DISCLAIMER: DO NOT OWN HARVEST MOON AND ITS CHARACTERS.
unbeta'd due to no internet connection and non seriousness of the story.
"Hey, want one?"
"No thank you." he murmurs, shoving his hands deep inside his pockets. He ignores the box she holds out and looks up, his eyes examining the small snowflakes falling from the sky. The little dots of white land in her hair and on her clothes, but she makes no haste to remove them. Snowflakes pile up on the bench she sits, building a fortress around her. She sighs, small puffs of gray clouds exiting glossy pink lips.
"Shouldn't you be inside? You're technically the best man, right?" she asks. A gush of wind blows her golden colored locks wildly about, her flowing hair covering her sad blue eyes.
"I'm not used to being around so many people. And you? Aren't you the 'best woman'?" he replies, the slight sneer in his words unintentional. At first she looks slightly astonished, but her lips curl into a wry smile. She chuckles, a sound that cuts through his heart like a knife through melting butter.
"I'm not good with love," she whispers. He watches a thin line of smoke slowly drift from her mouth and disappear into the air. She taps the white stick lightly on the edge of the bench and ash falls to the ground, melting the white snow. They leave her words hanging in the air; the soft sounds of wind and breathing following their silence.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" she blurts out, breaking the quiet of their small world. He is confused by her question, but immediately thinks of long flaxen hair and worn-out overalls. He closes his eyes.
"I do."
"Huh. You do seem like the type." she says with a smile. He cracks open an eye and words fill his mind, words like what do you mean 'seem like the type' and how do you view me then. He steps into unknown territory and seats himself next to her. The old bench creaks under the new weight and his robes are now wet from the snow.
"How about you?"
"I used to. Not anymore. The new bride does, though." Her voice is strained when she speaks of the newly married nurse. He nods, taking in the information. She brings the white stick to her mouth and inhales deeply. She breathes it in like a pain-killer, a lifeline. When she breathes out, he coughs from the putrid smell the leaves her mouth. She doesn't pay attention.
"Do you think I didn't try hard enough?" she breathes. He's starting to think that all of her questions are rhetoric and just another game to her, but the shine in her eyes tell another story, so he rids himself of his judging thoughts. She wipes at her mouth, the pink lip gloss smearing across her face. Her eyes are wild and he remembers the free spirit she once had, now jaded by the trials of life. She yanks off the beaded necklace around her neck and throws it to the ground in one swift movement. They land without a sound, plopping into the snow.
"Or maybe I never had a chance in the first place?" she muses, her voice cutting and angry. Her cryptic sayings try to lead him astray, but he knows exactly where she's pointing at. She lets out a heavy breath and the smell of smoke swirls through the air. He clears his throat to get rid of the taste of smog on his tongue.
She crushes the remains of her cigarette onto the bench, stuffing the rest of it into her purse.
"Pray for me, won't you, Father?"
The white that covered her is brushed off and she walks away, her heels leaving small prints of dark gray on the snow covered brick road.
I was aiming for romance but then...well, this is what happened.
