It is snowing like the dickens, but Simon Blackquill has a date to keep.
He is seated on a bench at the small courtyard along the rear entrance to the Los Angeles Police Department's seventh precinct. Normally, this area serves as a space where officers can while away their lunch breaks. Or perhaps just meet with partners or visitors somewhere that isn't as claustrophobic as one of the precincts many interrogation rooms.
Today, it's abandoned. Every available surface is coated with white powder, save for Simon's starkly contrasting figure.
There's no way Fool Bright will miss him, even with the snow whipping in wild spirals. Not that Fool Bright wouldn't hunt high and low, every inch until the ends of the earth, if it meant finding Simon.
Simon's come armed with a thermos of hot chocolate and a bag of donut holes that he reheated before setting off. They're already cold again, most likely, even nestled snugly in the crook of Simon's arm.
Simon lifts the thermos to his lips, taking a small sip of cocoa. He knows he should save more than enough for Fool Bright, who enjoys the sweet drink far more than he does, but its comforting warmth comes quicker and stronger than he expects, and he permits himself a couple more swallows.
He lowers the thermos to find Fool Bright beside him, seeming to have materialized out of thin air. Tufts of golden hair stick out from beneath a red knit cap bedecked with tassels. A fluffy pom-pom rests atop it, and Simon can just imagine what it must look like from a bird's eye view. If only it weren't snowing so heavily, perhaps he could command Taka to snatch that pom right off.
Fool Bright's also wearing his damned sunglasses. They are spattered with snowflakes.
Simon is moments from ripping them off Fool Bright's frustratingly handsome face, when Fool Bright beats him to it. He tucks the aviators in the breast pocket of a winter coat that looks strikingly similar to his white blazer.
Then he reaches to the drooped scarf wrapped leisurely along Simon's neck and shoulders. He greets Simon with a "You're staying warm, Sir?"
The scarf was a gift from Ms. Woods – Juniper, Simon's finally taken to calling her – and is more for fashion than warmth, charcoal gray with a pattern of white birds. But he has little choice on a day like today, for an event like this.
Simon allows Fool Bright to fuss with the scarf, even though there's no point to it. "You do realize, it was even colder than this some nights in my cell?"
"Don't... don't talk about that, Sir. That's in the past." Fool Bright's request is kind, but firm. As he's so adept at doing, he switches to a more cheerful, if not mundane, subject: the weather. "Isn't the snow great? Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy it?"
"Yes, actually. Don't you remember, when you dragged me to that blasted bell-ringing event two years ago?" Despite his disdainful tone, the memories flooding Simon are nothing but pleasant. "You kept jabbering about the snow falling that day, and how delightful you found it."
It might shock even Fool Bright, how easily Simon can recollect each and every tiny piece of information he's shared about himself, his life. Having other human being so openly allowing him into their life, especially at a time when Simon was more than ready to see his own end – it was so precious to him.
It still is.
"Oh... hey, that's right. And then it turned into a crazy snowstorm that night! It was right before Christmas. Right before..." Fool Bright trails off with a short puff of laughter, knowing he doesn't need to finish.
Before Simon received word that he would be allowed to prosecute again.
"Yes, well, anyway." Simon inches closer to Fool Bright, far more nervous about their proximity than he rightfully should, considering they're in a committed relationship. "Would you like some hot chocolate? That is, so you're not wasting your time being out here. It is your lunch break after all. Or, er... I brought some donut holes too, they're cold, but..."
Fool Bright mercifully cuts off Simon's fumbling questions. "It's not a waste. You're here." He tries to dust trail of snow that's filled along a crease in the elbow of Simon's coat, but it does little good with how steadily the snow is still falling. "And no thanks; I know you like the donut holes more than I do."
Simon glares, shoving Fool Bright's hand away so he can access the chilly donut holes. They sit in silence for a couple minutes, and in that time, Fool Bright's arm extends out along the back of the bench. His hand brushes idly against the side of Simon's shoulder.
One of the many wonderful aspects about Fool Bright is the completely nonjudgmental way in which he allows Simon to share whatever may cross his mind. And the rare snowfall currently blanketing the greater Los Angeles area conjures up the most decidedly random thought.
"Fool Bright, have you ever heard of the Japanese 'Snow Ghost'?" Simon swallows his eighth – and final, he decides – donut hole. "Yuki-Onna, she's named."
"I can't say I have, Sir."
"No, I suppose not. Even Aura, who heard all sorts of fables and tales from our mother, was unfamiliar with it. But, I read about it in a collection of Japanese folklore I once borrowed from Dr. Cykes. It's quite interesting."
"I'd be happy to hear about it, if you'd like to tell me!"
"Yes, certainly." Simon pauses for a few thoughtful moments, watching his breath crystallize in the winter air. Beside him, Fool Bright waits patiently. "Well, nearly every story in that collection stuck with me, and I wish I could relay it to you as masterfully as it was described within the pages. Just... hm, how to begin..?"
