the looming felt like a wall. A shield.

"Don't talk like that," Steven ordered, low and rough. "We aren't trapped. We’re just turned around. We walk until we find the stairs. That’s the plan."

"The stairs are gone!" Jude’s voice cracked. He hated it. He hated how pathetic he sounded. "Everything is gone. The hotel. The town. It’s just this. Just sand and… and that water."

He looked at the water. It was black now, despite the red light. And it was thick. It moved sluggishly, like oil, slapping against the sand with a wet, heavy thud that vibrated in the soles of Jude’s sneakers. Foam collected at the tide line, but it wasn't white. It was grey, clumping together like wet ash.

Steven reached out. For a second, Jude thought he was going to hit him or shake him. Instead, Steven’s hand—large, calloused from working at his dad’s garage—landed heavy on Jude’s shoulder. He squeezed. It hurt, just a little. A grounding pain.

"Listen to me," Steven said, and the intensity in his eyes was terrifying. "I am getting us back. I don't care if the sun never sets. I don't care if the road moved. I am taking you home. You hear me?"

Jude stared at him. He could smell Steven—sweat and that cheap laundry detergent he used, and something underneath it, warm and living. It was the only real thing in this nightmare landscape. Jude nodded, a jerky motion.

"Okay," Jude whispered. "Okay."

They kept walking. The silence between them grew heavier, filled with the things they hadn't said all week. The vacation was supposed to be the goodbye. College in a week. Steven going state, Jude staying local. They were supposed to have this one week to pretend they were just friends, just guys hanging out, not two people orbiting a gravity well they were too scared to name. But now the vacation wasn't ending. It was stretching, mutating.

The temperature dropped. It wasn't gradual. It was a cliff. One second, it was chilly; the next, the air was a blade of ice. Jude gasped, the cold burning his lungs. He hugged his arms to his chest, his fingers digging into his ribs.

"We need shelter," Steven said. He stopped walking and scanned the dunes. "We can't be out here if it drops more."

"There's nothing," Jude chattered. His teeth were actually clicking now. He couldn't stop them. "It's just sand."

"There," Steven pointed. Up ahead, half-buried in the side of a towering dune, was a structure. Grey concrete. Rebar jutting out like rusted ribs. An old pillbox bunker, maybe, or a storm drain. It looked ancient and wrong, like a scar on the landscape.

They scrambled up the loose sand. It sucked at their feet, trying to pull them down. Jude stumbled, his knee hitting something hard buried in the grit—a suitcase? He looked down. It was a Samsonite, half-rotten, covered in barnacles. He kicked it away, revulsion coiling in his stomach. Why was there luggage here?

Steven hauled him up the last few feet, his grip on Jude’s arm bruisingly tight. They ducked into the concrete maw. Inside, it was cramped, barely four feet high, smelling of damp rot and old salt. But it was out of the wind.

They collapsed against the back wall. The concrete sucked the heat right out of Jude’s back, but at least the wind wasn't flaying his skin anymore. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the red rectangle of the entrance.

Jude shivered violently. His whole body was convulsing, spasms rocking him against the hard floor. "I-I can't feel my f-fingers."

Steven shifted in the gloom. He was close. Jude could hear his breathing—ragged, uneven. "Come here," Steven said.

"W-what?"

"Come here. Body heat. You’re going hypothermic." Steven didn't wait for permission. He reached out, grabbed Jude by the front of his hoodie, and yanked him across the gritty floor.

The impact was clumsy. knees knocked together. Jude’s face smashed into Steven’s shoulder. It wasn't romantic. It was desperate. Steven wrestled them into a position that worked—Jude tucked between Steven’s legs, back pressed against Steven’s chest, Steven’s arms wrapped tightly around him like a vice.

"Stop moving," Steven grunted near Jude’s ear. "Just… stop shaking."

"I c-can't," Jude stammered. But the heat was there. Steven was a furnace. A solid, radiating block of warmth. Jude pressed backward, instinctively seeking it, melting into the contact. He felt Steven stiffen for a second, then relax, his chin coming to rest on top of Jude’s head.

They sat like that for a long time. Outside, the wind began to scream. It sounded like voices. Thousands of them.

"Do you hear that?" Jude whispered.

"Don't listen to it," Steven said. His hand moved, sliding up Jude’s arm to rub friction into the bicep. Up and down. Up and down. The rhythm was hypnotic. "Focus on me. Just me."

Jude closed his eyes. The smell of Steven was overwhelming now. Salt and skin. It made his head spin. "We’re not leaving tomorrow, are we?" Jude asked softly. "There is no tomorrow."

"Shut up," Steven said, but there was no bite in it. His hand had stopped rubbing. It was just gripping Jude’s arm now. Squeezing. "We’re leaving. I promise."

"Why did you invite me?" The question slipped out before Jude could stop it. Maybe it was the cold, or the fact that reality was dissolving. Filters didn't seem to matter when the sun was broken. "You ignored me all year. Then you text me out of the blue. 'Beach week. My dad's cabin.' Why?"

Steven went still against his back. The silence in the bunker was heavy, pressurized. Jude could feel Steven’s heart beating against his spine. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* It was racing.

