Chapter Text
The snow is already lying thick on the ground, making it even harder to drag the heavy pile of firewood back to the house. It’s falling in big heavy clumps, whirling angrily in the air so that Minho can barely see the way ahead, but luckily he’s familiar enough with the path that he doesn’t need to.
Minho’s wood storage shed is just far enough away to be enough of an inconvenience that he’s left it this late to go out and bring in some extra fuel. Now the storm is already here and it’s only going to get worse, he’s cursing himself for his procrastination. It’s not like they didn’t have any warning it was coming.
Because of his impatience to get back indoors, and having given too much power to the voice of his own hubris, he’d brought with him an amount of logs to burn so large that it was fighting back.
In his defense, he’s not weak at all and could have brought this stack to the house in perhaps half the time if he’d only done it yesterday. Before the blizzard started.
The pallet behind him gets heavier the more snow it gathers. His face feels frozen while his body sweats with exertion under its layers, his breath steaming out like a cloud in front of him and burning his throat on every chilly inhale.
He could just leave half and come back for it, but he’s convinced it would take just as long to unload it and make the double trip. Not to mention the half he leaves out here would probably be too wet to use once it’s been left in the snow without the protection of the tarp that covers it for that long.
He’s halfway back from the storage shed, chin tucked down against the biting wind and ice, when he spots something in the snow. At first he thinks it’s a fluffy hat or a child’s teddy of some sort and almost ignores it to continue home. Taking a second glance before he hurries past though, something about it makes him stop.
It takes a second more of staring down at it before he feels his heart jump to his throat and then sink right to his stomach. Fluffy white fur blows in the wind barely visible against the white snow, but a colorful little collar stands out; pink with tiny hearts, and a heart shaped name tag.
He stays rooted to the spot and stares for a moment longer, not sure what to do. He can’t just leave the poor thing there.
Sighing slowly with resignation, he drops the ropes from over his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground, and squats down. He reaches out a gloved hand to brush away the snow, revealing a puppy, and swallows past the lump that immediately threatens to overwhelm him.
Such a small little thing, lying still, out here all alone.
He can’t help thinking of his own babies—his kitties back home—and feels his heart break for both the puppy and it’s owner. Someone will be missing this little one, and the least he can do is try to let them know and move it so no wild animals can get at it.
Scooping his hand under it’s little tummy, he’s surprised to find it still floppy despite how frozen everything else already is.
It surprises him again when it suddenly flinches in his grasp; little limbs jerking as it tries to move, making him try to jump back on his heels with a yelp and fall backwards.
His ass lands in several inches of cold, wet snow, but at least the puppy stays held safely in his hands.
A pause for the shock to dissipate gives him a moment to notice the way it trembles violently under it’s fluffy coat, and he wastes no more time.
The firewood can wait. He tugs open the snap buttons of his coat and pulls down the zipper to wrap the puppy inside against his chest, and then battles his way back onto his feet.
Running doesn’t really seem to get him home much faster than walking would, but he tries anyway, waddling a little ridiculously through the heavy buildup of snow that’s quickly getting close to reaching his mid-calf. His boots sink entirely with each step, but he sees the warm lights from the windows of his small cottage.
His sigh of relief billows out in front of his face as he reaches his front door, blown away again in the gale by the time he gets it open.
Warmth immediately washes over him, and he stops to fight the door closed again and strip out of his snow covered outer layer. Now that he’s back inside where it’s a little more toasty, he doesn’t want to rush the process of rewarming the puppy and risk making it worse.
He kicks off his shoes, eyeing all the snow he’ll have to mop up later with a glare, and pulls off his hat, making his hair stick out everywhere. It’s getting a little long and he’d been meaning to get it cut before the storm hit, but never got round to forcing himself into town to do it. He does kind of wish he had just made himself go now, but at least it’s something he can live with for a few days.
Still holding it close to his chest, he takes it through to the kitchen and grabs a freshly dried towel from the laundry pile taking over his tiny table, and begins to pat down it’s fur.
