Tendrils of golden brown hair caress the man's face as the wind roughly throws the loose strands towards his right side, his eyes blinking slowly as those soft waves slip across his cheeks and lightly reach out and touch his eyelashes. His curved lips part slowly to allow the persistent wind to have more access to its destination, sliding along his already wind-damaged skin like the gentle touch of a lover.

The sound of his soft laughter manages to stretch over the wind to reach the ears of his observer, said awe-struck fan standing no more than twenty-five feet away with widened eyes and pursed lips. The observer watches as the edge of the vibrant man's black coat flicks off on its own, one side plastering tightly to define the curve of a jean-covered hip. The flaps of the coat coax the observer slowly, waving to him in a wordless invitation.

Flashes of white dance around the man's figure, the slivers of paper no longer important to him like they had been a moment before when they had slid easily out of his hands because of the strong power that is nature. The only thing noticeable in his mind is the observer across from him, fighting his own battle with the wind.

A leather suitcase lays on the concrete where it, too, has carelessly fallen; the gray, uneven concrete is now adorned with shirts and pants, a hat in the distance. Only the observer manages to put a foot out casually and stop another hat from spinning wildly away to never be seen again.

The vibrant man has better plans.

As the observer's boot lands on the rim of his hat, the man throws himself into action and runs towards his fan, his shoes slamming against the pavement silently; he pays absolutely no attention to a white shirt as his feet move right over it and back onto the concrete.

The observer's mind allows him to think of a fairy tale; the fluttering papers being the pure-white snow falling to cover the ground with its innocence while his love dances along the thin surface to meet him in the rose garden. The rose garden is, in actuality, a red shirt shooting passed his face like a bullet, the long sleeve trailing along his cheek for a split second before it is gone.

The man's black coat goes against him now, flying towards the back and reaching cotton fingers towards the open suitcase by the spot where the yellow taxi had let him off. The open flap of the suitcase reaches towards the coat, like friends trying to help one another.

The observer's hair mirrors what his friend's had done a moment before, creating a tender curtain across his face, almost jealously blocking him from the man's sparkling eyes.

The two reach each other, the man becoming one with the wind for nothing more than a second as he leaps into the observer's arms, dropping his face into the delicate curve of a jacket to hide from the stinging air. The observer holds his friend tightly, almost afraid that the wind will once more take him away like it had when the man had to leave what seemed like ages ago. Dark brown intermingles with golden brown as the wind accepts the joining and creates a safe sheath around both the man and observer, allowing them the embrace of lovers and friends.

As the observer presses his face into the warmth of the man's neck, the emotion felt is enough for them both to forget about the strong touch of wind against their clothed bodies.

And the wind, sensing defeat, slows to a calm breeze.

The man's black coat settles back along his body, the observer's arms not allowing his lover the pleasure of leaving his arms. No words are spoken as they slowly pull back and gaze into each others eyes so that familiar souls can once again witness their other halves in person.

Lips meet in a caress much softer than that of the wind's.

And slowly, parting, the man and observer both allow private smiles only meant for each other.