"You know why," Steven murmured. His voice was low, vibrating through Jude’s ribs.

"No. I don't. Tell me. I want to hear you say it." Jude twisted in Steven’s grip, trying to turn around. It was awkward, cramped. Steven didn't let go. He just adjusted, allowing Jude to shift until they were facing each other, knees tangled, chests inches apart.

In the dim red light, Steven looked wrecked. His hair was wind-mussed, his lips pale. But his eyes were dark and focused, locked onto Jude’s face with an intensity that made Jude’s breath catch.

"Because I ran out of time," Steven said. The words were gritty, stripped of any pretense. "I spent three years telling myself to wait. To get through school. To not… mess things up. And then I looked at the calendar and realized you were leaving. And I panicked."

Jude stared at him. The admission hung in the cold air. Steven, the stoic, the planner, the guy who never let anyone see him sweat—he had panicked.

"You panicked," Jude repeated, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. "So you dragged me to the end of the world?"

"I dragged you to the beach," Steven corrected, his brow furrowing. "The end of the world just… happened."

"It feels like it's my fault," Jude whispered. He looked down at Steven’s hands. One was resting on Jude’s knee, the thumb tracing the denim seam. "Like… I wanted this too much. I didn't want the summer to end. I didn't want to leave you. So the universe just… broke."

Steven’s hand tightened on his knee. "Don't be stupid. You aren't a wizard, Jude. You're just a kid from Ohio."

"Then explain the sun, Steven! Explain the luggage in the sand!" Jude’s voice rose, cracking with fear. "Explain why I feel like if I step outside this box, I’m going to dissolve!"

"Hey!" Steven grabbed Jude’s face. Both hands. Rough palms cupping his jaw, forcing him to look up. "Look at me. Look at me, Jude."

Jude froze. He looked. Steven’s eyes were wide, dark pupils swallowing the iris. He looked terrified. And desperate.

"You are not going to dissolve," Steven said fiercely. "Because I’m holding onto you. You get that? I am not letting go. If the world is broken, fine. We wait it out. But you stay right here. With me."

The distance between them was nothing. A few inches of cold air. Jude could feel Steven’s breath on his lips. It was warm. He wanted to close that gap. He wanted it so bad his chest ached with it, a physical pain under his sternum.

"Steven," Jude breathed.

Steven’s gaze dropped to Jude’s mouth, then snapped back up to his eyes. He looked like he was fighting a war inside his own head. Restraint battling instinct.

"I can't lose you," Steven whispered. It sounded like a confession of a crime. "I can't."

Then he moved. It wasn't smooth. It was a collision. Steven surged forward, closing the distance, his mouth crashing onto Jude’s. It was hard, clumsy, fueled by adrenaline and fear. Jude made a noise in the back of his throat—half gasp, half sob—and grabbed the front of Steven’s jacket, hauling him closer.

It didn't feel like the movies. It felt like survival. Steven’s lips were chapped, his stubble scratching Jude’s chin. His hands were everywhere—in Jude’s hair, gripping his neck, clutching at his back as if checking to make sure he was solid. Jude opened his mouth, and Steven deepened the kiss with a groan that vibrated against Jude’s lips.

The cold vanished. Or rather, it ceased to matter. There was only this—the friction, the heat, the taste of Steven, hot and desperate. The world outside could rot. The sun could burn out. Jude didn't care.

Steven pulled back, just an inch, gasping for air. His forehead rested against Jude’s. Their breathing mingled, harsh and loud in the concrete box.

"I should have done that three years ago," Steven rasped.

"Yeah," Jude laughed breathlessly, his eyes stinging with tears. "You really should have."

Steven’s thumb brushed under Jude’s eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "We're going to be okay. I’m going to figure this out."

"I know," Jude said. And for the first time, he almost believed it. Not because the situation had changed, but because Steven was looking at him like he was the only fixed point in a spinning universe.

Suddenly, a sound cut through the wind. A metallic *clank*. Then another. Like a heavy chain dragging over stone.

They both froze. Steven’s head snapped toward the entrance.

"What was that?" Jude whispered, the fear rushing back in, icy and sharp.

Steven shifted, positioning himself between Jude and the opening. The protective instinct was immediate, automatic. "Stay behind me."

The sound came again. Closer. *Clank. Drag. Clank.*

It was coming from the beach. Something heavy was moving up the dunes. Something that didn't care about the soft sand.

Steven reached back, his hand finding Jude’s in the dark. He interlaced their fingers, gripping so hard Jude’s knuckles popped. "When I say run," Steven murmured, his voice deadly steady, "you don't look back. You just run."

"I'm not leaving you," Jude hissed, squeezing back.

"Jude—"

"No!" Jude pressed his face into Steven’s back. "If we’re trapped, we’re trapped together. I’m not running anywhere without you."

The dragging sound stopped. Right outside the bunker. The red light from the entrance seemed to flicker, as if something large had just blocked the sun.

Steven tensed, his muscles coiling like springs. He didn't let go of Jude’s hand. He held on tighter.

"Okay," Steven whispered into the dark. "Together."