It gives a weak little whine of protest, wriggling as if to try to escape, and it action brings a wide smile to Minho’s face.
“Hey,” he says softly, laughing lightly under his breath with relief. “Hold still. I’m trying to help.”
It doesn’t put up much of a struggle though, giving in to the gentle massaging with a kind of pathetic whimper. There doesn’t seem to be as much danger as Minho feared though, it’s body warming well once he finishes drying it.
“Well,” he says quietly, resigning himself to this new house guest and responsibility. “I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘it’ now, can I.”
Remembering the collar, he checks the name tag.
“Bbama…” he reads off it, turning it over to find another engraving there and rubs a thumb over it, wiping off the lingering flakes of melting snow from the owners name and number. He whispers it to himself; “Han.”
It takes another weight off his chest.
Minho lives pretty secluded out here. There’s a small town maybe a mile or two down the road where Minho occasionally goes for groceries and other necessities, but going there right now isn’t an option in a storm like this.
It’s not too much of a distance to travel really when the weather is good, especially if he’d had a car, but even if the puppy somehow escaped home from one of the nearest residences, there are none close enough to his that it wouldn’t be a risk to both their lives to try to take him home. With or without a vehicle.
Bbama will have to stay with him for a few days, but at least now he can call the owner with the good news that he’s safe and well.
Poor thing is clearly exhausted and been through a miserable time out there though. Minho has barely finished patting down his fur before he’s already falling back to sleep.
A pattering of tiny feet announces a new presence in the room—three new presences—before the meows start.
Throwing the now damp towel into the machine to wash later, Minho wraps Bbama in a fresh one and holds him close to his chest again before turning to address the rest of the household.
“Alright, alright,” he says gently to the cats now curling around his ankles and yowling up at him for attention. Sitting down on his heels, he offers the puppy out for everyone to take a sniff. “This is Bbama. He’s had a hard day and he’s going to be with us for a little while, so you all be nice, okay?”
Soonie seems interested at first but won’t come very close, whereas Doongie is less hesitant but gives the puppy a brief hiss when he gets close enough to get a proper smell, just to let his feelings be known. He sneezes as if offended and then immediately walks away back out of the room.
Dori is more curious and doesn’t hiss, but he does try to take what Minho assumes is supposed to be a friendly bite out of Bbama’s ear and has to be guided away.
“Well, that went well enough,” Minho mutters. Considering Doongie has never even seen a dog before and the other two, having been adopted by him from a shelter, may or may not have any experiences good or bad, he feels like that could have gone worse.
Introductions all done, he stands again, keeping the swaddled puppy close. He feels him give a little kick in his sleep.
After finding a nice spot—near the fire, but not too close—to make a temporary bed for Bbama to rest in, Minho dials the number on his collar. He rolls his eyes at the tone that beeps at him through the receiver when it won’t connect.
It’s not uncommon out here, especially in bad weather, but it still worries him that he has no other way to contact them. A quick call to another number tells him that it’s not his own phone that won’t connect though, so he’ll just have to try again later.
It’s not like the little guy is any bother, though he’s clearly too tired to be any right now anyway.
Minho looks out the window at nothing. It’s just a swirling mess of white and gray, and the occasional leaf or small twig that’s been picked up by the strong winds.
His stack of firewood is still out there, sitting in the snow and probably gathering moisture even under the protective tarp. It seems hardly worth going back out for it now. Maybe what he has will be enough to at least get him through the storm.
With Christmas approaching only a little less than two weeks away now, it gets dark early these days, but even earlier today with the dark clouds blocking out the weak winter sun. Minho keeps the fire low in the burner but doesn’t let it go out. He moved into his little cottage a few years ago, so is well accustomed by now with how to trap warmth in well so not to overuse his firewood.
Still, he twists his face at the knowledge that it’s sitting out there, feeling like he should at least go check to see if it’s still usable.
A quiet whining from behind him makes him turn, seeing Bbama awake and watching the window with him.
