This was inspired by hearing Walking in the Air one too many times.
This is a T, by the way, because of the naughty word Alfred uses later in the story. I don't think it's mild enough to be a K+. If anyone feels differently, they can let me know and I'll change it so more people can read it, if they wish.
Edit: Zeplerfer pointed out some things that were wrong/could be doing with fixing up and I've done that now. I hope it makes it better. (But I'm telling you here in case anyone decides to read this again and finds things that are slightly different.)
Eight year old Alfred F. Jones woke up one December morning to find the light which drifted into his room was unnaturally muted. It seemed softer somehow and he threw off his planet covered quilt to make his way to the window. When he opened the curtains he was faced with a white glare that he had to squint at for a while. His eyes widened and a grin appeared on his face when he saw the reason for the strange light.
It had snowed through the night.
Delighted, he rushed to his chest of drawers and yanked it open, looking for underwear and thick clothing so he could go outside. As quickly as he could, he yanked off his Spiderman pyjamas and tumbled into underwear, thick pants, a long-sleeved top and a wool pullover. He hurried downstairs, his heavy footfalls likely going to wake his parents but he didn't care. At the front door, he pulled on his boots and tied them as best he could in his rush. The final preparations were to pull on his hat rather haphazardly, swing his scarf around his neck and stuff his hands into his mittens. Once he had unlocked the door and heaved it open, a little ball of bright red (the better for his parents to keep track of him) bounded outside.
Everywhere was white. Icicles hung from the wires connecting the houses to the power and phone lines. They also jutted from the overhang above the porch, giving the house the appearance of having teeth. Fields of snow spread everywhere: cars were buried and the sidewalks were indistinguishable from the laden road. Above the cold landscape was a grey sky, stretching to the horizon.
Grinning, Alfred clambered over the snow drifts and headed into the front yard so he could build a snowman. He would also have to prepare for the neighbourhood snowball fight. So, starting nearest the house, he began to scoop up piles of snow to pat into vague ball shapes.
It was quiet. Nobody seemed to be out. Squinting at the sky to gauge the position of the sun, Alfred supposed that it was very early and that everyone was still asleep. The grown-ups had probably returned to bed when they found themselves unable to go to work. All the kids would likely be told to stay inside until their parents could come to supervise them.
As he peered upwards, a movement caught his eye. Turning his head slightly he frowned at a shape above him. Standing so he could get closer to it, he stared in amazement as he made out the form of a boy his own age hanging in midair. He wore a flimsy, shining white tunic which ended at his knees. Barely, Alfred could make out a set of shining wings, much like a insect's. They glittered and shifted in colour even as he watched. From where Alfred stood, he could just make out some messy, pale blonde hair which stuck out in every way imaginable.
Whoever it was didn't notice Alfred watching and began to move. He stepped forward and spun, raising his bare arms. They seemed to be painted with white lines, swirling and wrapping around the length of them. But all of that was forgotten as the boy began to move. He spun, his wings glittering and flexing to keep his balance. His movements were fluid as he danced, his limbs twirling, his wrists twisting, his legs crossing as he turned. And, as he danced, tiny white jewels floated towards Alfred and he had to blink the snowflakes from his eyes. Alfred could only gape as the snow slowly fell, speeding up as the boy danced faster. Soon a steady snowfall was in progress, the boy still dancing in the cold.
Gathering his courage and his voice, Alfred waved his arms and shouted at the apparition. "Hey! Hey, you!" he cried, hoping the boy would hear him.
Indeed, the boy turned and stopped, lowering his arms as he looked down at Alfred. The grounded boy grinned up at him and waved his arms so hard he lost his balance. He glanced down with a gasp as he threw out his arms to balance himself. When he was sure he would be able to stay on his feet, he looked back up – only to find the floating boy had disappeared. A disappointed sigh escaped him and he gazed around at the swirling white around him. Perhaps he should go back inside and wait for the snow to stop.
"You can see me?" asked a voice behind him. Alfred spun around as quickly as he could. His foot, however, slipped from under him and he found himself falling backwards into the snow. Gasping for breath, he blinked up at the white and grey above him before a pair of green eyes came into view. He gazed up at them in surprise as whoever it was stared back at him. "Are you okay?" said the voice again and Alfred realised he was looking at whoever had spoken. Alfred hesitantly nodded and the person held out a hand. As Alfred took hold of it, he noticed that snowflakes had been painted on the back of it and were connected to the lines which were along the length of the arm, little embellishments dotted along it which looked like icicles.
"Ah, you!" cried Alfred as he got to his feet. Now that they were at eye level, Alfred could see that the boy had rather thick eyebrows, darker than his hair. They stood out and would be the first thing anyone looked at if it hadn't been for those shining green eyes. The shade of them made Alfred think of spring or summer with the grass visible and the leaves on the trees. His face was perfect, no blemishes at all and his arms were thin. Behind him, his wings still shimmered. "What are you?" Alfred found himself asking.
"I'm a Snow Fairy," the boy told him, rolling his eyes as if it was obvious. "I bring the snow in the winter."
"Do you bring the snow when it's spring? Y'know, if it snows at Easter and stuff. We were in Britain for Spring Break once and it snowed somewhere north of where we were. Was that you, too?"
The fairy seemed surprised at the questioning but, after looking at the bouncing Alfred for a long moment, he answered. "No. Only the Grand Snow Fairies can come to this world when it's not winter. I'm too young for that."
"Oh," said Alfred. He glanced around at the snow which was still falling around him. "Do you always dance to bring the snow?"
Blushing, the fairy glanced away. "You weren't meant to see that..."
"It was awesome."
