Snowflake

He brushes the snowflake out of her hair with a touch that is surprisingly gentle, but it is swiftly replaced by half a dozen more, and he gives up the losing battle with a laugh.

"Who'd have thought? Sensible, rational Molly standing outside in the freezing cold just to watch the snow."

She glances at him, a little bit embarrassed, but not really because it's Lysander.

"I know," she says teasingly, "It's usually you who wants to do crazy things. But snow's special. Don't you think?"

He raises his eyebrows.

"We could watch it just as easily from inside." He is testing her, and she knows it. Because their roles are reversed; it's usually her pointing out the sensible option, and him insisting on the ridiculous one. He's always known that this side of Molly existed, but she's only started to let him see it recently – and he likes it.

"Not the same," she murmurs, and he smiles, and leans down to kiss the snowflake that's just landed on her nose, melting it under his lips.

"No. Not the same at all."