"Oh, it's easy, Sir! I'll help you out." Fool Bright clears his throat. "'Once upon a time...'"
"Silence, Fool Bright," Simon snaps at him, though with a dark chuckle instead of any malice. "Now, you see... there's a northern province in Japan. Echigo. They receive quite the snowfall, and morbid as it may seem, it's not uncommon for a resident to be buried under all this snow, and for their corpse to not be found until the spring."
Fool Bright, rapt with attention, nods for Simon to continue.
"Now, Yuki-Onna... there are varying depictions of her temperament. But what is universally agreed upon is that it is she who is responsible for the deaths of these poor souls. That she, herself, is a spirit of one who perished during a brutal snowstorm."
"What does she look like?"
"She is ethereal, almost otherworldly." Simon stares out into swirling snow. "Quite like the snow itself, I suppose. But also like the snow, she is terrible and deadly, even for all her beauty."
"Does she... try to kill all those victims?"
"In many versions, yes. Yes, she certainly does. She's merciless, and demands them as a sacrifice of sorts." Crossing his arms to guard against the cold, Simon exhales a deep sigh. "Yuki-Onna... she sometimes even lures them to their deaths. Once she sets her sights on you... death is inevitable."
There are a few certain variants of the myth where Yuki-Onna does show a sense of compassion and spares the life of a would-be victim, but Simon can not accurately recall the many details needed to properly narrate them.
"Can't they fight her off in any way?" Fool Bright asks with a fierce determination, as if by 'they' he means himself. "I mean, it doesn't make sense to not even try!"
"That is what one with modern sensibilities would assume, but remember, Fool Bright: this is but a legend. It does not adhere to such logic. Yuki-Onna was an apparition, and as such, would simply float away when threatened. What's more, she would not even leave any footprints, so one hoping to stop her could not follow. Some versions even suggest she transformed into the snow itself, as a means to ensure her victims met the fate she decided for them."
Fool Bright doesn't respond. He sits in silent thoughtfulness, considering all that Simon's just told him. Simon picks up the hot chocolate and draws a few long sips from it.
"I don't know if I like that legend, Sir," Fool Bright announces, his words directed out into the air and not towards Simon.
"Bah, the point of such fables is not whether you like them or not. They are merely tales constructed by those who need the solace that comes with having an explanation for what was once unexplained."
"I understand that, Sir! I just meant, I don't know if I like the concept of a spirit having so much influence in the fate of a person's life."
Simon swallows thickly, attempting to find a reply that is succinct but effective. "Nor do I. But, again, Fool Bright: what you like is of little matter."
Fool Bright nods in understanding, retracting his arm from where it lays across the bench's frame. "Either way, it was a nice way to spend my lunch break. Learning something new from you, Prosecutor Blackquill."
"Yes, well... er... You're welcome." Simon coughs into his scarf, as if using such niceties has tampered with his health. "Have a good remainder of your shift."
Fool Bright retrieves his sunglasses and slips them back on. "You too, Sir. Let me know if there's anything you need help with!"
"It won't be anything today. I took a half-day; Athena has a trial tomorrow, and while she may not think she's in need of it, she would greatly benefit if I were to go over what evidence and notes she's collected. Over soba, at the Whet Noodle."
"Oh, that sounds great, Sir. Then, say hi – and, 'in justice we trust!' – to Ms. Cykes for me!"
Simon rolls his eyes, but grumbles that he will pass Fool Bright's greeting along.
"I'll see you again soon, Sir?" Fool Bright stands, and Simon looks up at him, eyes burning with the silent command that Fool Bright not leave, not yet. But it's useless. Fool Bright never obeys him.
"Of course, Fool Bright." Not soon enough, and yet, in many ways, too soon.
"Of course..." Fool Bright repeats, low and husky. His gloved hands are at either side of Simon's face, lifting it closer to his own.
The way Fool Bright is kissing him, so warm and flowing with life, Simon expects the snow around them to melt and all of springtime's flowers to bloom in its place.
Fool Bright releases him wordlessly. His trademark grin is replaced with a small quirk of smile, and he raises his hand in a perfunctory goodbye salute. A detective dismissed from his prosecutorial partner.
"Fool Bright..." Simon chokes out, watching as Fool Bright departs towards the building, growing smaller and hazier in the driving snow until Simon blinks, and Fool Bright is gone.
There are no footprints left behind.
This was for the Prompt "Snow" that is part of the #gayblackquillweek event on tumblr. Basically, a week dedicated to each and every slash pairing involving Simon Blackquill. Anyway, this was an idea that came out of nowhere for me, and I wrote this fic in the course of a few hours. The myth which Simon speaks of is actually a bit more involved but I felt it more appropriate to work in the bare bones, to what fit in the flow of the fic. It's definitely something I suggest looking into, especially the Lafcadio Hearn version. Mythology has always been interesting to me, although I don't know much about Japanese mythology, but it was fun getting to learn more! Anyway, feedback is always appreciated; thanks for reading!