Letting You Go in Alaska

Chapter 5: Apricity

Hale's Pov

Is this okay?

The thought lingers longer than it should, quiet but persistent, like something I don't quite know how to face.

I keep my gaze on the window, watching the snow-covered landscape pass by in slow, steady motion. White stretches endlessly across the ground, broken only by faint tire tracks and the still silhouettes of trees dusted in frost.

It feels peaceful—not just quiet, but peaceful in a way that doesn't demand anything. The kind of stillness that exists on its own, without expectation, without pressure.

And somehow...

That makes it harder to understand.

I'm not used to this.

Not used to being somewhere that doesn't ask something from me.

Not used to sitting in a moment without feeling like I need to justify it—like I need to earn the right to stay in it.

My fingers rest against my sleeve, lightly gripping the fabric without thinking. It's a small habit, something grounding, something real.

Voices pull me back.

"So after skiing, we have to eat something big," Sophie says, already mid-thought. "Like really big. I'm talking about Alaskan king crab. If we don't try that, then what are we even doing here?"

"That's your third time mentioning that," Laine replies, one hand steady on the wheel.

"Because it's important."

"It's food."

"It's important food."

Hannah laughs softly, covering her mouth a little. "We should try it at least once."

"There," Sophie says immediately, pointing. "Hannah gets it."

"I said once," Hannah repeats, smiling.

A small breath escapes me, lighter than expected, and this time I don't fully stop it from turning into a quiet laugh. Sophie glances back immediately. "See? Hale agrees with me."

"I didn't say anything," I reply, though there's a faint curve in my voice that wasn't there before.

"That counts."

"It doesn't."

"It does today."

I shake my head slightly, but the smile lingers longer than I expect. It feels easy—too easy, almost unfamiliar.

"And then when we get back to the Philippines—"

The word lands softly but settles deeper than it should.

My gaze doesn't shift, but the scenery loses its sharpness for a moment as something tightens in my chest.

Home.

Expectations.

Pressure.

Voices that never really quiet down. My grip on my sleeve tightens slightly, grounding myself before the reaction becomes visible.

"Did you guys notice the road earlier?"

Elara's voice slips in naturally, light enough not to interrupt, but deliberate enough to redirect. "The snow on the sides—it looked layered. Like someone stacked it carefully."

Sophie pauses. "Wait, yeah. It looked like cake."

"...cake?" Laine repeats.

"Snow cake."

Hannah laughs. "You're not eating that."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

The conversation shifts smoothly, like it was always meant to go there. No one lingers.

No one questions it.

I glance at Elara and find her already laughing with them, her shoulders relaxed, her expression easy, like nothing changed. But I notice the timing, the way she didn't look at me, the way she let the moment pass without turning it into something heavier.

Something in my chest eases before it fully tightens, and when I look back at the window, the quiet feels steadier. The thought of gratitude lingers, unspoken but real.

The rest of the ride settles into a rhythm. Conversation rises and falls, laughter filling the spaces in between.

I respond when needed, nod when expected, and occasionally let out a quiet laugh when something lands just right. It doesn't feel forced, not entirely natural either, but somewhere in between—and for now, that's enough.

The car slows as we arrive, drawing my attention forward. Wooden buildings come into view, snow-covered and grounded, like they belong here without trying.

"We're here!" Sophie announces, already reaching for the door.

"Laine hasn't even—"

The door swings open before anyone can finish the sentence, and she steps out immediately—only to drop straight into the snow.

There's a pause.

"...did she just dive?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Yes," Laine answers without missing a beat.

Hannah laughs and follows, landing beside her as they start moving their arms in wide motions.

"Snow angels," Hannah says between laughter.

"Obviously," Sophie replies.

I step out, the cold hitting me immediately. It's sharp, biting at my skin, but not unpleasant. Not the way I expected.

For a moment, I just watch them—the way they move without hesitation, the way they laugh like nothing is waiting for them. Something shifts in my chest, subtle but noticeable, and a faint smile forms without effort.

"...they're really doing that," I murmur.

Before I can think any further, a hand grabs my wrist.

"Come on."

Elara doesn't hesitate. She pulls, quick and instinctive, like the thought barely crossed her mind before she acted.

"Wait—"

My footing slips before I can finish, and the ground disappears for a second before the cold hits all at once as I fall forward into the snow.

Everything goes still for a brief moment.

"I'm so sorry!" Elara says immediately, her words rushing over each other. "I didn't mean to—I thought you'd—sorry, I didn't think you'd fall like that—"

I push myself up slightly, brushing snow from my face as the cold seeps in, sharp and grounding.

Then something shifts.

A breath escapes, followed by another, and before I can stop it, a laugh breaks through.

It comes out fully—not controlled, not measured, just real. I fall back onto the snow, staring up at the sky as the cold presses against me, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable. It feels lighter than it should, like something has been lifted without me realizing when it happened.

"...what the hell..." I breathe out between laughs.

For a moment, there's nothing else. No expectations, no voices, no weight sitting on my shoulders. Just this moment, simple and unguarded.

