Don't Pester The Ski Patrol • L.S.

8

It's eight on the dot when Harry calls me.

"Harry," I greet, wanting to say so many things at once, but wanting to know why he's calling me above all things.

"Louis! Shame on you. Haven't you read the Whiteface Mountain Ski Resort handbook? Rule number one: Don't pester the ski patrol unless there is an emergency!"

"You called me."

"I did, didn't I?"

I laugh breathily. "Harry! Shame on you. Haven't you read the Whiteface Mountain Ski Resort handbook? Rule number two: Don't pester the patrons unless there is an emergency!"

"Well, you did the impossible, Louis. You made me laugh." He says while laughing. I laugh with him, and when it dies down, he speaks again, timidly. "I don't want to be alone. Will you come over?"

My instinct is to ask where Prairie is, but I do not. "Of course. I'll leave now."

How deceptive of me to just say 'of course' like it's nothing. In reality, I'm screaming on a hill to some entity in the sky, thanking the universe for allowing Harry to be vulnerable enough with me to tell me he doesn't want to be alone. For me to be the person he calls to keep him company.

Maybe I'm the only option. Or maybe I'm truly the only one he wants.

"Do you have liquor? Bring liquor. No - wait. Don't bring liquor. Bring, um... bring wine. Do you have wine?"

I look over to the table at the plethora of baskets I've been sent by my mother and her team. "Yeah, I've got wine. Anything else?"

"And popcorn. I love popcorn."

"I have popcorn. I also have kettle corn."

"Kettle corn! Why didn't you lead with that?" He sounds genuinely angry. I can't help but laugh.

"Alright, I'll be over soon with wine and kettle corn."

"Haste is demanded. See you soon."

"See you soon."

I don't even feel the cold on my face as I speed-walk to Harry's lodge in complete darkness, save for the twinkling of the snow on the ground.

When he opens the door for me, I can tell he's sad despite being happy to see me. His face is red like he had been crying, and he has his hair tucked away from his face when he usually lets it hang over his eyes. He's so much prettier when I can see more of him, I realise. I'm sick.

"My God," He greets. "Did you raid a popcorn store off the mountain?"

I had decided to bring the entire basket of popcorn I had been sent, because it's big and popcorn is not my go-to snack. There are five one-pound bags in the basket. In addition, I brought a bottle of red wine - there was also various white wines and rosés, but Harry seems like a classic wine guy. I also like red wine the least, so it's better to get rid of it.

(And maybe I think he'd look cute with his lips all stained red, but I'll take that to my grave. I will sooner admit things I signed NDAs about than that.)

"I get a lot of PR baskets." I shrug, closing the door behind me and following Harry into the lodge. I put the large basket on the floor and shrug off my winter gear, placing it on the rack near the couch.

He picks up the basket and takes the wine out to survey it before placing it on the coffee table. "Wow, Napa Valley wine. This probably costs more than my car. I'm sorry I don't own a decanter."

"You're twenty-three. It'd be weird if you did." I say, and he laughs.

As I sit down, I realise how much I love this couch. It's kind of ugly, but it's wide and comfortable and homey. I could comfortably sleep on this couch underneath all of his throw blankets. I could comfortably do a lot of things on this couch underneath all of his throw blankets.