Unova was not known for its annual snowfall.

While there were areas that made dramatic transformations when they froze over, the region was largely a temperate one, and its winters were mild. The brief, if striking, icing over of Opelucid didn’t count, and had happened in the springtime, anyway.

Which is why it was something of a shock when a coldsnap hit, and the snow began to pile up.

It was charming at first– fun, even– but life had to go on, and those with places to be and jobs to conduct went on with their daily routines. Emmet spent their commute alternating between [idk] and passive aggressively griping at the ease with which Ingo handled the chill. Ingo ignored the commentary and reminded Emmet how to properly traverse the accumulating snow.

[…]

But the snow didn’t melt. The temperature kept it on the ground, refreezing into crunchy sheets, only to be covered by a new layer. Then another, and another.

It became a problem by the third day, but the fourth was when things took a more personal turn for the worse.

The pair left ahead of schedule, allowing for any complications the building snowdrifts might pose, which was fortunate, since Ingo’s approach to proper snow traversal only went so deep. The walkways were cleared daily– whether on purpose or by traffic– but their schedule meant that previous night’s buildup had yet to be dispersed when they left home.

The sensation of cold seeping through his pants prickled, but Ingo tried to ignore it, pulling coat tighter around himself and flipping the collar up protectively. At his side, [nonsense from Emmet]. He forced a laugh.

Something moved in a pile of dirty snow and he whipped around to face it. Logically, he knew it was a Vanillite– he could see ice crystals studding its head– but for one terrifying moment, he saw the red-tipped tail of a Zorua in its swirling crest.

Emmet silently closed the gap between them, studied the unconventional nest, and linked his arm with Ingo’s, gently– but forcibly– turning him away from the sight. “It thinks it is hiding. We shouldn’t ruin its fun.”

Ingo gave a terse nod and moved closer, leaving just a sliver of room between them.

They made it a grand total of two blocks from home before Ingo came to a complete stop, dragging his brother to a halt with him, and choked out, “I can’t do this, Emmet.”

Emmet took a moment to consider his twin, then released their linked arm to rest it over Ingo’s shoulders and steer them back around.

“I will not ask you to. We are taking the day off.”

As soon as that last barrier between them was gone, Ingo all but attached himself to his brother’s side, leaving a stark, continuous line between their contrasting coats.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

“Shouldn’t worry about it.” Emmet finished for him, an air of finality to it that brokered no further apology. “Expressing your limits is an important skill. I am verrrry proud of you.”

There was a soft noise of dissent, but Ingo didn’t argue and, instead, sunk further into his upturned collar.

When they made it through the front door, Sneasler blinked at them from her perch on the back of the couch, puzzled by their early return. Within two breaths, however, she picked up on Her Person’s distress and hurried over, fussing at Ingo’s collar in an attempt to get a clear look at his face.

It was a wonderful gesture, coming from a place of love.

Unfortunately, it was also incredibly close to Ingo’s hazy recollection of his rescue from the depths of the Alabaster Icelands, and he rasped a [adj] sob.