Crash!

Saint Dane jumped slightly and looked up, his peaceful reading interrupted. The noise had come from outside his window, but when he looked, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Snow fell lightly, covering the cars in the apartment parking lot in a light powder of white. A car horn started honking in the distance, but stopped after a brief moment.

He shrugged and sat back in his armchair, returning to his book.

A few minutes later, rapid tapping on his window drew Dane's attention again. He looked outside, but there was still nothing happening. He kept watch a moment longer just to make sure, but the only difference was that the wind had started blowing. The bare branches of a tree just outside his window swayed. That was probably what had caused the tapping sound. Mildly irritated, Saint Dane turned back to his book.

Not a moment later, the tapping returned. Dane huffed and forcefully closed his book, raising to his feet and fully intending on going into another room to read. Movement caught his eye, and he stopped.

A hand was waving from the top of his window. A hand. Reaching down.

A hand.

Confused, Saint Dane opened his front door and went outside. A blast of cold air rushed into the heated apartment, bringing with it a flurry of snow. He brushed it off his shoulder and looked up, trying to find out why on Earth there was a hand in his window.

"Oh thank God, I thought you were in another room or something."

Saint Dane blinked, mind struggling to process the image in front of him. His upstairs neighbor was stuck in a tree. Christmas lights were tangled around his legs, preventing him from getting good enough footing to get down. Instead, he hung precariously in the branches, limbs of both tree and person struggling to hold his weight.

Dane didn't really know his upstairs neighbor that well. He himself had moved to the area a few months ago, looking for some peace and quiet outside the big city. The apartment seemed like a good deal. His neighbors had tried to welcome him, offering pastries and casseroles. But Saint Dane had simply turned them away at the door, sometimes refusing to even answer. He despised human interaction, and was content to keep it at a minimum. After all, that was why he chose to work at home.

This particular neighbor had never introduced himself- not that Dane was complaining, but he did find it rather odd. The man kept to himself as well, not much noise coming from upstairs. When Dane had chosen an apartment, one thing he certainly expected was bumping and stomping from upstairs. Either the man was an extremely soft walker or was rarely home. Bottom line, Saint Dane had never met him, only really seeing him when one or the other went out for groceries and the like.

But back to the present.

Which included said reclusive neighbor currently hanging from a tree.

"How on Earth…?" Dane wondered.

The man laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, funny story," he said. "So you know how Christmas is right around the corner?"

Dane nodded slowly. It was hard not too when every store and TV channel was broadcasting the fact to the heavens near 24/7.

"Well, this is the first time I'm spending it on my own, away from family and stuff. And I decided 'Hey! You're an adult now, Bobby! You should get a headstart on Christmas decorations!'" His hand slipped a little, so he wrapped his arms more firmly around a branch to keep himself steady. "The thing is, my dad was always the one to hang lights? I usually sat back and gorged myself on gingerbread cookies while he did the work." His fingers slipped again, arms straining to hold onto the tree and not fall. "Also I may not have thought through the whole 'living on the second floor' business all the way and thought that climbing on my balcony was a good way to go and please oh my god can you help me down before I-"

The branch Bobby was hanging from finally gave out at about the same time his arms did, but Saint Dane was ready. He leapt forward, arms outstretched to catch the falling man. Bobby shrieked as he fell.

Dane apparently wildly overestimated his strength, because as soon as he caught Bobby, they both went down hard. Bobby flailed to grab onto something, accidentally smacking Dane in the face. His knees gave out under him and he collapsed, sending them both sprawling in the snow.

A beat, then "Thanks for breaking my fall."

Saint Dane groaned and pushed, rolling the other man off of him. He stood up and tried to brush the melting snow off his suit, but gave up. He would have to change. Hopefully his clothes weren't ruined. He glared down at Bobby, who was still lying on the ground, smiling sheepishly up at him.

"There," Dane said. "You are down."

He turned to leave, but Bobby grabbed his ankle to stop him. "Wait!"

Dane rolled his eyes. "What do you want, boy?" he snapped.

Bobby glared, trying to sit up. "Okay, for one, I'm twenty three. I'm not a boy. Two…" He trailed off, blush staining his cheeks. Or maybe that was the cold. "I, uh, might have locked myself out of my apartment."

"And that is my problem how?"

"..."

Dane nodded, then went to his door. He groaned audibly and rolled his eyes when Bobby called out again.

