Melted Ice
(Him)
Sometimes the days are too cold - even for her - so she likes to stay in bed and breathe into the sheets, forgetting about life and people and duty. Her eyes stare unblinkingly, but she does not see.
Sometimes the floor is too cold but her feet and hands have gone numb. She stares at them because they do not hurt but they are supposed to. Her mind brushes away the reminder to warm them up, or else she'll suffer for it later on. She does not heed her own reminder. She enjoys the numbness. Nothing hurts.
Sometimes the house is too empty, even with Katyusha bringing in her happy smiles and warm hugs. Ivan is locked up in his room and no one can get to him. She can, of course. Natalia can, with a pick of the lock or a tug at the windowsill.
But she doesn't.
When she decides that she cannot breathe in the empty house anymore, she leaves. Her eyes only look forward and her feet do not stop. Katyusha watches her silently, her lips trembling and her eyes worried. No one makes a sound.
Ivan watches from the window. As Natalia's figure retreats into the distance, he puts a bottle to his lips and sighs. His breath is cold, but it does not survive.
Natalia sits on a bench, her legs tucked together. Her hands are clasped on her lap and she stares into the distance. White over white. Her hair is almost as white as the snow. Her porcelain skin could turn translucent any moment now, she thinks.
Only her dress and shoes are different. The deep-navy-blue-and-black contrasts greatly against the sea of white. Her feet will be buried by snow any moment now. She does not bother and leans back against the frozen bench. It does not cradle her. It is too cold.
She lies back anyway.
The snow continues to fall, only this time it is less thick. Children start to come and play, their mothers chasing and berating them. Other people start appearing and disappearing.
By the time others notice her they are too far away, too afraid. They retreat into the safety of their homes and families and friends, while she retreats into the cold wood. Snow forms a soft pile atop her unmoving head.
As the silence dredges on, gray eyes watch a white world. Everything is soft and cold and silent. Everything is white and numb. Everything is how it should be.
And then someone arrives. He walks calmly, his hands shoved into pockets and chin held up high. An air of arrogance is around him, but he turns his head and spots her. She stares at him and their eyes meet. Beautiful indigo against sky-blue (but the blue is of the sky on a wonderful and fair day, when the sun is out and the birds are singing and everyone is outside with smiles on their faces).
That smile appears on his face and he approaches, his steps wide and confident. His voice is loud and happy. He talks to her and tries to hit on her but she only gives one-word responses. He continues anyway.
The young man finally runs a hand through his blond hair, trying to make himself look more attractive. The young woman in front of him only blinks and turns her head, causing the snow in her hair to fall off. He jumps onto the bench and dusts the snow off her shoulders. She jerks away, her hand clenching into a fist.
They stay still, eyes on each other's. He laughs and throws his head back, his shoulders shaking and his eyes shut tight with tears threatening to fall. A deep laugh sings to the heavens.
Her mouth tugs at its corners and she frowns.
He gets snow on his boots as she kicks off the snow on her shoes and walks away. He follows but she pushes him away. He continues, though, with that persistence, and she gives up on trying to leave him.
As they walk, he talks to her and she continues giving her short replies. He learns her name and her basics, while she learns his name and those of his family and friends, of his favorite sports, of his favorite foods and drinks, of his thoughts on the day and on her, of his outlook on life and of his achievements.
Her expression is blank as always, but a faint unsteady heat warms the back of her neck. She decides that she likes it.
When they reach her home Ivan is still staring out the window. He blinks at her and then at him. The blond waves his goodbye to Natalia and then runs off, his footsteps already being buried by soft snow.
Ivan speaks to her afterwards more than he usually does. She is overjoyed but she can feel the unspoken threats. Her lips curve up into a smile and she offers to fetch him another drink but Ivan disapproves and sleeps. Her smile drops and she feels a tug at her heart, and she decides to take it out on whoever there is to blame.
The next day he is there, sprawled on the frozen bench. Her feet are anchored to the ground and he waves.
Their meeting after that is quick. It is only when she has stopped her own hand from bringing her cold steel blade against his throat that she realizes why she even bothered coming back.
Yes, there is no dialogue. That's the style of this oneshot.
Please review to give me feedback. It doesn't even have to be specifically constructive criticism, although that is very much appreciated. I just want to know what you think about this short little fic.