A/N: seasons go by, dirk's still gay. Song title from Cemetery Gaites by Los Campesinos! and before anyone says anything Gaites is spelt that way in the song title, but not in the dictionary so w/E.

First day of spring.

New flowers, new animals, new skies and rain washing over your windows.

The blossom tree outside bobs up and down in the wind, and Jake sighs, cheek in his palm. Whispers,

"Spring's comin' Strider."

You nod, lean against the window sill and press your forehead to fogged up glass. Jake stares at the tree, you stare at Jake.

You want kiss him. You know it's not time yet.

First day of summer.

Pavements cracked with heat, trees green like his eyes (his eyes are better), the smell of sun-cream on the balmy air.

You sit together under the bleachers licking the salt from your pretzels off your fingers. Jake twines his fingers into the grass, grins,

"This summer's going to be good. I can tell."

You nod, lie down and let the shadows of the bleachers throw pinstripes across your face. Jake closes his eyes and smells the air like it could carry any better scent than tanning oil. You watch the smile on his face.

And of course you want to kiss, but you know it's not time.

First day of autumn.

The world is a blaze of red and gold, rain shines on the asphalt like gloss, the skies are grey but clear.

You walk home from the coffee place, wrapped in coats that make you look like sleeping bags, and talking softly about how pretty the trees look like this. Jake takes a sip of his coffee and shivers through the heat on his tongue,

"This is a good cup of Joe if ever I've had one."

You nod, look at your own coffee, your name scrawled in red sharpie and spelt wrong because when you said Dirk the cashier thought you said Kirk. Your scarf is thick, scratchy, your face is warm like coals have been rubbed against it. You look at Jake, all smiles and big blinking eyes, shiny and viridian and your personal favourite shade of green.

You want to curl your fingers into his hair and kiss him like he's never been kissed, but it's not time.

First day of winter (except autumn lasted too long that year, and the first day of winter began mid-December)

Cold and dry like the inside of the freezer when you rubs your hands against the walls, Christmas music plays in every convenience store, the awful, colourful sweaters are broken out and of course Roxy knits one for you and forces you to wear it all holiday season.

The Christmas tree is glimmering softly, and you're trying your best to blow the dust off of these raggedy old decorations, but it sticks as if dunked in glue and you consider dumping these decorations and just buying new ones because god you cannot be bothered. Jake is asleep. Not much help.

He mutters in his sleep. Something about the kitchen or a dog but you weren't listening.

Looking at him is better than listening, so you discard the decorations and kneel beside him, curled up on the sofa like a cat. He looks so soft like this, so gentle and warm and happy.

You think about how much you want to kiss him, and you don't hold back this time, because he's asleep and when you brush the hair away from his forehead he smiles. You don't think he knows that you kissed the skin above his eyes gently before leaving to make lunch, but he's very cheerful when he wakes up. All grins and fluttering eyelashes and big eyes in your direction.

Part of you hopes he knows you kissed him.