The laughter around me blends together—Sophie loud and unfiltered, Elara bright and breathless, Hannah soft and steady, while Laine exhales something close to a laugh despite herself.

"You dragged him down," Laine says.

"I said sorry!" Elara protests, still laughing.

"You tackled him."

"I did not—"

"You did."

I sit up slowly, brushing snow off my coat without rushing. The cold lingers, but it doesn't bother me the way it should. It feels grounding instead of overwhelming.

"I'm good," I say, meeting Elara's eyes briefly.

She watches me for a moment—really watches—before nodding. "...okay," she says, softer now, her shoulders easing slightly.

"Come on," Laine calls. "We actually have a schedule."

"That was part of the schedule," Sophie argues.

"That was chaos."

"Same thing."

A quiet laugh leaves me again, easier this time. We walk toward the ski area together, the crunch of snow steady beneath our steps. The air feels colder here, sharper, but it doesn't feel suffocating. If anything, it feels grounding.

We rent our gear, the process filled with small, overlapping conversations.

"Wait, how do you even stop while skiing?" Sophie asks.

"You don't," Laine replies.

Sophie stares. "That's not funny."

"I'm kidding."

"You're not funny."

"I'm very funny."

Hannah laughs quietly. "You'll be fine."

Sophie looks at me. "You know how to ski, right?"

"A little," I answer.

"How little?"

"Enough not to crash immediately."

She pauses, then laughs. "Okay, that's actually reassuring."

The response comes out naturally. I don't think about it. I don't measure it. It just happens.

I adjust my gloves, tightening them slightly as I look toward the slope ahead. White stretches outward, wide and open, untouched in places. The same quiet feeling settles in again—steady, unpressured, something that doesn't ask anything from me.

Behind me, their voices continue, warm and alive in a way that still feels new.

I glance back.

Elara is already looking at me.

She smiles—small, simple, unforced.

I return it without thinking.

And this time, it feels natural.

For once, I don't feel out of place. I don't feel like I need to step away before I get used to it. I just stay, letting the moment settle without questioning it.

And for now, that's enough.

*****

The slope stretches out in front of us, wide and bright under the daylight, the snow reflecting just enough light to make everything feel sharper than it should. I shift my weight slightly, adjusting my stance as I test the balance beneath my feet, feeling the subtle give of the snow beneath the skis. It's been a while—not enough to forget completely, but long enough that there's hesitation in my movements, a quiet awareness that I might not move as naturally as I used to.

"You better not leave me behind," Sophie says somewhere to my right, gripping her poles like they might abandon her at any moment.

"You'll be the one leaving us," Laine replies calmly, already pushing forward.

And she does. Smooth. Controlled. Effortless. She glides down the slope like she belongs here, her movements steady, practiced, almost second nature.

"...she's good," I murmur.

"I know," Hannah says with a small smile. "She's been here before."

"That explains it."

Before the moment can settle, a sudden yelp cuts through the air.

"I—wait—WAIT—"

I turn just in time to see Sophie lose her balance entirely before dropping straight onto the snow. There's a brief pause, like the world holds itself for a second—then Hannah laughs, soft and unfiltered, the kind that doesn't try to hide itself.

"You lasted five seconds," she says.

"That was not five seconds!" Sophie protests, trying to push herself up only to slip again. "This thing is rigged."

"It's not rigged."

"It is."

I exhale lightly, the corner of my lips lifting without effort. Watching them like this—unfiltered, unguarded—it does something to the air around me, something that softens the edges of everything I've been carrying. It makes the moment feel lighter, easier to stay in.

For a moment, I don't think about anything else, and the absence of those thoughts feels... unfamiliar in a way I don't quite know how to name.

Then something shifts at the edge of my vision.

I glance to the side and catch Elara struggling to steady herself, her weight shifting unevenly, her posture just slightly off. It's subtle, but enough. I recognize it before it happens.

She's going to fall.

I move without thinking, pushing off the snow and cutting across the slope just in time. Her footing slips—and I reach out, catching her arm before she tips forward completely.

For a second, everything stills, like the world pauses just long enough for me to notice how close she is, how easily the moment could have gone differently if I hadn't moved.

She blinks, then looks at me.

"...oh," she breathes softly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I reply, my voice quieter than expected.

My hand lingers for a brief moment before I let go, aware of the warmth of her arm even through the layers, before I pull back just enough to give her space while still staying close enough to steady her again if needed.

"Your stance is a bit off," I add, adjusting my position slightly.

"It is?" she asks.

"A little. Try leaning forward more—just slightly."

"Like this?"

"Yeah... that's better."

I guide her movements with small corrections, careful not to overstep, adjusting only what's needed. She follows without resistance, trusting the instructions more than questioning them, and after a moment, her balance steadies.

"...okay," she says, exhaling. "That actually helped."

"It should."

We move slowly at first, side by side, letting the rhythm settle between us. There's a quiet focus in the way we move, a shared awareness of balance and timing, and for a moment, it feels less like helping and more like moving in sync.

