Disclaimer: His Dark Materials belongs to Philip Pullman. It's not mine. All I own is this drabble.
Author's Note: This was a drabble I wrote for my good friend Brooke. She gave me a prompt (which was snowmen), a pairing, and I wrote the rest.
All I have to say is that this contains lots and lots of fluff. If that's not your thing, then don't read the ficlet.
- - -
He has to smile to himself when he looks out the window.
Who would've imagined. Fiesty, stubborn Lyra building a snowman.
He's tempted to join her. To indulge himself in this chance at innocent childhood pleasure.
They're grown up now. He knows they shouldn't. But they do it anyway. Childhood, lost and never to be forgotten, beckons them to have fun and be happy for once.
He goes outside.
- - -
He finds her sculpting the snowman's face, and he can't help be amused at the sight of it. The snowman has hair (made out of snowballs) and it's frowning, not smiling.
Her eyes light up when she catches sight of him, and she beckons for him to come over. He does, noticing at the same time how her face is rosy, her eyes are sparkling and there are snowflakes in her hair.
She excitedly tells him about her snowman. "I thought he'd look better frowning, not smiling," she finishes, and it's all that he can do to stop a grin from forming on his mouth. "He's like the anti snowman. Not happy or bald. He looks...real that way."
And he agrees with her.
- - -
He decides to make a snowman of his own, only it'll be a snowwoman instead. "So that she'll go with my snowman," she finishes his thoughts, grinning.
He laughs and begins building. She pelts him with snowballs while he's working; he just shakes his head at her and throws one back whenever he can get a chance. The sound of their loud laughter fills the air, and he finds himself happier than he's ever been in his life.
Soon his snowwoman is finished, and he can't help a smile once looking at his work. His snowwoman is bald, and it is frowning. It's almost the exact opposite of hers, but only almost.
She sees it then, and she laughs, and he finds himself laughing along with her. He knows that this won't last very long, so he fills up his mind and ears with everything; the sound of their laughter, the snowflakes, the snow couple in front of them, the glare of the sun. Everything. This is their world, their escape, for the moment.
Later they go inside and watch their snow couple slowly but steadily melt under the hot gaze of the sun. The last remnant of their rapidly disappearing childhood.
He can't tear his eyes away, and neither can she. They sit there on a worn down but comfy couch and watch their melting couple. His hand entangles with hers and she falls asleep on his shoulder.
He rests his head against hers, feeling at peace for the first time in the first time in his life.