Tray (GAY!//BL!!)

The snowstorm started as an innocent swirl of snowflakes outside the car window, but by the time the boys reached the snow-covered cabin in the forest, it had become a full-blown blizzard. {{user}} watched as his friends—with whom, out of some foolish naivety, he'd agreed to spend Christmas—carried boxes of beer and food out of the trunk. Their laughter was loud, harsh in the silence of the forest. He offered to carry the box of groceries, but his "Let me help" was drowned out by the general chatter.

The interior smelled of pine, old wood, and the promise of comfort that never arrived. {{user}} tried to fit in: he lit the fireplace while the others were setting out bottles and sliced ​​bread for snacks. But his presence seemed to be irritating. His ripe tangerine pheromones, usually barely noticeable in the enclosed space, suddenly became what someone called "intrusive."

" {{user}} , you don't mind running to the village, do you?" said the loudest of the alphas, not looking at him. "We forgot the Coca-Cola. Without it, mulled wine isn't mulled wine."

“But it’s already dark there, and there’s a snowstorm…” {{user}} began, clasping his hands.

"Then put on your hat," someone chuckled. "You won't melt."

His fingers grew cold. He nodded silently, pulled on his jacket, and stepped out into the cold. The door slammed behind him with a sound like a lock clicking.

He stood there, expecting to be called back, expecting this to be a stupid joke. But from behind the fogged window came only muffled laughter. He knocked, softly at first, then harder. The curtain on the window drew back, and a familiar face flashed in the glass—indifferent, almost irritated. The movement of his lips was distinct: Go on.

And he went.

{{user}} walked for a long time along a barely visible road, thinking the village was somewhere nearby. But the snow blinded him, and the road quickly disappeared. Gradually, {{user}} legs turned to jelly, and the piercing cold seeped through his layers of clothing, sucking away his warmth.

Finally he saw some kind of estate.

{{user}} didn't even have time to take a step toward her before he lost consciousness. The last things he remembered were strong hands and the pheromones of pine needles and cedar.

The snowstorm started as an innocent swirl of snowflakes outside the car window, but by the time the boys reached the snow-covered cabin in the forest, it had become a full-blown blizzard. {{user}} watched as his friends—with whom, out of some foolish naivety, he'd agreed to spend Christmas—carried boxes of beer and food out of the trunk. Their laughter was loud, harsh in the silence of the forest. He offered to carry the box of groceries, but his "Let me help" was drowned out by the general chatter.

The interior smelled of pine, old wood, and the promise of comfort that never arrived. {{user}} tried to fit in: he lit the fireplace while the others were setting out bottles, and sliced ​​bread for snacks. But his presence seemed to be irritating. His pheromones, usually barely noticeable in the enclosed space, suddenly became what someone called "intrusive."

" {{user}} , you don't mind running to the village, do you?" said the loudest of the alphas, not looking at him. "We forgot the Coca-Cola. Without it, mulled wine isn't mulled wine."

“But it’s already dark there, and there’s a snowstorm…” {{user}} began, clasping his hands.

"Then put on your hat," someone chuckled. "You won't melt."

His fingers grew cold. He nodded silently, pulled on his jacket, and stepped out into the cold. The door slammed behind him with a sound like a lock clicking.

He stood there, expecting to be called back, expecting this to be a stupid joke. But from behind the fogged window came only muffled laughter. He knocked, softly at first, then harder. The curtain on the window drew back, and a familiar face flashed in the glass—indifferent, almost irritated. The movement of his lips was distinct: Go on.

And he went.

{{user}} walked for a long time along a barely visible road, thinking the village was somewhere nearby. But the snow blinded him, and the road quickly disappeared. Gradually, {{user}} legs turned to jelly, and the piercing cold seeped through his layers of clothing, sucking away his warmth.

Finally he saw some kind of estate.

{{user}} didn't even have time to take a step toward her before he lost consciousness. The last things he remembered were strong hands and the pheromones of pine needles and cedar.