The sound of skis carving lightly against snow fills the quiet space between us, steady and almost calming. I stay just close enough to react if she loses balance again, but not close enough to make it feel deliberate.

"...they're looking," Elara murmurs after a moment.

I glance to the side.

Sophie. Hannah. Laine.

All three of them watching.

Grinning.

Not subtle.

"...they're not even trying," I say.

"They really aren't," she replies, a quiet laugh slipping through.

She pulls her hand back—too quickly.

Her balance shifts again.

"Wait—"

This time, there's no stopping it.

She slips—and I go with her.

The ground tilts, the world spins briefly, and then we're rolling down the slope, caught in something completely uncontrolled.

Snow rushes past in flashes of white and cold, the impact uneven and disorienting, until everything finally slows. Snow rushes past, cold and sharp, until everything finally slows to a stop.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then I exhale.

"...okay."

And then I laugh.

It comes out easier this time, without resistance, like it doesn't have to fight its way through anything to exist.

The sound feels unfamiliar in the best way, like something I didn't realize I was holding back until now. Beside me, Elara laughs too, breathless, her shoulders shaking as she tries to catch her breath.

"I'm so sorry," she says again, though she's clearly trying not to laugh. "That was my fault—again—"

"It's fine," I reply, still smiling. "I think I should've expected that."

"That's not reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be."

Her laughter softens into something lighter, steadier.

Footsteps crunch against the snow as the others approach.

"Oh my god," Sophie says first. "You both went down."

Hannah is already laughing again. "Are you okay?"

Laine exhales, shaking her head. "...seriously. You two?"

There's a sigh in her voice, but she's smiling.

"We're fine," I say, pushing myself up.

Elara nods. "We're good."

"You look like snowmen," Sophie adds.

"That's because we are," Elara replies.

"That's not how that works."

"It is today."

I brush the snow from my coat, slower than necessary, not really in a hurry to move past the moment, like I'm trying to hold onto whatever this feeling is just a little longer before it fades.

The cold lingers, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable.

It feels grounding.

We continue after that, the group falling into a more natural rhythm.

Sophie remains chaotic but determined, Hannah steady and careful, Laine effortlessly ahead, and Elara somewhere in between—trying, failing, and laughing at herself when it happens.

And me—just there.

Not watching from a distance.

Not holding myself back as much as I usually do.

Just... part of it.

Time passes without me noticing exactly when, the moments blending together in a way that feels seamless, like I've stopped keeping track without meaning to.

Eventually, we stop.

A small log cabin sits near the edge of the slope, warm light spilling through its windows. Inside, the air is warmer, softer, carrying the faint scent of cocoa and wood. We settle in with drinks, conversation picking up again almost immediately.

"That fall was definitely your fault," Sophie tells Elara.

"It was not entirely my fault," Elara replies.

"It was mostly your fault."

"It was fifty-fifty."

"It was not."

Hannah laughs softly. "It kind of was."

Laine hums. "I'd say sixty-forty."

"On whose side?"

Laine pauses, then smiles slightly. "...I'll let you figure that out."

I sit there for a moment, listening, the warmth settling into my hands through the cup. A faint smile lingers, but something in me shifts—not negatively, just quieter, like I need a moment to sit with everything that's happened.

"I'll be outside for a bit," I say, standing.

"Don't freeze," Sophie replies.

"I won't."

The cold greets me again as I step out, sharper after the warmth inside.

I sat on the wooden steps, the wood cold beneath me even through my clothes, the snow stretching endlessly in front of me like a blank canvas that doesn't ask anything from me. The horizon feels untouched, soft, almost distant.

It's quiet here—not empty, just still.

Snow falls lightly, each flake drifting down without urgency. I watch it without thinking too much, letting the moment settle the way it is.

"...pretty," a voice murmurs.

I glance slightly.

Elara is already beside me.

I didn't hear her come out.

"Yeah," I say, taking a small sip of my cocoa. "It really is."

The warmth settles against the cold in a way that feels balanced, steady.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence doesn't feel awkward—just shared, like we're both content to sit in it without needing to fill it with anything else.

I take a slow breath, letting it settle before exhaling quietly.

When I glance at her again, she's already looking at me.

Her chin rests lightly against her hand, her expression soft, her smile easy.

"You look cute when you smile," she says.

The words land gently—but they stay, settling deeper than expected, like something small that somehow carries more weight than it should.

I blink, not because I don't understand, but because I don't know what to do with it. No one has ever said that to me like this—without expectation, without anything attached.

"...thanks," I reply quietly.

The word feels unfamiliar, but not wrong. It sits awkwardly at first, like something I haven't used in this way before, but it doesn't feel forced.

I look away briefly, back toward the horizon, but the moment lingers. The cold doesn't feel as sharp anymore. The silence doesn't feel as empty.

And the warmth—

isn't just from the cocoa.

It stays, quiet and steady, settling somewhere I don't quite understand yet, somewhere deeper than a passing thought, like something I'll end up remembering long after this moment is gone.

But I know one thing.

This is something I won't forget.

Not anytime soon.

*****

End of Chapter 5