"Really?" The fairy seemed shocked. "You really think so? My brothers think I look horrible when I do that and I should just stick to waving the wand..."
"Yeah; really! Don't listen to 'em."
"Thank you," said the fairy, sincerely. He looked around as well. "Perhaps you should return inside. There is much more snow to fall and you won't be able to get through the door."
"Aww," whined Alfred, pouting. "But I wanted to build a snowman!"
"Do it later," the fairy suggested with a shrug.
With his excitement deflated, Alfred slouched and sighed. He was just about to step around the fairy and do as he was told before he stopped and looked up at him. "Hey! Can't you help me build a snowman before I go back inside?"
Blinking, the fairy tilted his head. "I've never built one before, actually."
"Then I can teach you!" Alfred declared. He stuck out his hand. "Alfred F. Jones."
With his head still tilted, the fairy held his hand out, too. "Arthur." Alfred grabbed his hand and shook it. "Oh, is that what you do?"
"Don't you do that in Fairyland?"
"No. We bow when we meet someone new."
"Weird!" And, with that, Alfred dragged his new friend off to gather snow.
When Alfred finally went inside, a blizzard was starting up, Arthur dancing in the sky after he had sent the human boy away. He managed to close the door, stomp the snow from his boots and pull his hat from his head when he found himself pulled into a squealing hug.
"Alfie! Where on Earth have you been?!" cried his mother, hugging him tight.
"Mom? What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.
"We couldn't find you, Alfred," said his father, staring down at him sternly from behind his mother. "We were worried sick."
"Sorry," Alfred said with a grimace. "I was outside playing with Arthur."
"Arthur?" repeated Mrs. Jones as she pulled away. She shot him a confused look. "Who's this Arthur?"
"He's a Snow Fairy," Alfred told them. "You should see him when it snows! He dances, y'know, and all the snow falls down and bam! There's a snow day!"
His parents looked at each other before chuckling. "Come on," said his father. "I've made pancakes."
"Yay!" cried Alfred and let his mother remove his outer clothing. They led him away and neither noticed the huge snowman which sparkled with magic.
It was the snowiest winter anyone had ever experienced in their state. Alfred knew it was because of his new friend whom he would play with in the snow. Arthur even visited his windowsill when he was confined to the house: he never entered the house but he would chatter away and they would play board and card games until Alfred's parents came in and closed the window.
Alfred soon learnt that there were fairies for different seasons and weather. They helped nature do what it did best. However, they had to return to the land of the fairies lest they disappear forever. No-one knew what happened if they stayed for longer than their allotted time. He also learnt that Arthur wished he could see the spring. His homeland was in a perpetual summer but Arthur yearned to see the baby animals and the buds of the flowers as they woke and the blossom on the tree before they fell like the snow he could create. Arthur always sounded so wistful when he talked about it and Alfred resolved to take pictures so he could show him, asking for a camera for Christmas.
And, when February melted into March and Arthur left him for the next few months, Alfred did just that. It grew into quite a hobby. Of course, when autumn came, he made sure to remember to get snapshots of that season, too. He learnt of the beauty of the world and, now nine years old, he waited eagerly to show Arthur.
Sure enough, Arthur came to visit in a flurry of soft snow at the end of November. When Alfred showed him the photographs, he was confused at first. However, after it was explained to him, he was ecstatic and cried out in joy. Alfred felt warm inside though he stood in the cold backyard. In return, Arthur sent an early snow day for him, dancing in the air just outside his window so that Alfred could watch him.
Unfortunately, the only reason Alfred could see Arthur was because he still believed in magic and fairies. Not many people spotted him when they were children and no adults were able to see him. When Alfred hit the age of ten, his father took him aside in the summer when Arthur was nowhere to be seen and told him that magic and fairies weren't real. Alfred had fought and denied it at first but, with so many people he trusted and admired telling him the same thing, he found his faith in Arthur fading.
Had he really seen a fairy? Or had he witnessed a blizzard and imagined the beauty in it? Was magic real? Or had he been so desperate for someone to play with on that early morning that he had invented a friend?
The next winter, he didn't see Arthur at all. Instead, the family had to suffer through the coldest and harshest winter they had ever seen. Their power went out and their pipes froze and the snow didn't let up for days. It was horrible.
And it was just the start of Alfred's wintry problems.
Alfred hated the winter months. He remembered when he was little and he had loved them: snow days and playing in the snow. Now, however, he always found himself caught in the snow in the most inopportune moments. Slipping on ice, bumping into people when the snow got into his eyes, almost being beaten up for dragging a poor girl on top of him as he grabbed for anything on his way down, getting stuck at work or at home when he had an important interview.
So, it was really just his luck that a blizzard had come on when he had been on his way to work. He had been expecting it somewhat, considering the forecast, but he hadn't expected it to come on so quickly. Even though he lived relatively close to the studio, Alfred always drove to work and had been in his car when the whirling snow made it difficult to see the difference between the road and the gigantic pothole. As it was, he was currently hitting his hands on the steering wheel and groaning at the fact that he was now stuck in a ditch.
With a heavy sigh, he shoved open his door and went out to assess the problem. It was only a slight slope but, apparently, the tyres kept slipping on the slush and ice. The only thing for it was to push it out. Nobody was around, though, and no-one seemed to want to stop as they drove by. Frustrated, Alfred tried it himself. No sooner had he touched the bumper than the car slid further into the ditch. He gave a strangled yell and threw his hands in the air.
