Breathing Against Glass

A frantic escape through the frozen arteries of downtown Winnipeg leads two boys to a quiet moment of shared warmth, but the encroaching twilight carries the chill of something more than just the winter air.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Kam gasped, his words puffing out in clouds he couldn’t see in the filtered warmth of the skywalk. He skidded around the corner where the walkway bent towards Portage Place, grabbing Sam’s sleeve to pull him along. His worn-out boots, still wet from the street, had no grip at all on the glossy floor.

Sam stumbled but caught himself on the railing. “He’s not even— he’s not following us, Kam.” His own breath came in ragged bursts, a stitch pulling tight under his ribs. Below them, through the thick, curved glass, buses hissed and spewed diesel fumes into the frigid late-afternoon air. The Christmas lights strung along the lampposts had just flickered on, blobs of festive colour in the deepening grey.

“You don’t know that,” Kam insisted, tugging again. He finally risked a look back down the long, empty corridor. It was deserted, save for a cleaner pushing a wide, silent mop in the distance. The tension in his shoulders eased, but only just. “He could be waiting. Down by the doors.”

“He’s not gonna wait in this cold,” Sam reasoned, pulling his sleeve free. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, the vibration of the city humming through it. His toque was askew, and his ears were bright red. “My lungs hurt.”

Kam’s energy, having nowhere else to go, fizzled out. He slumped against the glass next to Sam. For a moment they just stood there, two small figures in bulky winter jackets, watching the tiny cars navigate the slushy streets below. Kam’s internal motor was still whirring, a frantic energy that made him want to tap his feet, to keep moving. He could still feel the phantom pressure of Finn’s older brother shoving him against the brick wall of the convenience store, the smell of cigarette smoke on his jacket. Sam had just appeared, a silent, solid presence at his side, and then they were running.

Sam didn’t need to be told. He never did.

“See that one?” Sam said, his voice quiet. He pointed a mittened finger at a tiny red car trying to merge. “He’s gonna get stuck.”

They watched as the car spun its wheels uselessly, churning brown slush. It was a stupid, pointless thing to focus on, but Kam felt his heartbeat slow to match the rhythm of the flashing hazard lights. The panic receded, leaving behind the familiar, simmering anger.

“It’s because of that comic,” Kam mumbled, tracing a pattern on the condensation his breath made on the window. “He thinks I stole it.”

“You didn’t,” Sam stated. It wasn’t a question.

“No. I just… found it. On the shelf by the door. Someone must’ve left it.” He wiped the condensation away with the heel of his glove, leaving a smear. “He doesn’t believe me.”

Sam was quiet for a long time. He just watched the traffic. He understood the injustice of it, the way the world could just decide you were one thing when you were actually another. He didn’t offer empty reassurances. He just stayed, which was better.

“I have three dollars,” Sam said finally, turning from the window. “And that fifty-cent piece my grandpa gave me. The one with the fish.”

Kam dug into his own pocket, past the lint and a stray Lego piece, and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill and a handful of change. “Four twelve.”

“Seven sixty-two,” Sam calculated instantly. “Enough for two hot chocolates at The Forks. The good kind, with the whipped cream.”

Kam’s face broke into a grin. The anger, the fear—it all just evaporated. The thought of hot chocolate at The Forks was a warm, bright thing in the cold afternoon. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

---

Getting there was its own adventure. They stayed in the skywalks as long as they could, a maze of glass and steel that connected the downtown core like a gerbil run. They passed office workers heading home, their faces tired and pale under the fluorescent lights. They cut through the quiet, echoing halls of the convention centre, their boots squeaking a cheerful rhythm.

Kam was a navigator of instinct, always choosing the path that felt right, while Sam was the one who actually read the signs. They were a perfect, two-person system. Kam would charge ahead, and Sam would follow, a half-step behind, ready to say, “Wrong way,” before they got too lost.

The moment they stepped outside near the Johnston Terminal, the cold was a physical shock. It slammed into them, stealing the air from their lungs and making their eyes water. The wind was a living thing, funnelling between the buildings and carrying the icy scent of the frozen river.

“Whoa,” Kam breathed, the word ripped away by the gale. He pulled his scarf up over his nose.