“You uh… need to go pee?” Minho asks, not sure how one is meant to communicate with a dog for it’s bathroom needs. For his cats all he has to do is make sure their trays are kept clean with fresh litter, but even if Bbama looks at least old enough to be well potty trained by now, he doubts he could convince him to use one of those.
He tries a few keywords he assumes might work; walk, walkies, toilet, bathroom, outside. Bbama responds to none of them.
He doesn’t seem to want to go, so maybe it’s something else.
Minho sighs as he watches the small dog lower his head back to the blanket on his temporary bed, just watching Minho back sadly.
With no urgent doggy bathroom needs to force his hand, his resistance to go out into the blizzard wins in the end. The pile of logs will have to sit there. Probably through the rest of winter now if he’s honest with himself.
Good thing he generally tends to over-prepare, really.
The next morning however he wakes to find a puddle on the floor. Luckily the rug and anything else was left untouched, the hardwood easily mopped and sprayed clean again, and a speedy search of the room proves that to be the only surprise left for him.
Bbama seems agitated, though not at all because he appears to feel bad about making a mess. He paces and sniffs around the room, and Minho can only make his best guess what that means.
Attaching one of the cat’s leashes to his collar, Minho attempts to coax Bbama outside. It’s a struggle, but he’s used to the stubbornness of cats, so he wins that one in the end.
Bundled into every sweater he could grab in less than a minute and his winter coat pulled on top, Minho manages to get the little dog to give up on tugging him back to the warmth of the cottage and sniff around outside instead.
They stand close to the wall of the house where it blocks the most wind and the snow hasn’t gotten as deep, Minho stamping his feet on the spot until finally Bbama finishes his business.
He praises the puppy through chattering teeth and quickly cleans up with a bag before running back around the house to the door. He opens it, but feels a tug on the leash when he tries to step inside.
“Bbama?” He turns, but the dog is looking the other way, out into storm. Minho can’t even see his own driveway, but he knows all that’s out there past it is the dirt road and trees.
Bbama looks back at him once, but then turns away again, head tilting with a whine like he’s listening to something. Minho tries to listen too, but all he hears is howling wind and his own teeth clacking together with the way his jaw trembles.
“Come on,” he begs, giving the leash a couple gentle tugs to try get his attention. “You didn’t want to come out and now you don’t want to go in?”
He barks. Just once, small, and then listens again. There’s snow already starting to lay on top of them both. Minho’s ears are burning with the cold, and his fingers are going numb even with his gloves on.
“There’s nothing there,” he sighs, stomping over. He scoops up the puppy in his arms and cuddles him close, turning around. “You’re going to end up buried again if you stay out here.”
Back inside, Bbama goes back to the door a few times over the day, but mostly he rests, huffing to himself in his little bed. Dori tries to play with him, but is met with less enthusiasm than he obviously expects.
Minho feeds him cat food for breakfast, for lack of anything else to give, but then only thinks afterwards to search online for whether or not that’s okay. He grimaces when he finds the contrary, and sets himself a little menu of human foods he can give him for next time instead.
He gives the number of his owner another try, but again the call can’t connect.
Frustrated, he slams his phone down next to him on the sofa, an action Soonie gives him the stink eye for just as he’s coming to jump up on Minho’s lap for attention.
“Sorry, baby,” he says, scratching under the cat’s chin
He gets a purr, and an affectionate nose bump, and then out of the corner of his eye notices the way Bbama huffs a little as he tucks his head down on his bed. It only hits Minho then why he’s probably feeling restless.
“Bbama,” he calls. “Come here.”
Bbama doesn’t budge.
Minho calls his name a few more times, but all he gets is a sad stare before the dog shuffles himself into a comfier position and flops back down to sleep.
“You must really miss them, huh,” Minho mutters.
Maybe if he can eventually get through to that number, he can put it on speakerphone for him. Do dogs recognize their owners voices on the phone? Maybe he should ask if they can do a video call or something. He knows his cats have liked to watch videos of him on the odd occasion he has ventured out into the world and left them with his parents to catsit for a few days.