After pacing back and forth a couple of times, he leaned against the immobile vehicle and ran his hand through his hair, dislodging the snowflakes that had landed there as he did so. If he stayed here, he would likely become a living snowman, he realised. But he couldn't just give up. He turned and tried to push it again, thinking back on his previous winter mishaps rather bitterly. What had he ever done to deserve this? With a laugh, he remembered how he had had an imaginary fairy friend or something which brought the snow. Maybe he had upset her when he'd stopped believing in her. (Or was it a him?) The snow always seemed angry to him, after all, harsh and horrible and never as beautiful as the other seasons.
Actually, that was a lie. Winter was beautiful: it was just an asshole. She or he was, anyway.
Once again, the car slipped further into the ditch and he stopped and straightened with a weary sigh. It was no use: he needed help. As he made his way around to the driver's side of the car, he suddenly spotted someone standing just ahead. Whoever it was had their arms folded and was watching his progress with interest.
"Oh, hey, buddy!" he called, waving at the person. The figure started and stared, almost as if he was surprised to be spotted. Well, he wasn't exactly hidden standing there. "Can ya give me a hand?"
"Are...?" said the person. "Are you talking to me?" The voice sounded male – and foreign. British or something, maybe.
"You're the only one out here," Alfred pointed out, laughing a little. Wow, was this person dumb or what?
"Oh. Right." Alfred heard a sound as though someone was clearing his throat. "Right, yes, of course." The person moved closer, almost appearing to float a little. He certainly didn't slip around like Alfred had done when he had been walking to the back. Alfred blinked away the snow when he thought he saw something shining just over the person's shoulder.
"Thanks," sighed Alfred. He leaned over again and braced himself against the bumper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pale hand, painted with white lines, placed onto the space next to Alfred. "Okay, go on three. One... Two... Three!" At the same instant as Alfred and the mystery man pushed, the snow stopped falling. But Alfred didn't have a chance to marvel at this as his car suddenly shifted up and out of the rut. Both he and his companion almost stumbled as the car rolled away from him. Alfred gave a happy yell and turned to the man who had helped him. When he laid his eyes on him, Alfred paused and stared. There was something awfully familiar about him... Whoever it was, he had pale, blonde hair, startling green eyes and huge eyebrows. Which, without thinking about it, Alfred managed to yelp and say, "Woah!" when he spotted them.
"What?" asked the man, frowning slightly.
Alfred opened his mouth to answer but he stopped when he noted what the man was wearing. It looked like some sort of tunic without leggings. The material looked like silk but it was such a bright and pure white that Alfred doubted that assumption. He wore no shoes or even socks but he didn't seem to be shivering. His arms were covered with white tattoos, swirling lines dancing down his arms. Alfred found himself frowning at him: he looked very familiar but he couldn't quite place where he had seen the man before.
"Uh, I'm Alfred," he told the man, sticking out his hand.
"I... I'm Arthur," said the other, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. Alfred shivered as the cold seeped from Arthur's uncovered hand to his own.
"Like the king?" Alfred asked, unsure whether he should comment on Arthur's choice of clothing.
Arthur blinked and Alfred wondered at how his eyes seemed to shine so much. "Do you mean the king of Angloegr who was given the mighty Excalibur?"
"Er, yeah..." said Alfred, hesitantly, recognising the word 'Excalibur'. They stood in an awkward silence as Alfred began to wonder how on Earth Arthur had gotten there and why he was wearing next to nothing. Then he remembered work and gasped. "Ah! I gotta go. Work, y'know?"
"Oh, yes," said Arthur, nodding his head eagerly.
He glanced around and saw no car nearby. "Er, do you need a ride?"
The strange man shook his head. "No. I'll be fine, thank you."
"Well, if you say so," muttered Alfred and hurried into his car. He slammed the door shut, started the car again and pulled off, glancing into his rear-view mirror. That was when he noticed that Arthur was watching him leave. It made Alfred feel odd: something was nagging at him but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he found himself swallowed by the slowly moving traffic.
"Seriously?! Fuck my life!"
"Sorry, Al," sighed Grant, pushing his squint glasses up his nose. "You can stay here if you want."
Sighing, Alfred shook his head. "It's cool. I'll just walk home." Though, even as he said that, he knew he didn't want to. For the few hours he had been in the studio, he had watched the snow fall lazily past the window. It seemed softer, kinder somehow.
And then he had been told that the weather was making everyone cancel. A snow day when he was at work, basically. When he had looked outside at the cars, he had seen that any that had been parked were buried under a thick blanket. The ones in motion were moving so slowly it looked as though it would be better to just get out and walk.
"If you're sure," said Grant, scratching at a spot on his chin. "I'll just pack up the cameras. Are you leaving yours, too?"
"Nah. I'll take it with me. Might get some awesome pics on the way home." Alfred grinned at Grant as he made his way over to where he had left the digital camera he had gotten for Christmas a few years ago. It had been the latest model then and Alfred still loved the reliable tool. He shoved it into its special bag and slung it around his neck. "I'll be going, Grant."
"'Kay! See you tomorrow, if the weather lets up. I'll give you a call if we're staying closed."
"Cool! See ya!"
And, with that, Alfred emerged from the shop and into the cold. The snow was still falling, though it was only the odd flake drifting down to land in the hair sticking out from under Alfred's woolly hat. He shivered and tugged his coat closer, rubbing his face into the soft scarf he had around his neck. As he stepped into the snow, his boots kept his feet from getting too wet but he could still feel the chill. He wriggled his toes with a grimace before setting off home.
About halfway there, Alfred found himself struggling. The snow was up to his knees and it was taking all of his energy to put one foot in front of the other. As such, he was spending most of his time trying to stay upright and clambering over unseen obstacles. He wished he could teleport – it would make life so much easier. Instead, he stopped and stamped his feet to try to return the feeling in them though it only succeeded in making a puddle of slush.