"I think I might have also sprained my ankle!" Bobby was still sitting in the snow, freezing slush seeping into his clothes. He definitely wasn't dressed for weather such as this, evident by his violent shivers and how his lips were slowly taking on a purple hue. He smiled up innocently at Saint Dane as the man walked back over.

"What exactly do you expect me to do, take you home with me and wrap you up like a burrito, spoon feeding you hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire?" he asked sarcastically.

"That actually doesn't sound half bad."

Dane closed his eyes. What in the world was this boy doing? He rubbed his forehead and sighed, then pulled out his phone. "I am going to call the front office, and you are going to get another key," he said. "I will take you in for a few minutes, but only because you are injured and it is freezing out here. Then you are going home and we are never going to speak again."

Bobby nodded as Dane dialed the number. "Never say I'm not a generous man," he added under his breath.

A quick call later found Saint Dane struggling to help Bobby to his feet while simultaneously not get any more snow on his suit. Sunday night on a night like this left exactly one person up at the front office. They promised they'd be there soon with a spare key, but knowing Saint Dane's luck, they wouldn't be able to find one or would get lost along the way or something, and Bobby would be stuck with him for the night. Joy.

They trudged into Saint Dane's apartment, tracking snow along the front carpet. Bobby was leaning heavily against the taller man's side, trying to keep weight off his injured ankle. They maneuvered him into the living room, Dane kicking the front door closed behind him and toeing his shoes off in one smooth movement.

With a graceless grunt, Dane dumped Bobby on the couch.

"Hey!" he complained. "Be nice to an injured man, will ya?"

"No."

Bobby huffed at the deadpan answer and sat up. He shifted around until he was comfortable, then glared at his boots. He looked back at Saint Dane, who was watching silently with his arms crossed.

"Don't you dare-"

Bobby grinned. "Can you help me get my shoes off?"

Dane groaned again and massaged his temple. The boy was really starting to get on his nerves. He was already wishing he'd just left Bobby out in the snow.

Dane kneeled in front of his neighbor and yanked one boot off, then the other. Bobby yelped, jerking back when the right shoe came off. He sent a poisonous glare at the man, but it was ignored.

Saint Dane left the shoes by the door and went to his room to change into something drier. By the time he got back, Bobby was already reclining on his couch and flipping through the channels on his TV. He looked right at home, his feet propped up on the arm of the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his injured one.

He looked up when Saint Dane entered and beamed. "So you mentioned something about hot chocolate and roaring fires?"

"My apologies, but we're fresh out of roaring fireplaces," Saint Dane said, sighing and heading to the kitchen. "But if you insist, I do have some chocolate." It was leftover from the last time Nevva and her mother visited. He and her were more business partners than friends, but dear Elli Winter made sure to dote on anyone her daughter considered a 'friend', even if she didn't approve of him one hundred percent. He didn't understand the woman and didn't hide the fact that he didn't plan on trying.

Dane dug through the cupboards until he found the old-fashioned tin of powdered chocolate and set it down as he started a pot of water boiling. He hummed while he worked, something he'd heard on the radio the other day, snatches of lyrics and chords passing through his mind and his lips.

A few minutes later he swept back into the living room, two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. He passed one to Bobby, who perked up and gave him a toothy grin. Their fingers brushed as the cup changed hands, too deliberate to be an accident. Dane eyed the boy, but Bobby gave no indication of having recognized the action.

"So they say there's gonna be a snowstorm tonight," Bobby said idly.

Saint Dane looked at the TV, where a weather emergency forecast was on. "It seems so." A rather large patch of indigo was passing along the top edge of their state on the map, steadily creeping its way downwards. The weatherman was saying how it should hit their town in a few hours, and to make sure all pets and children are inside.

"All schools in the area will be closed for the next day at least," he said jovially. "Make sure to stock up on bread and milk, just in case!"

Putting his head in his hands, Dane tried to calm himself. Just what he needed- the possibility of having to spend a day-at least!-snowed in with his annoying upstairs neighbor who he'd just met. Joy.

The emergency weather forecast ended and reruns of Tom and Jerry continued where they'd left off. Bobby clapped, far too excited for the return of a cartoon than any man in his early twenties should be. He caught Dane staring and winked over his cup, the overall effect being ruined when he took a sip of his hot chocolate and yelped at the temperature, nearly spilling it on himself.

Saint Dane just hoped he didn't end up strangling the boy before the night's end.