They hunched their shoulders and ran the last stretch, a desperate, head-down sprint across the parking lot and towards the warm brick of the market. Inside, the world was different. It was a chaotic symphony of noise and smell—the clatter of plates, the murmur of a hundred conversations, the aroma of coffee and cinnamon and frying onions all mashed together. It was overwhelming and wonderful.

They found a small, unoccupied table by the windows overlooking the skating rink on the river. Sam went to order, his serious expression making him look like a tiny businessman as he carefully counted out their pooled money. Kam claimed their spot, peeling off his wet mittens and toque and rubbing his hands together to bring them back to life. He watched the skaters outside, graceful and clumsy, gliding and stumbling under the bright floodlights. They looked free.

Sam returned, navigating the crowd with an intense focus, carefully balancing two steaming mugs. He set them down with a quiet clink. The mugs were huge, and the whipped cream was already starting to melt into soft white pools.

“He gave us extra,” Sam said, a small, proud smile on his face as he pushed one towards Kam.

Kam wrapped his cold fingers around the warm ceramic. The heat seeped into his skin, a deep, comforting thing. He took a sip. It was sweet and rich and perfect. “This is the best,” he said, his voice full of reverence.

“It’s good,” Sam agreed. He blew on his own mug, his gaze fixed on the skaters outside.

They didn’t talk much after that. They just sat, sipping their hot chocolate, watching the moving figures on the ice. The chaos of the market faded into a low hum. Here, in their little bubble of warmth, the world felt simple. Kam looked at Sam, who was staring out the window, a tiny milk moustache on his upper lip. A fierce, protective feeling swelled in Kam’s chest. It was a strange, big emotion for a space so small. It wasn't just that Sam was his best friend. It was… more. It was knowing that Sam would have been there by the convenience store even if Finn’s brother had been twice as big. It was knowing that Sam understood about the comic without needing an explanation. It was knowing they both had exactly enough money for this one perfect moment.

Sam seemed to feel him looking and turned his head. “What?”

“Nothing.” Kam shook his head, looking back out the window. “Just… that guy in the green jacket? He’s going to fall.”

A second later, the man in the green jacket did a comical pinwheel with his arms and landed hard on the ice. They both snorted with laughter, a shared, secret joy.

### The Long Walk Towards the Streetlights

The walk back was colder. The sun had completely disappeared, leaving behind a deep purple sky pricked with the first few stars and the orange glow of the city. Their warmth from the hot chocolate was a fading memory, and the chill seeped into the seams of their jackets. They walked closer together now, their shoulders occasionally bumping.

The streets were emptier. The rush hour traffic had thinned, and their footsteps echoed loudly on the icy pavement. They passed the darkened windows of shops, their festive displays of tinsel and fake snow looking lonely in the dark.

“My mom’s making stew tonight,” Sam said, his voice muffled by his scarf. “You can… if you want.”

The offer hung in the air between them. Kam’s house would be empty until his dad got home from his second job. It would be cold and quiet. “Yeah? Okay.”

They turned onto Sam’s street, a row of older houses with glowing windows and strings of coloured lights drooping from the eaves. It was the kind of street that felt safe.

But as they neared the corner, Kam saw a figure standing under a flickering streetlight at the far end of the block. He was tall, silhouetted against the weak light, just standing there, watching. It wasn’t Finn’s brother. This person was bigger, older. An adult.

Kam’s steps faltered. He felt a sudden, sharp spike of the same fear from earlier, but this was different. Colder. He couldn’t make out a face, just a shape. A long coat. The way they held themselves, perfectly still in the biting wind, was wrong.

“Who’s that?” Kam whispered, his voice tight.

Sam squinted, following his gaze. “I don’t know. Probably just waiting for the bus.” But his voice lacked conviction. The bus stop was half a block in the other direction.

The figure didn’t move. They just stood there, a dark statue in the orange light, watching the street. Watching them.

Kam felt Sam move a little closer, a small, almost imperceptible shift. The simple comfort of it did nothing to dispel the icy dread coiling in Kam’s stomach. The man under the light slowly raised a hand, not to wave, but to adjust the collar of his coat, a gesture that was somehow deliberate and menacing. He knew they’d seen him.