"Are you cold?"
Alfred toppled over when he tried to spin around. He ended up lying on his side in the snow, gasping in surprise. A hand gripped his arm and tugged him back to his feet. Quickly, he mumbled his thanks and rushed to check his camera was all right. Apart from a few specks of snow, it seemed like it was safe. With a relieved sigh he looked up and found himself face to face with Arthur once more.
"Wha-? Huh. Fancy meeting you here." Alfred looked Arthur up and down only to realise he was still dressed in that thin tunic. "What do you mean, am I cold? 'Course I am. Aren't you?"
Arthur tilted his head, blinking owlishly. "Of course not," he answered.
"What? But you're barely wearing anything. Are you from Scandinavia or something?"
"No," said Arthur, looking confused. "I don't understand. How can you see me yet be unaware of who I am?"
"Huh?" Alfred was the one to blink in confusion this time. "What are you talking about?"
"Ah. I suppose it doesn't matter right now. Let me help you."
With that, Arthur held out a hand. Alfred stared at it for a few seconds before taking it. Arthur smiled at him before moving around Alfred, his body turning with him. Then Arthur began to walk through the snowdrifts, Alfred stumbling after. However, Arthur wasn't pushing through the snow or having difficulty climbing over hills. Instead, the snow seemed to part for him and, when he reached any obstacles, he seemed to float over them, something glittering on his back as he did so. Alfred found his feet were doing the same and gaped downwards, watching their passage. Something niggled at him, some memory he had long since locked away.
By the time he arrived home, the snow had completely stopped. However, as Alfred stared at Arthur (who had let go of his hand when they reached his doorstep), he realised why that was as his brain conjured up the image of a younger Arthur dancing before him. And, as he remembered, Arthur's wings became more visible, shimmering as they flexed behind him.
"You..." Alfred whispered. Arthur tilted his head in question. "You're not... You-You're real."
Arthur raised his eyebrow. "Of course I am."
"No, I mean, Arthur?" Alfred reached out to brush his fingers across the tunic Arthur wore, as though he could only believe through the sensation of touch. "Snow Fairy extraordinaire?"
The effect was instantaneous. Arthur brightened, a huge smile spreading across his face. "You remember!" he cried and threw his arms around Alfred's neck. Alfred took half a step back to keep his balance and quickly wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist – just like he used to. "I missed you so much!" Arthur continued. "I came back after a year and you couldn't see me!" A sudden cold wind swept around them, blowing the snow into the air around them. It bit into the parts of Alfred not covered.
"I... I thought you didn't come back," Alfred admitted, still trying to catch up, to accept this. Something this amazing couldn't be possible, could it? He gathered himself and continued, "You just left and then I didn't see you that winter. I remember being disappointed but I just accepted it – especially since I'd already been told you wouldn't by my parents..."
Suddenly, Arthur pulled back and glared at Alfred. The air grew colder and Alfred shivered, shrinking back. He remembered the first time he had experienced the harshness of winter, how it had seemed to him to be trying to hurt him. Obviously Arthur had been the one to send that weather. His joking thought earlier the day seemed to have been correct. All this time and he had found the source of his wintry distress.
"You stopped believing!" Arthur yelled, his brow furrowed. "How could you? I thought you were different! No-one else can see me in this wretched world but you could and you told me you'd never forget me! You lied."
Alfred shook his head. "I didn't! I didn't lie, I just-"
"-forgot," finished Arthur, angrily. After a tense moment, he sighed and seemed to deflate, the wind dying down. "It's okay. I understand. The Queen told me what happens to humans when they grow up."
"Queen?" repeated Alfred, amazed. "You went all the way to the Queen."
"Well, yes. She is the one to have had the most contact with humans, after all."
"Ah," said Alfred before he shivered. He really ought to get inside. But he didn't want to leave now that he had found an old friend, no matter how 'out there' the whole situation was. "Do ya wanna come in? I gotta get some cocoa or something. It's freezing out here!"
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, for Arthur stared in surprise before averting his gaze. "No... I can't. I have to go – I have work to do, after all."
"Wait!" cried Alfred, reaching out to grab Arthur's elbow. But the Snow Fairy moved backwards, out of the way, rising up on another gust of wind. "Don't go!"
Arthur shook his head. "Good afternoon, Al," he said as he was swept away in a flurry of snow.
The wind ruffled Alfred's hair as he stayed still, watching the space Arthur had disappeared from. He felt horribly disappointed and all the good feelings he had gotten from the snow had drifted away. Now he hated it: how cold he felt to his very core; his toes barely able to move, so frozen in their boots as they were. Tutting, Alfred glanced down and caught sight of his camera. The very thing which had prompted him to take up photography had returned and he hadn't been able to capture him. With a sigh, Alfred fished for his keys, thinking that he would look through his photo albums or-
Alfred's train of thought was derailed as he remembered the easel which sat, mostly unused, in the corner of his bedroom. If he could just remember how Arthur used to dance, he could paint something more beautiful than his teachers had ever thought him capable of...
Morning found Alfred waking with a groan as light seeped into his room through the wayward curtains. It shone onto his books and computer and his phone. His posters were revealed one by one and the Stars and Stripes bed covers brightened. He rolled over and stared at the painting he had finished before collapsing on the bed. It depicted Arthur from behind as he appeared now, all lean and delicate. From memory, he had sketched his body in a pose from the middle of one of his beautiful dances, the snow frozen in the air.
Growling at himself, he sat up, wearing only boxers and thankful for the heating system in his apartment. He just couldn't get it right, couldn't capture the grace he barely remembered Arthur moved with. If he had been trying to capture just the image of Arthur, he would have been able to but the thing that had come to the forefront of his memories was the soft smile Arthur had when he danced in the sky, the twisting, turning movements.
