Chapter 13: It's All Yours

Isaac walked through the town's main street, the air crisp with the sharp bite of winter. The cobblestones beneath his boots were slick with a thin layer of frost, the kind that appeared overnight when the temperature dropped low enough for a light dusting of snow to settle and freeze. He had always liked the town in winter, when everything was quieter, softer, and the usual hum of activity was replaced by the sound of distant voices and the soft crunch of feet on snow. But today, it felt different.

The winter sky above was a pale white, the kind that seemed to absorb all warmth and light. The clouds hung low, heavy, like a blanket smothering the world. The grey sky stretched out in every direction, folding over itself in waves that felt endless, like a storm was waiting to break. Isaac stared up at it, feeling a chill crawl beneath his skin.

He had told himself it was over. That Clara was in the past. The breakup had been inevitable, a long time coming, and while he'd expected some grief, he hadn't anticipated how it would gnaw at him. 

The farm was thriving, though. That was something. The cattle were healthy, the crops had flourished, and his father's legacy was firmly planted in the soil. But even as the winter settled in around him, there was a hollowness inside Isaac, a quiet ache that he couldn't explain. He had been fine. He told himself that every morning. He was fine.

Yet there he stood, his shoulders hunched against the cold, the wind biting at his skin, feeling as empty as the sky above him.

He was too aware of his own presence in that moment, too aware of how his breath came in ragged spurts, how his chest felt tight and foreign. The cold had sunk deeper into his bones, but it wasn't the chill of the winter air that made him feel so distant from everything. It was something else. A heavy weight that wouldn't lift.

"Cold day to be out here, huh?" The voice was low, familiar, with a teasing undertone that cut through Isaac's fog of thoughts. Isaac turned instinctively, his eyes narrowing before his brain even processed the sound.

Oliver.

Standing a few feet way, hands tucked into his coat pockets, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His presence was like a weight that shifted the air, pulling it tight, making everything feel more intense. He was dressed in his usual style: a long, weather-beaten coat and boots caked with mud. His shaggy blonde hair was windswept, his face half-hidden behind the edge of his scarf, but those ocean eyes—always so full of mischief—were unmistakable.

Isaac's stomach turned, but he quickly shoved it down. His eyes hardened, the mask he had carefully cultivated slipping into place.

"Go away, Oliver," Isaac muttered, his voice colder than the winter around them. "I'm not in the mood."

Oliver didn't flinch. He stepped forward instead, his boots scraping softly on the ground, his grin widening.

"Not in the mood?" He tilted his head, a flash of humor in his eyes. "You've been walking around like someone pissed in your cereal."

Isaac's fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, his knuckles going white. The anger bubbled up inside him, a thick, tight knot in his chest that refused to be ignored. He hadn't wanted to see Oliver today. Or any day, really. But Oliver always seemed to show up when Isaac was at his weakest. He knew just when to push, when to tease, and, most annoyingly, when to get under Isaac's skin.

"I said leave me alone," Isaac snapped, his voice sharp like a blade. He took a step back, feeling the air between them thicken with tension. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need you around."

Oliver's eyes flickered, but the grin didn't disappear. Instead, it deepened, turning into something more thoughtful.

"Really? You're 'fine'?" Oliver took a step closer, his boots crunching lightly on the snow. "Is that what you're telling me? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying a little too hard to convince yourself."

Isaac's pulse quickened, a familiar irritation rising to the surface. Oliver's presence always made him feel exposed, like his emotions were laid bare for someone else's amusement. Oliver, seeing straight through him, peeled away the layers Isaac had so carefully built.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Isaac muttered, the words feeling hollow as they left his lips. "I don't need to explain myself to anyone."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Isaac's biting tone. He moved closer still, the distance between them closing like a vice.

"I think you're wrong about that," Oliver said softly, his voice suddenly serious. "You don't need to explain, huh? That's how it is? Is that why you're out here, looking like you're about to freeze to death?"

Isaac swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat that he refused to acknowledge. He had always hated how Oliver could do that—how he could read the emotions Isaac couldn't put into words, the things he refused to confront.

