for wikh, to accompany their lovely picture
Snow.
It was snowing outside. Sora could tell with his eyes half closed and without looking out the window, just from the distinct lighting when it was dim and overcast above, but bright white below. Almost like the land and sky had swapped places.
He sat up and opened the blinds. Soft bands of light spilled into the room and over the bed he shared with Riku.
Sora seldom saw snow, having grown up on a tropical island. The sight of snowfall still amazed him, and he figured he'd probably never tire of it.
… Didn't they say no two snowflakes were alike? But they were all pretty in their own right. Kind of like people. Sora thought it was a shame he'd never be able to appreciate them all, but then again, he couldn't meet everyone either.
Later, he would have to wade through the snow with a shovel in hand (he thought about investing in a flamethrower to clear the sidewalk like his very-likely-a-pyromaniac neighbour across the street), and definitely lob more than a few snowballs at Riku. Then they'd help each other peel off wet clothing to hang-dry and attempt to creep each other out by sticking cold hands down each others' shirts before they're warm again.
But, when Sora looked away from the window and at Riku, whose bare shoulders were rising and falling with the steady regularity of sleep, he didn't mind staying cozy with Riku for a while longer. He settled back down and slipped an arm around Riku's waist.
Through the slits of the blind, the snowflakes continued their lazy swirl downwards.