Leaving the room, he showered and got dressed, discovered he didn't have work, ate and then returned to the bedroom. There he stared hard at the painting. What could he do to fix it? Nothing, said a voice in his head. You will never be able to capture something so free and wild. He sighed. If he kept the painting, he would only agonise over it; it would be best to get rid of it. So he fetched his packing knife and advanced on the fragile picture.
Suddenly, the window flew open and a flurry of snow blew across the wooden floor to gather at Alfred's socked feet. "Don't!" cried a voice which hit Alfred with as much force as if it had been physical. After his retreat the day before, Alfred hadn't been expecting to see him ever again. He spun around and stared wide-eyed at the familiar sight of Arthur crouched on his windowsill. The fairy looked sheepish but he also had a determined air about him.
"Why not?" asked Alfred, amazed that Arthur would care so much about something so ugly.
"It's... Well, it's beautiful," Arthur breathed, his cheeks turning pink. A flash of memory reminded Alfred that Arthur had once told him that fairies were different and rarely blushed: when they did, their blushes would never get darker than a faint pink colouration. Alfred smiled softly as he found his ratty dressing gown and pulled it on – Arthur had always been cute when he was terribly embarrassed. "Is it me?" asked Arthur, breaking through Alfred's thoughts.
As a blush started on his own cheeks, Alfred turned back to gaze at it. He sighed. "Yeah. It's supposed to be, anyway. You dancing. But, apparently, merging fuzzy memories isn't a good idea."
"Don't ruin it. It looks lovely." Arthur smiled slightly. "I didn't know other people could see me like that. I mean, Natalya looks so wondrous when she dances but I didn't think I was as good as her."
"Ha! I bet you're better!"
Arthur blinked and turned his head to hide his smile. "Don't be silly."
Grinning, Alfred nodded. "You look awesome." He turned to set down the knife (if Arthur didn't want it destroyed, he wouldn't) and spotted his camera. Exchanging the knife for that, he turned back to the Snow Fairy. "Hey! Can I take your picture?"
Rolling his eyes, Arthur looked back at him, his blush gone. "You know fine well that the answer is no. And you know why." Indeed, Alfred remembered a conversation he had had with Arthur when he was younger about not wanting others to see him in case they reacted poorly. Besides, Arthur had pointed out, it might not work at all. So Alfred looped the strap around his neck and moved forward. Arthur watched him come, opening his mouth to ask what the man was up to.
"Will you dance for me?" Alfred asked as he caught hold of Arthur's hands. He looked directly into those stunning eyes and smiled. "Please? I want to see it again."
The fairy looked hesitant but he slowly nodded. Then he suddenly shook his head. "Wait, no. I can't. If I dance, there will be another snowfall. There's enough down there already." And he gestured at the quiet blanket which lay upon the city, covering the backyard Alfred's window looked out over.
"Please?" pleaded Alfred, pulling out his secret weapon: the puppy dog eyes.
Sighing, Arthur pulled away from Alfred and he mourned the loss of contact briefly before realising that he was getting his way. "Fine. But you should put something warmer on. You'll catch your death, as the humans say."
"Yessir!" cried Alfred with a salute. He hurried to his chest of drawers and pulled out a jumper and a pair of pants. After putting them on, he wrapped the dressing gown around him again before tugging on two pairs of socks. Once he was ready, he returned to the windowsill to find Arthur standing in midair, looking down and waiting for him.
"Ready?" Arthur inquired.
"Yup!"
And, with a small smile, Arthur began to dance. It started off slow, his feet shuffling around a little. His arms rose and they began to twist and wave as his legs took bigger strides, spinning him around as the snow began to join him. As he jumped and weaved and twirled, Alfred found himself unable to look away and only remembered his camera when the thing clunked off the wooden edge of the windowsill. Surprised, he quickly grabbed it and held it up, expertly focussing. Before Arthur could notice him, he pushed the button, several shots being snapped one after the other. The final one captured Arthur facing him fully, staring right down the lens and Alfred quickly lowered it, worried the fairy was angry. Instead, he merely looked embarrassed and danced further away, heading upwards.
"Wait!" cried Alfred, leaning out towards him. But his hand slipped on the snow-covered sill and he fell forwards. Whether Arthur noticed his plight or not, Alfred didn't know, but a cold, strong wind blew, pushing him back with such force that he landed on his ass on the cold, wooden floor. He shivered and stood, automatically checking for his camera. It was nowhere around. Crying out, he rushed to the windowsill, upset that both it and Arthur had apparently gone.
But he was to be pleasantly surprised. For, when he reached the window, he spotted his black camera, stark against the white, floating upwards on a stray current of wind. Holding out his hand, it gently settled there – just as Arthur appeared at the window.
"You idiot!" he scolded Alfred. "Be more careful! You cannot fly."
Alfred grinned at him. "I know. Thanks!" And, with that, he grabbed Arthur in another hug. It was awkward, though, what with Arthur higher up so Alfred tugged him down and into his room, ignoring the grunt of protest. In fact, he didn't really notice until Arthur had managed to fight his way out of Alfred's arms. Then he blinked and said, "Oh."
"Oh? Oh!" Arthur looked mad. "You just dragged me inside! I'm inside! I'm not supposed to be-" He broke off suddenly and glanced around, blinking at Alfred's bed. "I'm... inside..." he murmured, clearly surprised and, perhaps, a little curious.
"You sure are." Alfred grinned again.
"It's... warm."
"Yup. Do you want something hot to drink?"