"I said leave me alone," Isaac repeated, his voice rough, but the anger that had flared within him now seemed to fade. He didn't want to feel this. Didn't want to feel anything. But Oliver was like a mirror, reflecting back all the things Isaac had been running from for so long.

Oliver didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood there for a moment, looking at Isaac in silence. The wind tugged at his coat, whipping strands of his hair into his face, but he didn't move to brush it away. He just stared, as if he was waiting for Isaac to do something. Anything.

Finally, he sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry some of the weight from the air.

"You're really going to make me work for this, aren't you?" Oliver asked, his voice full of a mix of frustration and amusement. "I thought you'd be used to me by now."

Isaac didn't respond. He couldn't. The words were lodged in his throat, caught between pride and something else—a vulnerability he wasn't ready to face. But Oliver could always see it, couldn't he? That part of Isaac that was afraid to show itself.

Oliver stepped forward again, his voice softening just a little. "Isaac…" He paused, watching Isaac closely. "What happened? I thought you were past this."

Isaac's throat tightened again. He wanted to snap, wanted to tell Oliver to mind his business, but the question hit too close to something he wasn't ready to admit—not to Oliver, not to anyone. He looked away, turning his gaze back toward the sky, as if it could offer him an answer.

"Nothing happened," Isaac muttered, though the words didn't sound convincing, even to his own ears. "It's just... just winter. I don't know."

Oliver didn't let up. "Winter, huh? That's what this is about?"

Isaac felt a flicker of irritation rise again. "What's your point, Oliver?" he growled, shifting on his feet.

The air around them felt heavy, charged with the unspoken tension between them. Oliver didn't speak right away. Instead, he stood there, considering Isaac with an unreadable expression.

"You're trying to hide from something," Oliver finally said, his tone not accusatory but quiet, as if he was trying to figure out something about Isaac he couldn't quite place. "You're acting colder than usual, Isaac. I had originally thought that icy wall facing me was because you just didn't like me but...I guess that small doubt in the back of my mind was correct."

Isaac's heart skipped a beat, and he felt an overwhelming surge of frustration. He didn't want Oliver to be right. He didn't want anyone to know how cold and empty he felt inside. He had told himself the farm was enough. That he didn't need the things he had once wanted—the things he had lost. But it was too easy to pretend that everything was okay when it wasn't.

"I'm not trying to hide anything," Isaac said, his voice hard but betraying a hint of something softer. "I'm just... fine. Really. I don't need you or anyone else to worry about me."

Oliver's eyes softened, and for a brief moment, Isaac felt something break inside him—something deep and buried that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge.

"You're not fine, Isaac," Oliver said quietly, taking another step closer. "And that's okay. But you don't have to do this alone, you know?"

Isaac felt the words tug at something inside him, something he couldn't quite reach, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel it—the ache that had settled deep in his chest, the emptiness that Clara's departure had left behind.

But no matter how much he wanted to reach out, to let himself feel something other than the coldness that had surrounded him, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now. Not with Oliver standing there, watching him with those understanding eyes.

So, instead, Isaac simply stood there, the distance between them growing with every passing second, his thoughts swirling in the freezing winter air.

And as the snow began to fall softly around them, Isaac knew that the winter—both outside and inside—was far from over.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like the winter air. Isaac tried to focus on the chill biting at his skin, the quiet hum of the town around them, but Oliver's presence was like a magnet, drawing out thoughts he wasn't ready to confront. The two stood by the street corner for a long moment, the town square's Christmas lights flickering faintly in the distance.

Oliver had an uncanny way of waiting, letting the silence settle until it became impossible to ignore. He didn't push Isaac, not yet, but Isaac could feel his eyes on him, studying, waiting for him to crack. And that's when Oliver spoke again—his voice softer now, a little more careful.

"I heard from Etien what happened with you and Clara," he said, the words seeming to cut through the fog in Isaac's mind.

Isaac's stomach clenched at the mention of her name, and he stiffened immediately, trying to suppress the sudden wave of discomfort that washed over him. His eyes flickered toward the ground, and for a split second, it felt like the weight of the world had pressed down on his chest. He didn't want to talk about Clara. Not now. Not ever. But he knew Oliver wouldn't let him off that easily.