The rest of his day goes mostly to routine. He works out using what he has at home. The gym in town isn’t an option right now, but he hasn’t set foot in there in years anyway. When it’s time to do some work, he opens his laptop at his desk and makes himself a comfortable chair for Soonie to curl up on so that the kitty won’t decide that his keyboard looks like a nicer naptime bed instead.
He’s part way through preparing dinner when Bbama gives him a heart attack, springing up out of his bed and dashing through the rooms to the front door to bark at it.
Assuming he just needs to use the bathroom that bad, Minho hurries to yank on his thick coat and snatches up the leash. Before he can get to Bbama though, the dog rushes from the front door back to the living room, leaping onto the furniture to look out of the window with surprising agility for an animal that was a pupsicle only this time yesterday.
Something nags at Minho that this isn’t just a bathroom request though. Bbama seems to be interested in something in particular.
Minho didn’t listen to him last time, but he does this time.
He snaps the leash into place and urges Bbama to follow him to the door. It takes no coaxing this time, the dog darting past him from between his legs so that he has to quickly maneuver himself not to get tangled and tripped up with the leash.
Once outside, he worries that maybe he should have left the little pup inside, seeing him dive into the snow that comes up higher than he does. The wind bites at Minho’s face worse than ever, ice clinging to his lashes so he can barely see through them.
Not that there’s anything to even see. Even if it weren’t for the snow, it’s already started getting dark fast, and there are no outside lights here beyond his doorstep. He’s even worried he might not be able to find his way back if he goes too far, but a pause to catch his bearings gives him the time to hear what sounds like a voice calling out.
He’d think he was imagining it, that it was just the howling wind playing tricks on him, if Bbama didn’t freeze in place to listen too. It’s hard to hear past the weather and the thumping of blood in his ears, but he catches it once more.
He can’t make out what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. Anyone this far out in this weather can only need help.
Bbama barks, little yaps that barely even reach Minho’s ears, but he lets himself be pulled along by him towards where he must be hearing it.
While bearable for short potty breaks for Bbama through the day, the temperature has dropped dramatically since the sun went down. His toes quickly start to feel like they’re going numb, despite the thick socks and boots he has on. Even when Bbama leads him into the trees where there’s a little more cover, it doesn’t give much relief.
He doesn’t hear the voice again, and every time Bbama pauses he seems less sure of himself and more distressed. He whines more than barks, pausing to let out one little yip now and then as if trying to call back to them.
It’s no good. The wind and snow are too bad, and they’re both too cold. Minho has to pick Bbama up and tuck him into his coat with him once he starts trying to sniff in circles instead of leading them anywhere.
“S-sorry,” Minho mumbles when the dog cries.
His lips feel frozen, his cheeks sting, and if he doesn’t make them turn back now then they’re the ones who’re going to need help.
It’s only by chance then—as he’s already trudging quickly as he can back the way they came—that he turns back to look and notices an odd, bulky shape huddled against a tree trunk, a very faint glow highlighting it against the dark.
It’s weird enough that it makes Minho pause, fighting with himself for a second between the urge to know what the fuck and the survival instinct that tells him to just get back to safety and who cares about weird glowing shapes in the woods?
Then his brain kicks in.
He runs towards it with a gasp that catches in his throat. The huddled figure doesn’t move as he approaches, but they’re still shivering under the huge coat they’re wrapped themselves in. The light, as he’d realized after his second of stupor, comes from what looks like a phone tucked inside it.
“Hello?” Minho tries, he lifts the hood and sees that their face is almost completely covered, woolly hat pulled down to their eyebrows, scarf wrapped around their neck, over their chin, and up past their nose. Their eyes are closed.
Minho tries to get their attention—to call out again, give them a little shake by the shoulders—but other than a barely noticeable fluttering of the eyes that don’t even open to look, they don’t respond.
He lets Bbama down out of his coat and ties the leash to his wrist. It’s not very secure and would probably come away if it gets tugged on, but he hopes the dog has learned his lesson and won’t do anything silly like trying to run off by himself again after the last time.