"You drink hot things?" Arthur looked rather shocked, those spring-like eyes open wide.
"'Course. Coffee, hot chocolate, tea, mulled wine."
"Wine? You make wine hot?"
"Uh huh. I don't have any, though." Alfred glanced around the room. "I can give you the grand tour of my apartment and then, if you have nowhere else to stay this winter, you can stay with me."
Arthur gasped. "You want me to... to live with you?"
"I can't let my muse escape, can I?" said Alfred, gesturing at the easel. "If you stay with me, then I'll be able to paint all your dances."
"And I can stay until spring?"
"Definitely. Longer if you want."
The fairy's happy smile faded. "You know I can't stay after March."
"I know," sighed Alfred but he forced a smile. "I was only kidding. Stay as long as you want. I'll let you have the bed or something." He pointed at it and, hesitantly, Arthur made his way over and prodded it. Alfred watched, bemused, as Arthur sat down on it and smoothed the covers down.
Eventually, Arthur looked back up at him, a wide smile on his face. "Thank you."
Arthur stayed with him for the entire winter. The fairy would stay in for days on end and let the snow melt before going outside to dance. He kept to the backyard, entirely for Alfred's benefit and the American would watch breathlessly. There was something inherently beautiful about the fairy and he could never get it down in paint. Arthur always insisted that his paintings were spectacular or gorgeous but Alfred could never transfer what he could see to the easel.
Obviously, Alfred went to work but he left Arthur with 'fascinating' human technology. He made sure to teach Arthur how to turn things on and off to begin with and then showed him the DVDs and video games and how to work the microwave and the coffee machine. It was amusing to come home to find the fairy eating from plastic dishes or wrapped up in a British drama. Of course, he gave him books and, more often than not, he found him curled on a chair by the window, reading by the light reflected off the snow.
They grew closer and they laughed, having fun as they used to but without the childish games. And, as they grew closer, Arthur's dances grew more beautiful, the snow he brought soft and warm. It took Alfred until Christmas (when he asked Arthur to bring in a blizzard so he could excuse himself from the family celebrations) to realise that he was attracted to Arthur. As he ignored his feelings, burying them, he slowly worked out that it wasn't just a physical attraction.
He was in love with a Snow Fairy.
But he couldn't say anything, not when Arthur didn't seem to notice his fleeting glances and electric touches. In fact, whenever Alfred got red in the face due to embarrassment or arousal, the fairy would tilt his head in confusion and ask if he was cold or ill. Despite the torture, he was adorable when he seemed so innocent and Alfred didn't dare explain.
Then, all too soon, March was upon them and the warmer weather had closed in.
"Well," said Arthur as he leaned back on the windowsill, the window itself wide open and ready for his departure. "I suppose this will be it for a few months. This year, I think I'm supposed to be back a little earlier; end of November, I believe."
"Ah."
"I'll make sure to come say hello before I dance. You can do more painting as I bring the first snow in. I think I dance my best, then. I'm not entirely sure why but, still."
"Right."
Arthur sighed and looked up at Alfred as he stood before him, chewing on his lip. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's just..." Alfred folded his arms and swayed on the balls of his feet. He looked away, through the window at the bare boughs of the tree, the deep brown an unpleasant difference to the white. In the snow, it seemed like they were suspended in time and Alfred wished that was their reality for he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around Arthur and keep him. But that would be taking away his freedom and he didn't want Arthur to hate him. "I wish you could see the spring," he found himself saying.
The fairy smiled up at him. "It's okay. You can take lots of pictures for me again-"
"No! That's not-!" Alfred realised he was shouting when he noticed the startled expression on Arthur's face. He lowered his voice before he continued, gripping his elbows tightly. "It's not the same, Arthur. I realise that now. No matter how many times I took your picture or painted you, I couldn't capture you. And it's the same for spring. You have to be there to know what it's like. The photos ain't gonna cut it." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes below his glasses, trying not to cry.
"Alfred..." said Arthur, slowly, standing straighter and stepping towards him.
"You should go." Alfred's voice started to crack and he turned so Arthur couldn't see his shining eyes. "Didn't you say you died or something if you stayed past your time?"
"Or something," agreed Arthur, quietly. He sounded dismayed and Alfred realised that he had saddened the fairy, that he would leave like that.
Quickly, he spun around, crying out to him as he saw him crouching on the windowsill with his back to Alfred. "Wait!" he cried. This time, Arthur did as he was told and even turned around, planting his bottom on the windowsill so his legs swung inside Alfred's bedroom.
"Yes?" he asked, smiling weakly.
"I'm sorry. It's just that I..." Alfred trailed off, staring at Arthur. He had been about to admit how he felt about the fairy and had barely managed to stop himself. But... Maybe... Would it be so bad to tell him? With that thought, he moved nearer, only stopping when he was standing close enough that Arthur's feet brushed his shins.
"You what, Al?" asked Arthur, beginning to look concerned.
Ignoring the question for the moment, Alfred leaned in, till he could feel the cold coming from Arthur's skin. Slowly, gently, carefully, perhaps a little cautiously, he cupped Arthur's face with his hands. His warmth seeped away but he disregarded it as he moved his face towards him. He managed to catch sight of Arthur's shocked eyes fluttering closed before his shut, too. Then their lips brushed together. Alfred felt a spark shiver its way down his spine and, when he pulled away after the chaste kiss, he found himself gasping for breath. But he forced himself to breathe deeply and concentrate, opening his eyes to find Arthur staring at him in awe.
"I don't want you to go," he whispered. "I just wish-" Sighing, Alfred closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Arthur's. Nothing happened for a few seconds before arms wrapped around him and pulled him flush against Arthur's body.