"You don't have to talk about it," Oliver added quickly, sensing the shift in Isaac's posture, the way his shoulders seemed to tighten at the mention of Clara. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that's all."

Isaac's lips parted, but no words came. He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about it either. It wasn't that he didn't want to; it was just that the wound was still raw, too fresh to poke at. He exhaled a slow, steady breath, and before he could convince himself to walk away, Oliver spoke again, shifting the direction of the conversation.

"Why don't we go on a trip?" Oliver suggested, his voice light with an air of humor, a little mischief creeping into the words. "I need to run some errands. Grocery store, that kind of thing. You can come with me if you want. Maybe clear your head for a bit."

Isaac hesitated, the pull of his own thoughts tugging at him. But he knew, deep down, that he didn't want to be alone. Not right now. So, he sighed, pushing the unease aside. "Fine. But this doesn't make us friends."

The two of them went in silence , the rhythm of their steps matching one another. The world around them seemed quieter now, the distant hum of town sounds muffled by the thick blanket of snow. As they neared the grocery store, the front doors swung open with a soft chime, and they stepped inside, greeted by the warmth and the faint smell of freshly baked bread.

Inside the store, it was busier than Isaac expected for a midweek afternoon. People milled about with their baskets, picking up vegetables, boxed meals, canned goods. The mundane activity of grocery shopping felt oddly comforting, like a small piece of normality amidst the quiet storm Isaac was struggling to navigate within himself.

Oliver grabbed a random rack cart sitting out in the open, and Isaac followed him, silently pushing an empty one beside him.

"You ever rode in one of these before?" Oliver asked out of nowhere, his voice playful.

Isaac glanced at the cart, then back at Oliver, his brow furrowing slightly. "No," he said, tone flat. "Why would I have done that before? Those are for the workers put it back."

Oliver's grin widened, and before Isaac could even blink, he was already moving to the front of the cart, crouching down as though preparing to launch himself into an adventure.

"Why not? It's fun," Oliver said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're telling me you've never had the pleasure of being carted around the store like a king?"

Isaac raised an eyebrow, a reluctant chuckle rising in his chest despite himself. "I'm not a kid, Oliver."

"Who said anything about being a kid?" Oliver replied, feigning offense. "It's just about embracing the joy of life, man."

Isaac let out a small exhale, shaking his head, trying to stifle the smile threatening to pull at his lips. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then grumbled under his breath, "Fine, whatever. It's your humiliation if this goes horribly wrong."

Without waiting for Isaac's further objections, Oliver seized the opportunity, and with a dramatic flourish, he gestured for Isaac to climb onto the cart. Isaac hesitated, glancing around the store, but Oliver had already started to nudge the cart closer to him.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Isaac muttered, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"Dead serious," Oliver responded, his grin never faltering. "Just get in."

For some reason, Isaac found himself doing just that. He slid into the cart, awkwardly balancing himself in it, but when Oliver gave him a small push, the cart rolled forward with surprising ease. Isaac straightened up quickly, trying to balance the unfamiliar sense of amusement and discomfort swirling inside him.

Oliver's infectious laughter echoed through the aisles as he pushed Isaac down the store. Isaac rolled his eyes but couldn't help but laugh along with him. It was a ridiculous sight—two grown men, one in a cart, racing through the grocery store with no particular destination, only the desire to escape the weight of their own thoughts for a little while.

But their amusement was short-lived. They were soon met with a shrill voice from behind them. "Hey! You two! Knock it off!"

Isaac stiffened, his face flushing with embarrassment as a store employee marched toward them. Oliver immediately pulled the cart to a halt, putting on a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," Oliver said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We'll behave, promise."

Isaac quickly scrambled out of the cart, trying to pretend he wasn't entirely mortified. The employee shot them both a stern look, muttering something about "grown adults" and "proper behavior," before turning and marching away.

"Well, that went about as well as expected," Isaac muttered, rubbing his forehead in embarrassment.

Oliver chuckled, clearly unbothered. "You're no fun, Isaac. I thought you'd embrace the chaos a little more."

Isaac groaned and nudged Oliver with his shoulder. "Can we just finish up and get out of here? I'm about ready to head home."

