The first five minutes didn't feel like five minutes.

They felt smaller, contained. Like something that would resolve itself if Jess just waited long enough without reacting.

The lift would start again. The moment would pass. Everything would go back to where it was supposed to be.

Jess kept her eyes fixed ahead, tracking the cable line like she could will it into motion.

It didn't move.

The wind shifted again, threading through the open space around them. Snow followed, lighter now but constant, catching on her sleeves, her scarf, the edge of the seat.

She adjusted her gloves. Then adjusted them again. Then stopped herself when Shawn silently laughed.

"Still not panicking?" Shawn asked.

"I'm not panicking," she said automatically.

"Okay."

A pause.

"What?" Jess asked.

"...you're reorganizing your thoughts aggressively."

Jess shot him a look. "That's not a thing."

"It is when you do it." He laughed again.

She exhaled, a thin stream of breath disappearing into the cold. "I just don't understand why it stopped."

"Maybe wind," he said. "Or someone fell getting off. Happens."

Jess frowned slightly. "You're just guessing."

"Yeah."

"That's not reassuring."

"It's not supposed to be," he said. "It's just... what it is."

Jess didn't like that answer. Not because it was wrong. Because it didn't solve anything. Another minute passed. Or maybe more.

Time felt different up here—stretched, uneven, not moving in clean increments.

Below them, the slope was quieter now. Fewer people. Less motion. Hardly anyone was skiing in these conditions now.

Jess shifted slightly in her seat, careful, controlled. The chair swayed in response. She froze.

"Okay," Shawn said. "Let's set some ground rules. Rule one—don't do that."

"I barely moved." Jess sighed.

"It doesn't take much."

Jess gripped the edge of the seat again, jaw tightening. "I don't like this."

"I know." Shawn nodded.

"I don't like not knowing how long this is going to take. I don't like—"

She stopped. Because she could hear it now. It was in her own voice. The edge. The almost-crack.

Shawn didn't interrupt. He just sat there beside her, steady, like he wasn't going anywhere.

Which, technically, he wasn't.

Jess let out a slow breath. "Okay," she said, quieter now. "I'm a little bit panicking."

"Yeah," he said. "I figured."

The wind eased slightly. Not gone, just less aggressive and the chair settled.

Shawn placed a hand on her elbow, without saying anything, and Jess's grip loosened—just a fraction.

"Tell me something," Shawn said.

She glanced at him. "What?"

"Anything. Distract yourself."

Jess frowned. "That's not how—"

"Jess."

She stopped. Shawn's tone had shifted again. It wasn't teasing or pushing or anything like that. It was comforting, concerned. Real.

Jess looked out at the mountains –white and gray and endless.

"...I planned everything," she said finally. "All of it. Everything you can think of–"

"I know."

"No, like—everything," she continued. "Not just this trip. Everything after it."

Shawn leaned his head back against the seat, listening, his brows furrowed.

"College applications," she said. "Internships. Programs. I have a timeline through the next four years."

"Of course you do." Shawn laughed.

Jess almost smiled, but it faded quickly.

"It's supposed to make things easier," she said. "If you know where you're going, you don't waste time."

Shawn didn't respond right away. "And do you like it? Do you like where you're going?"

The question landed heavier than she expected.

Jess blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

She looked at him –at the white flakes starting to file in his hair and on his lips. She tore her eyes away.

"That's not the point."

"Kind of is."

"It's about being realistic," Jess insisted.

"Realistic about what?"

"About what matters," she said, sharper now. "About not... messing it up. Not that you would know anything about that."

Shawn turned his head slightly, studying her. "And what counts as messing it up?"

Jess opened her mouth, but she didn't have a clean answer.

"Not getting where you're supposed to be," she said finally.

"According to who?"

"Myself," she said.

Shawn nodded slowly.

"Right. Yourself."

Something in his tone suggested he didn't fully believe that.

Jess felt it –the quiet disagreement. It made her chest tighten.

The lift creaked. A low, metallic sound somewhere above them. Jess's head snapped up.

The cable shifted slightly and then stilled again. Jess's stomach dropped.

"Okay," she said quickly. "That's—something. That means they're fixing it."

"Yeah," Shawn said. But he didn't sound convinced.

Jess swallowed. The cold felt sharper now. Or maybe she was just noticing it more. She flexed her fingers inside her gloves.

"They're not just going to leave us here," she said.

"No."

"They wouldn't do that."

"No."

Another pause.

"...right?"

Shawn exhaled slowly.

"They won't," he said.

This time, he sounded sure. And Jess held onto that.

She shifted slightly—not enough to rock the chair this time.

"Are you cold?" Shawn asked.

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

He gave her a look.

Jess sighed.

"...a little."

"Here."

Before she could protest, he reached over—quick, casual—and tugged at the edge of her scarf, adjusting it higher around her neck.

Jess went still.

The movement was small. Practical. But close. Oddly intimate Jess thought. It was the type of thing a boyfriend did absentmindedly without asking.

It was closer than they'd been before.

"There," he said, pulling his hand back. "Better."

Jess swallowed. "...Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You know, you're not as bad as I thought you were," he added.

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're less... intense."

"I am not intense."

"No, exactly. You're less Intense. I mean, you do still color-code your free time."

"That's efficient."

"It's intense."

Jess shook her head.

"You're exactly as bad as I thought you were," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He smiled slightly. "Fair."

The snow picked up again. Even thicker now, the flakes larger, drifting down in slow, steady patterns.

Jess watched them for a moment.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asked.

"About what?"

"What happens if you don't... plan things?"

Shawn glanced at her. "That's a very you question."

"Just answer it."

He looked back out at the mountains. For a long second, he didn't say anything.

"Yeah," he said. "I think about it."

"And?"

"And it's not great."

Jess waited.

He didn't elaborate.

She frowned slightly. "That's it?"

"That's it."

Shawn shrugged one shoulder.

"Sometimes trying just makes it worse."

Jess stared at him. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does if you're already behind."

Something in the way he said it, quiet, matter-of-fact—it made her pause.

"You're not—" she started.

"Yeah," he said. "I am."

Jess looked at him fully now. "Behind how? You don't seem like it."

He let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Yeah," he said. "That's kind of the point. But honestly, I'll be shocked if I graduate in the spring."

"Oh," was all Jess could manage. "Well, you hide it well."

"Yeah, Yeah." Shawn nudged her. "Don't go feeling bad for me now."

Silence settled between them again.

Jess adjusted her grip on the chairlift bar, then stopped.

"Hey," Shawn said.

She looked at him.

"You brought music, right?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Your bag," he said, nodding toward her. "You had headphones earlier."

Jess hesitated.

Then reached down carefully, pulling her bag into her lap. She unzipped it, fingers brushing past neatly packed items until she felt it. Her CD player. She held it up.

"Yeah," she said.

Shawn smiled slightly.

"Good," he said. "We're gonna need that."

Jess frowned. "For what?"

He leaned back, looking out at the snow.

"For not thinking so much."

She hesitated, then, slowly, held the headphones in the space between them, so they each had an ear.