"Don't worry so. I'll be back. I'll always be back." Arthur chuckled weakly into Alfred's chest. "I mean, I've always been around. It was horrible but I didn't want to leave..."
Rather surprised at the confession, Alfred found himself smiling happily. A sobering thought wiped it from his face, though and he sighed. "But what if I forget you again?"
"Wait a moment," Arthur replied, pushing Alfred away gently. Now Alfred could see how Arthur was smiling, looking happier than he had ever seen him. Arthur held his hands in front of him and cupped them as if he was holding a ball. The air between his palms glowed white: for a moment it was so bright that Alfred had to shut his eyes. When he could see again, he found Arthur holding a crystallised snowflake. From two of the points, a thin, silver material formed a loop. If he looked closer, he could see the tiny crystallised snowflakes it was made up of. "If you wear this, you won't forget me."
Without question, Alfred grabbed it and pulled it over his head. "I'll never take it off, I promise."
"Well, then, love," said Arthur, leaning up. Alfred leaned down so that he could reach. Arthur's eternally cold hand brushed a strand of hair behind Alfred's ear as he stared down at Arthur's soft smile. "I must be off. I'll be back before you know it." And, with a final kiss to Alfred's cheek, he was gone in a flurry of snow. Biting his lip, Alfred clutched at the snowflake and leaned out of the window to watch him fly.
An hour later, something flew into Alfred's window.
He was so startled that he dropped his paintbrush. Clicking his tongue at it, he picked it up and set it down on the table. Sparing a quick glance at the picture of Arthur he had only just started, he made his way to the window. What he saw caused him to fling it open with wide eyes.
"Arthur! What are you doing back here? You gotta go ho-"
"No!" cried Arthur as he stumbled into the room, breathing hard. His wings were twitching a lot and seemed to have lost some of their sheen. "I don't, I don't, I can stay!"
"Huh?"
"Did I ever tell you about the Blossom Fairy I knew?"
"Wha-? No. But, Ar-"
"His name was Kiku. Originally, he stuck to creating the beautiful cherry blossoms in Japan. Then he decided to see the rest of the world and ended up somewhere in the south of Europe. He kept going back there and, one day, never came back to the Land of Fae. We all presumed he was dead but- But I just saw him alive and happy and in love and- Alfred, I won't die! I can stay!" Arthur seemed to be exhausted at the end of his rant, panting. He wobbled as he moved further into the bedroom, reaching for Alfred. "We don't need to be apart, my love!"
But Alfred stayed where he was and bit his lip. "Are you sure? Maybe he wasn't this Kiku. Maybe it was just someone who looked like him."
"No, I spoke-" Arthur broke off and coughed, swaying terribly. This time, Alfred stepped forward and clutched him to his chest. When he glanced down, though, he pushed Arthur back to arm's length with a cry.
"Artie! Your Power Lines!"
Sure enough, the painted lines on Arthur's arms were beginning to fade. He no longer looked icy pale but, rather, deathly pale, as if he was terribly ill. The fairy himself didn't look too bothered, though.
"My power over the Winter Elements are fading. They will disappear entirely."
"Wait. You mean you're giving up your power for me?" asked Alfred with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Of course. Love is a greater power than mine," Arthur answered, briskly, flashing a grin at Alfred.
"But... Won't you miss it? Are you sure you-?"
"If I wasn' sure, wouldn't've come back." Arthur clutched at Alfred's arms tightly, looking worse by the minute. "Idiot," Arthur added, attempting a smirk - and promptly collapsed into Alfred's arms.
"Arthur!" Alfred cried, shaking him slightly. But the fairy didn't respond and Alfred had no idea of what to do to help him.
Since Alfred could hardly call an ambulance for someone who the world couldn't see, he put Arthur to bed, tucking him in gently and kneeling beside him. He tried calling to him and shaking him, tried desperately to wake him and tell him to go home. If only he hadn't stalled Arthur. If only he had told Arthur to leave before the air started to get warmer. Arthur would have had time to go home then, wouldn't be in whatever danger he had gotten himself into. Alfred clutched at Arthur's hand and prayed he would wake soon: wake and leave him so he would be well and not unconscious on his bed.
Eventually, Alfred fell asleep half on the bed, clutching at Arthur, having cried himself to sleep from the overwhelming worry. What would he do if the fairy died? How could he help him if Arthur was viciously ill? Alfred felt so useless and he refused to rouse himself completely from his nightmares, punishing himself for being so selfish.
The next morning, he was awoken when the noise of a door being thrown open shattered his nightmare. Blinking, Alfred sat up, groaning at the pain in his back as he stretched the kinks out, forgetting for the moment what had happened the previous night. Staring around he found his room in disarray, his drawers open and at angles. The easel had been knocked over, his half-finished portrait of Arthur staring back at him with a small smile.
Jumping to his feet, Alfred stared at the empty bed, the covers crumpled and messy. Arthur was nowhere to be seen but there was a faint image on the sheets like an outline of where he had been. When Alfred looked closer, he saw that Arthur's wings were still present, glowing faintly. As he watched, wide-eyed, the wings faded and disappeared with a final sparkle. Gasping, Alfred raced to his front door; it was still partially open and he swung it wide again as he stuffed his feet into his sneakers, grabbed his keys and snagged his scarf that Arthur had knitted for him at Christmas. He rushed from the apartment, slamming the door in his hurry as he sprinted down the stairs. In the foyer, he glanced around and found the back door swinging closed. He caught it before it latched itself closed and pulled it back open, hurrying out into the crisp morning air.