It’s difficult; awkward to get them into the right position when they’ve tucked their arms into their coat out of the sleeves, but he manages to get his arms around their back and under their knees.
Once he lifts, he’s almost startled by how easy it is. Even saturated with snow, they’re a lot lighter than they looked, so the majority of the bulkiness must be in layers of clothes. That’s good. At least they were sensible enough to put on more layers than Minho was before he dashed from his cottage into the storm.
He stutters out, trying to command Bbama to follow him, but it’s no good. He can’t stop his jaw from jittering, but it’s not like his voice would carry anyway. It doesn’t matter, Bbama doesn’t need it. He’s good and follows along right at Minho’s side, rushing ahead just a little as they exit the trees, but stopping to look back every few steps.
Fear that he might somehow go the wrong way, despite knowing it by heart, sits in Minho’s stomach the whole way. It feels like it takes forever to get back, though it likely isn’t that long. Still, he feels overwhelming relief when he finds his feet have brought him directly to his door.
Inside, he ignores the cats yowling for their supper. They’re used to having it exactly on time, but they’ll have to wait. He rushes past them and into the living room, laying the shivering person in his arms out on the sofa in front of the fire.
Immediately, he begins stripping them out of their wet clothes. Every layer is soaked through. He pulls off their boots and multiple layers of socks, unwraps their coat to find their hands and takes off the one glove they have on. The other must have gotten lost outside somewhere when they took it off to try calling for help.
Reaching into the coat, he takes the phone out and glances at the screen. No signal, not surprising. And unresponsive when he tries tapping the screen. All it will do is light up blankly whenever he presses the side button, so he puts it aside and keeps unwrapping layers.
As he gets closer to reaching the person at the center of the laundry matryoshka, he pauses once to chuck a couple more logs onto the fire.
After checking his main concern—that their hands and feet are okay, albeit icy cold—he inwardly scolds himself when he realizes he probably should have put a little urgency too into making sure they weren’t suffocating under their own wrappings.
He takes off their hat and scarf, revealing a man’s face, and then he goes still.
He’s instantly struck by how pretty he is. So much so that it almost knocks what little breath Minho has left in him out of his lungs. He’s younger than Minho, he thinks, boyishly handsome with pouty lips and full cheeks.
Immediately after the thought enters his head, he floods with guilt.
He shouldn’t even be noticing that about a stranger lying unconscious and half frozen on his sofa in possibly dire need of medical attention, least of all while Minho is currently in the process of taking all his clothes off him!
He looks away and focuses on the priority; getting him dry and warm.
All the first aid training he ever had seems to be leaking out of his ears though. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with the buttons of another jacket under the first, and it’s no longer with the cold.
What does he do if the guy needs real medical help? There’s no way they’ll send an ambulance out here in the weather they’re having, and chances are what few emergency vehicles they have out here will be busy already.
He still hasn’t woke up. Doesn’t even stir once while Minho moves on to the rest of his clothes, jostling him a little roughly to get his jeans off where they cling to his legs, or when he battles to get his arms out of a hoodie and two t-shirts.
He mentally stuffs his entire headspace into the Clinical Thinking Only! box when he unveils a well defined torso that the guy has clearly put a lot of effort into maintaining. Muscular arms, a slim waist, just the hint of abs under his tummy when he breathes—he definitely takes care of his body, so it makes no sense to Minho why he’d do something so crazy like go wandering around in a blizzard alone at night.
Feeling as though he already saw too much—even if undressing him is completely necessary and unavoidable—Minho looks up at the ceiling while he removes the man’s underwear and quickly covers him over with a blanket to give him his privacy.
He’s still shivering badly despite the fire crackling cheerily away, so Minho throws a few more logs onto it, the flames greedily swelling until the room is close with warmth and sweat starts to prickle at the back of Minho’s neck.
Not knowing what else to do, he throws another blanket over the man and snatches up his phone.
Of course, now would be one of those moments the internet simply will not load. Over and over he tries, opening and closing it and trying again, but it just won’t work.
