asconian's blog

“You always get the bigger mug,” Karn said, snow sticking to his thick beard.

“I do not,” Brel replied, arms folded. “Santa just… notices you more.”

Karn’s eyes narrowed. “Notices me more? Really?”

“Really. He pats your shoulder, laughs at your jokes… sometimes he even looks at you before me.”

“That’s absurd,” Karn growled, stepping closer.

“Not at all,” Brel shot back. “And you take more chocolate than I do. Admit it.” 

Karn grunted. “I sip mine. You gulp yours.”

The argument ended the way it always did: silently, with a nod. Outside. Into the packed snow behind the workshop, where the cold and the empty space amplified every breath and every step.

❄️ The First Lock

“No strikes,” Karn said.

“Only grappling,” Brel agreed.

Immediately they closed, chests pressing, forearms sliding over wool. Their bodies were mirrors—strong, stocky, broad—each one trying to assert subtle dominance without harming the other.

“You lean too much,” Brel muttered.

“You drift,” Karn replied.

They collided with a soft whump, rolling once and ending up in a tangle of arms and legs. Snow flew in every direction. Their noses touched. They froze for half a second, glaring like children caught in mischief.

“You’re heavier than last week,” Brel said.

“Blame the cookies Santa gave me,” Karn retorted.

“You’re exaggerating.”

❄️ Push and Counter

Karn tried to pin Brel’s shoulders with his chest. Brel twisted, slipping an arm under Karn’s, attempting a gentle reversal. The two rolled across the snow again, legs entwined, boots skidding, breaths fogging the air.

“Your scarf is in my way,” Brel complained.

“That’s your fault for having a long beard,” Karn shot back.

They grappled fiercely but carefully, pushing and twisting, almost like a dance. Every moment had the tension of “I must win,” yet neither truly did. Snow stuck to gloves, coats, and tangled hair.

“You smell like peppermint,” Brel muttered, half-laughing.

“You’re worse,” Karn grunted, lunging to regain a better hold.

❄️ Caught Between Rivalry and Exhaustion

Minutes passed. Limbs grew heavy. They fell on the snow, backs to the ground, staring at the pale sky. Chests heaving. Faces red from effort and cold.

“This… proves nothing,” Brel said, his voice wheezy but amused.

“Exactly,” Karn replied, equally breathless.

A quiet truce settled. Not from defeat, but from exhaustion. They rolled apart, wiped snow from coats, and sat facing each other.

“You still get more pats,” Brel said, nudging Karn lightly with a boot.

“Shut up,” Karn replied with a laugh, shaking his head.

❄️ Resolution Without Winners

Eventually, they stood. Snow clung to hair and wool, hands cold, noses pink. Neither had won. Neither had lost. The rivalry remained—grumpy, stubborn, and childish—but somehow balanced.

Somewhere behind them, Santa’s muffled chuckle echoed through the workshop. Two mugs of hot chocolate awaited inside.

And for now, that was enough.

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