The grocery trip didn't take much longer after that. They gathered what they needed and made their way to the checkout, where the silent tension between them returned. The warmth of the store faded the moment they stepped back into the winter cold. Isaac wrapped his coat tighter around him, his mind returning to the familiar emptiness that seemed to grow more pronounced with every passing moment.

As they walked back to the truck, Oliver glanced over at Isaac, his expression unreadable for a moment.

"Want me to drive you home?" he asked casually, his hands jammed into his pockets.

Isaac was quiet for a beat before nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

The drive back to the farm was quiet. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional scrape of tires over the ice-packed roads. Isaac stared out the window, watching the bleak, snow-covered landscape pass by. He couldn't shake the feeling of being stuck in the middle of something, something he didn't know how to get out of.

When they finally arrived at the farmhouse, Isaac was grateful for the silence, though it felt oddly heavy in a way he couldn't explain. The truck came to a stop, and as Oliver turned off the engine, he glanced over at Isaac, opening his mouth to say something. But Isaac beat him to it.

"Do you want to come in?" Isaac asked, his voice soft, uncertain.

Oliver blinked in surprise, but then he gave a small, amused smile. "Sure. I could use a break from the cold."

They got out of the truck and walked inside, the warmth of the house enveloping them. Isaac moved through the kitchen to start boiling water for tea, and while he worked, he could feel Oliver's eyes following his every movement. It was almost as though Oliver was waiting for something—waiting for Isaac to let down his guard.

Isaac made tea for Oliver and hot chocolate for himself, the warm, comforting beverage grounding him in the stillness of the evening. They settled into the living room, the fire crackling in the corner, and for a long while, neither spoke.

Finally, Oliver broke the silence, his voice calm but curious. "You know, I came here, to the island, over the summer," he said. "But I didn't stay long. My parents were always moving around. That's just how it is with them. I met Clara and Etien though, they were a hilarious duo"

Isaac glanced up, intrigued. "Why are you here now? Why not just stay there?"

Oliver shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the fire. "Im...waiting for someone," he said vaguely, and then quickly changed the subject. "So what are you into, Isaac? What do you do when you're not freezing out in the barn?"

Isaac paused, taken aback by the sudden change in topic, but then he smiled slightly, feeling a shift within him. He began to talk about his hobbies, about the things that kept him grounded. He mentioned the farm, the animals, and the occasional fishing trip he took when the weather was warmer. But when his conversation turned to the ocean—when he started talking about the vast, endless stretches of water that seemed to call to him—his voice took on a different tone. His eyes lit up in a way Oliver had never seen before.

"You really like the water, huh?" Oliver teased, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips.

Isaac glanced at him, his cheeks flushing slightly. He didn't want to sound like a fool, but it was so clear in his heart. "Would you want to see my room?" Isaac asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

Oliver's curiosity piqued. "Your room?"

Isaac nodded. "Yeah. I have something I think you'd find interesting."

The two of them went upstairs, and when they stepped into Isaac's room, Oliver couldn't help but be taken aback. The walls were covered in photos, maps, and graphs—each one depicting some corner of the world's oceans, its seas, its shores. Isaac had created a sort of personal archive, a tangible collection of his love for the water.

Oliver moved closer, studying the details, his eyes wide. "This is... incredible," he said. "How long did it take you to put all this together?"

Isaac hesitated, feeling a sudden surge of self-consciousness. "been building my collection since I was little," he muttered. "There's so many facts and undiscovered mysterious, but I don't want to bore you with all that."

But Oliver wasn't about to let him downplay it. "No...no, Don't stop now," he urged, his voice encouraging.

"Really?" Isaac asked turning from the picture he was looking at.

"Yeah, tell me more. You've but so much effort into it." Oliver says, listening to the unquestioned happiness in Isaacs voice.

"Are you sure?" Isaac asks again, staring into the back of Olivers head as he looks at the pictures.

"Yeah" Oliver says as he turns while letting out a playful giggle. 

Isaac met Oliver's gaze, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he found himself ready to open up. The words came easily this time, and as he spoke about the oceans and the creatures within them, Oliver listened intently, his attention never wavering. Isaac found it oddly comforting, like he wasn't just talking into the void anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, winter wont last forever after all.