It takes two deep breaths before he’s calm enough to trust himself not to throw his phone. As with the phone lines, inconsistent internet connection isn’t a rare thing where he lives, even at the best of times. It’s expected that it’ll be patchy during a storm.
A call to the storm emergency line goes nowhere, the speaker beeping endlessly until he realizes it’s not going to go through. Chewing his lips together, he lowers the phone, stares at it for another moment just in case, and then hangs up. It must be pretty bad out there.
He doesn’t know what to do.
Dropping the phone onto his lap, he puts his face in his hands. There’s no way the regular emergency lines won’t also be too busy to send help, and he’s pretty sure his parents are either on a flight or sleeping right now.
He doesn’t have many friends, doesn’t often take the time to keep up with people well enough to make any, but he knows a guy nearby. With no other guidance to go off, he calls him.
Thankfully, this call goes through. It picks up on the third ring.
“Hey—”
“Changbin,” he interrupts quickly. “Tell me what to do. I’m panicking. I think my brain froze.”
“I… What?”
“It’s me—I mean, it’s Minho—Lee Minho.”
“I know who you are,” he chuckles down the phone. “I still have your number saved. What’s the panic though?”
Minho makes himself take another breath, slower. After he explains the situation, Changbin states the obvious thing that makes Minho feel a little stupid when he asks if he didn’t just try calling the emergency line anyway.
“Well. No…” Minho says. “I figured they wouldn’t be able to send anyone out here for this if they’re so busy it won’t go through.”
“Probably not, but they could at least tell you what to do better than I could.”
Minho hums. He’s right, Minho just got stupid for a second there.
“Does he seem hypothermic? Is he still shivering?”
“I don’t—” Minho stops when he looks over the form under the blanket. He puts a hand over the guy’s chest. He feels the occasional tremor, but otherwise the guy feels much calmer. “He’s… not as bad now. I think.”
“How’s his breathing?”
Minho checks. It’s slow and steady. “Okay, I think? Like, it seems normal?”
“Maybe it’s not as bad as it looked then?”
“Maybe,” he bites his lip, puts a hand on the man’s chest again and feels his heart beating. He’s no professional, but it feels okay. “I guess it’s probably okay. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Hey, no! It’s fine, dude. Just, like, I guess keep him warm?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I saw one time that you’re supposed to like, get naked and share body heat, or something. You know, curl up under the covers with them.”
Minho flushes. “I’m not climbing naked into bed with him.”
“Why? Is he ugly?”
“No!” He considers going back outside and stuffing himself face first back into the snow when Changbin chuckles. “No, I mean I’m not climbing naked into bed with an unconscious stranger! It’s not because of how he—”
“I know, I know! I was just messing with you. I swear I did read that it’s what you’re supposed to do somewhere though! And lots of blankets too.”
After promising to update him if there’s any developments, and that he’d stop by the shop ‘at some point’ when the weather allows, Minho thanks Changbin and hangs up.
All he can do now, he figures, is keep the man warm until he wakes up. He does not climb naked under the blankets with him, but he does go find the most comfortable clothes he owns to put on him, his eyes respectfully avoiding looking at anything unnecessarily while he redresses him.
He layers a couple more blankets over him and adds another log to the fire. The guy seems to almost just be sleeping peacefully now.
Minho finds Bbama outside the room waiting for him, leash still clipped to his collar. He’d felt it drop from his wrist as he gotten into the house, but kicked the living room door closed behind him to keep the heat in and honestly forgot about the puppy in his panic.
He kneels down and holds Bbama’s face between his hands, scratching behind his ears. He gives a little whine, and Minho tells him softly, “Good dog. You did so good.”
Bbama barks. Quietly though, as if he knows they have to keep the noise down. Minho doesn’t know if that means he understands, but he seems happier than he was earlier at least.
“Is that what was bothering you? You heard someone who needed help?”
Bbama barks again. Minho truly does not understand dogs like he does cats, but he’ll take that as acknowledgement and make sure he gets something extra tasty later.