The window is always open.
Sara complains about the chill in the air every single night.
Nyssa just laughs. The draft reminds her of her home in Nanda Parbat, she says, with its glassless windows and her room on the top floor. It reminds her of her solace in her childhood, when she'd be bloody and bruised and find peaceful quiet on top of the roof. It reminds her off their first date, with chilly winter wind the only thing able to fit between them that night.
So, Sara lets Nyssa keep her window open. Her only conditions are that they spend extra time warming up and cuddle throughout the night. Nyssa agrees to this easily.
Nyssa brings her mother's old rocking chair to permanently be next to the window and sits there every night. Sara always claims a spot on her lap, a mug in one hand and a blanket pulled over the both of them. They share kisses and tea as they watch the city lights.
;
After the funeral, Sara comes back home–their home. Her pillows are torn and the suit that got her killed lays in shreds on the floor and Sara throws away the tea she always hated anyway.
She approaches the chair with tears blurring her vision and her own blood on her hands, ready to smash it into as many pieces as her heart is. She freezes when a bitter draft blows over her skin.
She collapses onto the chair, crying and sobbing and screaming into her hands until she can't breathe anymore, but, really, she hasn't been able to since that gun shot went off.
She shivers and shakes all throughout the night without anyone to hold her anymore.
The window stays open.
AN: This was not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. If you spot any spelling or grammatical errors, please inform me so that I may fix them.
Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow.
Constructive criticism welcome, and reviews FEED MY DEMONIC POWERS! BWA HA HA!