Green grass was stretching towards the sun; the lawn needed cutting. At the back of the small yard, beyond the boring brown fence, were a cluster of trees which separated the buildings from the park. Small buds studded the bare branches, a few leaves already in the process of unfurling. In the flowerbeds, little snowdrops had opened. However, the most striking thing in the garden was the man who was standing in the middle of a snow flurry. The flakes were so tiny that it was almost as if someone had pried open a beanbag and slowly shook the balls from inside. Slowly floating down, they were unable to lie on the dew-covered grass.
Meanwhile, the man began to dance, twirling on the spot and lifting his arms to the clear sky and the fluffy white clouds which drifted across it. His hair was a few shades darker now. Although his skin was still pale, it looked much more natural now and his arms were clear of any magical symbols. Of course, his eyes were still the same bright green, infinitely brighter than the damp grass and the leaves on the trees; they appeared more like precious jewels. He was wearing a hastily cobbled together outfit: a pair of Alfred's jeans which were too big for him and a large white t-shirt. His bare feet skipped and twisted as he danced, seemingly unaware of being watched with awe.
Eventually, though, Arthur stopped and looked back at him, the largest smile Alfred had ever seen him with on his face. With no hesitation, Arthur held out his hand to the photographer: Alfred instantly walked towards him and took it. Then, just like they had done in the warmth and privacy of his apartment, they began to dance, spinning and swaying. Arthur was tucked into Alfred's chest, his arms wrapped around Alfred's neck. Alfred's own arms had instinctively made their way to Arthur's waist, squeezing him tightly.
"I thought-" he finally managed to croak out.
"I'm fine, Al. No need to worry." And Arthur's accent was definitely English now. "Everything's fine."
"But..."
"Stop your worrying. Look!" And Arthur stopped them, sweeping his arm around. Alfred glanced around, peering past the still falling snow, though it was rapidly disappearing. "It's spring!" Arthur happily declared. "I finally get to see it, every day."
Alfred was still sceptical. "But what about home? Don't you need to go back?"
With a sad smile, Arthur shook his head. "I made my choice: I can't go back. I am no longer a fairy. I'm human, Al, I can live with you forever."
"Your magic... This," Alfred replied, weakly, pulling out the snowflake. Arthur touched it gently. "You gave it all up. For me? Am I really worth that? If you didn't want to leave me, you should have, I dunno, taken me with you or something."
Arthur moved his hand so that he was gently gripping Alfred's hand. He let go of the necklace and looked down at Arthur's happiness. "I get to see the seasons, Al. I'd much rather that than have you stuck in that place. Fairy magic is very temperamental. You would be a prisoner there. If I'm here, we can travel. We can do whatever we want and, well, create our own magic."
After he had stared at him in disbelief for a moment longer, Alfred half-sobbed, half-laughed and pulled him closer, burying his face in Arthur's soft hair. "That was incredibly cheesy, Mr. Fairy. C'mon. I'm hungry."
"Of course you are," sighed Arthur, pulling away and rolling his eyes. Alfred only chuckled as he pulled Arthur back to the apartment, through the last snow of the season.
I apologise for any parts badly written. I was writing it when I was dead tired over the last few weeks and now it's kind of... stuck like this? I especially apologise for the descriptions (if you can call them that) of Arthur's dancing. Obviously, I'm not very good at it. Also, there's no clear dance: he mixes ballet moves and traditional Indian dancing and ballroom dancing and whatever. It's a fairy dance. It can do that.
This basically grew from an image of Arthur dancing in the air in the middle of snow.
If it wasn't for the fact that I wanted Arthur to see spring, I probably would have mixed it up a little and had Alfred go off and become a fairy. Like Thumbelina except they're the same size and not tiny.
Speaking of fairies, Arthur is totally younger than Alfred. Because of the way fairy years work out, Arthur is actually, like, 18/19 in human years and that's what it says on his magically appearing documentation. (The fairy queen doesn't abandon her own when they decide to follow love rather than stay a fairy.) Alfred will be extremely shocked and horrified by this fact since he is, like, 24/25. Or something around there. (I seem to like inverting their ages. Whoops.)
The word Arthur calls England by is actually what Google Translate says is a mix of Latin and Welsh. I think it sounds suitably weird and something a fairy might call that land by.
Kiku was in Greece when he met Herakles who could see him. Kiku was actually older while Herakles was a teenager and they were both shocked the Greek could see him. They fell in love over a few springs and Kiku made the executive decision to stay for summer. He became human, they got together, went to university, got jobs and were in America for a holiday when Arthur bumped into them. Kiku told him what had happened and Arthur spun right round and flew back (though his powers were beginning to wane since he was going home rather late in the first place.
The last part with Arthur turning human was originally going to be more horrific. Like, him writhing on the ground while bits of him snapped off. Then I decided to have Alfred asleep for the majority of the change while Arthur was 'dead' but I thought that was a bit clichéd so I changed it to him just being unconscious and Alfred being worried. It probably lowers the impact but I think the point I'm kind of going for is that Arthur is beautiful, as is winter - even though I'd rather hibernate than drag myself out of bed at yon time in the morning to go anywhere. ¬.¬ That time of the day should not exist. (Also, snow and fairies were a point, so, y'know.)
Final part of clarification since it didn't come up: fairies are forbidden from entering human dwellings unless given consent. However, Arthur is more cautious by nature so he presumes something bad happens if he goes inside and so refuses to enter - until he's pulled in and nothing happens except he can feel warmth. Which I suppose he can only do at home where it's perpetually summer.
By the way, this is 12 pages - plus however much longer it now is with the notes. Well done for reading all the way through. You get confetti as a prize - throw it about to your heart's content.