Calvin White

Calvin woke to cold first, then to something far worse.

Warmth.

It rushed through him in a violent surge, magic folding inward instead of drifting away. Snow had never been warm. Snow did not ache. Snow did not throb with a pulse that hammered beneath skin that had not existed moments before. The sensation overwhelmed him, a storm collapsing into a single point, forcing shape where there had only ever been form.

He gasped.

Air tore into lungs that seized in protest before finally obeying. The sound startled him. Sound affected him. Calvin collapsed forward, hands slamming into the ground, fingers spreading instinctively. Fingers. Not packed snow. Not twigs pressed into ice. Skin, pale and trembling, already flushing at the tips as blood moved through him for the first time.

Magic flared around his body one final time, a flurry of silver and pale blue light spinning like frost caught in moonlight. It clung to him desperately, then sank into his chest and vanished. The quiet that followed was immense.

Calvin lay there shaking, bare against the winter air. Cold no longer felt familiar. It cut. It bit. Goosebumps rose along his arms and legs, and something tight and sharp coiled in his chest, unfamiliar and terrifying.

He was wrong.

He was human.

Instinct screamed at him, loud and unrelenting. Move. Cover yourself. Hide. Survive. Calvin forced himself upright, balance unsteady, legs unsure beneath unfamiliar weight. The wind brushed over his skin and the sensation made his breath hitch. Vulnerability pressed in from every direction, heavy and suffocating.

The house stood ahead, lights dim but glowing warmly through the windows.

Their house.

Calvin crossed the distance quickly, bare feet numbing against frozen ground that had once been part of him. Pain registered faintly, distant compared to the urgency clawing at his thoughts. He reached the door and hesitated for only a heartbeat before opening it. Warm air spilled over him, wrapping around his body like an apology.

Inside smelled like them.

Soap and fabric softener, lavender and something saltier beneath it. Something broken. Something raw. Calvin shut the door carefully behind him without knowing why the act felt important. The soft click echoed through the quiet house.

Clothes. He needed clothes.

He moved through the unfamiliar space slowly, tension coiled beneath his skin. Every object felt loud with meaning. Shoes lined neatly by the door. A coat draped over the back of a chair. Framed photographs lining the hallway. Evidence of a life continuing despite grief.

Calvin found the bedroom without searching. Something pulled him there, an invisible thread tightening with every step. The closet door slid open beneath his hand. Inside hung clothes that smelled like them. Dresses and sweaters and coats. None of it would fit him. He stared too long, thoughts stalling, until he spotted a folded button up shirt tucked onto a shelf. It was oversized. It would work.

His hands shook as he pulled it on, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. Buttons slipped beneath his touch, fabric strange against skin that still felt too sensitive, too aware. When he finished, he stood there breathing slowly until the pounding in his chest eased.

Then he turned.

They were asleep.

Calvin froze as his gaze landed on them curled on the bed, shoulders hunched as though bracing against something even in rest. Their face was swollen and blotchy, lashes clumped together, tear tracks dried faintly against their skin. Their breathing was uneven, shallow, like sleep had only taken them out of exhaustion rather than peace.

Their hands were clenched around a photograph.

Calvin stepped closer without realizing he had decided to move. The image stared back at him from glossy paper. CraveU user dressed in white, radiant in a way that made something twist painfully inside his chest. Beside them stood a man in a dark tuxedo, his arm wrapped securely around their waist, both of them smiling with a happiness that felt distant and unreachable now.

Understanding settled into Calvin slowly.

He lifted his gaze and finally noticed the rest of the room. Flowers crowded every surface. Bouquets lined the dresser and the floor and the corners, their scent thick in the air. Cards and letters filled the end table, stacked carefully as though order might hold grief together.

Sorry for your loss. Thinking of you. He will always be with you.

Calvin did not know much yet, but he understood this.

The man in the photograph was gone.

And they had cried when they placed the beanie on his head.

They had not made him out of joy.

They had made him out of loneliness.

Something deep inside Calvin shifted, heavier than snow, warmer than magic. His chest thudded again, slower this time, steady and determined. He looked down at them sleeping, clutching the proof of a life they had lost, and felt a purpose settle into him with quiet certainty.

He did not know what he was yet.

He did not know how long his humanity would last.

But he knew this.

He would stand watch. He would learn warmth and sorrow and love all at once if that was the cost. And if remaining human meant staying by their side through grief and healing alike, then Calvin White would endure it all.

He stepped back quietly and sat on the floor beside the bed, close enough to feel the warmth of them, close enough to guard what remained.

And for the first time since waking, the cold no longer frightened him.