For Research Purposes | ✔

CHAPTER TEN

     Sam fucking jumps.

     Sage is fuming as he slips his skis off and commits to the most undignified run of his life. Trying to run through snow is ridiculous. His adrenaline is throttling, forcing the blood to his lungs, so he's panting against the sharp air.

     He swears if Sam's not dead, he's going to kill him himself.

     And Sam's not dead. He's struggling to get to his feet, using the poles as leverage. Sage wants to push him over he's so annoyed. "You're an actual idiot," he snaps, throwing out a hand instead. Sam knocks it away and loses his balance, face planting back into the snow. "Idiot," he repeats, even more aggravated.

     "Shut it, Sage," Sam gets out, his words strained.

     "Did you break anything?" he asks, the concern creeping in. He tries to use his anger to push it back, but it's not working. It's too much, the feeling in his chest. It makes his jaw ache and his lungs constrict painfully.

     He steps over the back of Sam's thighs, straddling them, and then bends over, hooking his arms under his armpits to help him up. Sam makes this hysterical sound and Sage almost lets go, sure that he's hurting him.

     But then Sam goes, "I can stand on my own!"

     So he knows it's not pain but humiliation. He doesn't stop lifting until Sam's back on his feet. Or foot. He keeps one off the ground. Sage stares at it.

     "You're hurt," he says finally.

     "I'm fine," Sam says, deliberately placing it on the snow only to wince and have to lift it again.

     "Are there any more idiotic decisions left in you or have you blown through your supply for the day?" he asks, his tone sharp. He glares at Sam, who's face is flushed.

     Sam huffs but doesn't say anything, which is good because Sage is pissed off enough. They both stand there, silently fuming, until Sage caves, sliding his arm across Sam's back, hooking it around his waist.

     "Come on," he says and Sam doesn't fight him this time, placing a hand on his shoulder. He uses Sage's weight as a crutch, hopping back towards the lift. They wait on a short line to get on and when the lift chair swings behind them, nailing them in the back of the legs, Sam goes down clumsily, nearly falling off again.

     Except he didn't fall off the first time.

     "I can't believe you jumped from that height," Sage mutters licking his lips that are starting to chap.

     "The snow was supposed to cushion my blow," Sam responds.

     "And how'd that work for you?" Sage rolls his eyes. Stubborn, idiot boy. He could've broken his neck. Or any other bone for that matter. And they would have had to airlift him off of the slopes and they'd have spent the holiday in the hospital.

     "I don't understand why you're pissed," Sam says after a quiet moment. The lift is moving swiftly and the air whistles around them nearly drowning out Sam's words. "I'm the one that's injured here."

     Sage bites his lip, turning to look away from Sam. You could've died, he thinks but doesn't say.

❧

     Sage is right.

     Sam's an idiot. His ankles not broken. He broke his leg as a child. Knows what that pain feels like and this isn't that. But it's absolutely throbbing, and honestly, having it suspended in the air isn't helping. Sam wants to get this boot off and prop it up so the blood can rush down his leg and maybe some of the pain will go with it.