Author's Note: Wakaba's hobby, by the way, is not canon by any means. It was a cute mental image, though.
Beware of unsubtle parallels and renegade weather patterns.
-,--
"You don't know any dance steps, but I do.
I don't know why I love you like I do."
--Elvis Presley, "(You're So Square, Baby) I Don't Care"
Christmas was cold, and the weeks after were colder. There was some mild speculation in the Bureau that the weather might be a reflection of the stinging cold fronts moving through the living world; one rumour put forward the theory that it was because humans tended to get more depressed or desperate in the depths of winter and the high heat of summer.
In the afterlife, the chill was an irritation, but it was a bearable one. For one thing, it did terribly interesting things to his co-workers' wardrobes: everyone was wearing scarves and long coats and high-necked sweaters. Even 003 puffed herself up to preen feathers that were slightly more grey and white than they had been during the fall.
For another, he found that the weather made a great excuse to test their limits again.
He sidled up too close to Tatsumi when they walked home; he slid cold hands under Tatsumi's sweater when they were alone in the break room. He edged them a half-step closer to being public each time, and each time the reaction was the same--an almost angry hiss, a sudden stiffening or a sharp word about please keeping his hands to himself where people might see. It was irritating, he knew, and he apologised for it with the small gestures he knew would loosen the tension in Tatsumi's shoulders, but the fact was that he couldn't help acting on his curiosity.
Besides, as much fun as he was in bed or on a date, he really had to lighten up and learn how to take a joke.
The temperature dropped again midway through January, and for the first time Watari noticed that Tatsumi actually shivered in the sharp air when they walked home from work together. That was strange, and it shocked him into silence the first evening he saw it--after all, if Tatsumi was anything he was solid, strong against nearly everything and thick-skinned against annoyances. A shiver that came from chill rather than fingers along the back of his neck was a silent admission of imperfection.
On the second evening, he paused, and found himself tugging his scarf away from his neck. Tatsumi raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth as if to protest--but then Watari reached up with a quick gesture and looped the scarf around his neck instead, over the collar of his coat, and the smile that passed between them then was distinctly awkward.
The third evening was grey, not like steel or stone, just heavy and dark and very slightly blue. This time they talked a little, vague nothings about the work day and the rather lumpy scarf Wakaba-chan was knitting for her partner.
Something brushed Watari's cheek, and he glanced up. Tatsumi's hands were still buried in his pockets, but he had stopped walking, face tilted up towards the sky.
Light, cold touches, like lines painted with a hair-thin brush, skimmed across his cheeks and stirred his hair...
Snow.
"Hey," he heard himself saying, a smile already tugging at his lips. "Hey, finally--"
A shadow, thin and fuzzy under the weak light, spilled across his shoulder. He turned his head, and the lines of Tatsumi's gloved palm were firm against his jaw.
"Um," he began, suddenly aware that his pulse was overloud in his ears. "Seiichiro, what--"
And the rest of the words were lost, consumed by the warmth and pressure of Tatsumi's mouth on his.
He knew his eyes were wide, but he couldn't see anything. His hands were tingling, and numbness was starting to gather in his fingertips; he knew it wasn't the cold. They were within five minutes of the main office complex--in all likelihood, anyone on the front steps would have seen them--and it was snowing, and they were kissing.
No, that wasn't quite right. He was still taut with surprise; Tatsumi was starting to pull away.
The cold suddenly made no difference at all.
In a swift movement, he hooked his arms around Tatsumi's neck and pulled himself closer; he felt a warm hand at the small of his back in the heartbeat before he closed his eyes. The wind picked up, a little colder, a little sharper; there was snow melting in his hair and on the edges of his collar and he barely felt it.
It was Tatsumi who pulled back first, who offered him a more confident version of his usual uncertain smile--something not shy, but not sure of itself either.
"I've always wondered what it would be like," he said quietly, "to--do that, in the snow."
Watari felt something under his collarbone shake and bristle. The world started tunneling around him, closing over his head as if he were in free fall and hurtling towards something razor-sharp. Something like panic flared in him, briefly, lit up his veins in electric blue; something screamed run, retreat, fire at will, this wasn't supposed to happen.
Then it was gone, and a dizzy, effervescent peace flowed in its place, coming in like the tide.
"See," he heard himself saying, "that's the fun thing about the scientific method."
Tatsumi laughed, and let his hand drop from Watari's face; the touch left tiny streaks of electricity under his skin. "You're hopeless."
The best and worst of it, Watari thought, was that he was right.
Beware of unsubtle parallels and renegade weather patterns.
-,--
"You don't know any dance steps, but I do.
I don't know why I love you like I do."
--Elvis Presley, "(You're So Square, Baby) I Don't Care"
Christmas was cold, and the weeks after were colder. There was some mild speculation in the Bureau that the weather might be a reflection of the stinging cold fronts moving through the living world; one rumour put forward the theory that it was because humans tended to get more depressed or desperate in the depths of winter and the high heat of summer.
In the afterlife, the chill was an irritation, but it was a bearable one. For one thing, it did terribly interesting things to his co-workers' wardrobes: everyone was wearing scarves and long coats and high-necked sweaters. Even 003 puffed herself up to preen feathers that were slightly more grey and white than they had been during the fall.
For another, he found that the weather made a great excuse to test their limits again.
He sidled up too close to Tatsumi when they walked home; he slid cold hands under Tatsumi's sweater when they were alone in the break room. He edged them a half-step closer to being public each time, and each time the reaction was the same--an almost angry hiss, a sudden stiffening or a sharp word about please keeping his hands to himself where people might see. It was irritating, he knew, and he apologised for it with the small gestures he knew would loosen the tension in Tatsumi's shoulders, but the fact was that he couldn't help acting on his curiosity.
Besides, as much fun as he was in bed or on a date, he really had to lighten up and learn how to take a joke.
The temperature dropped again midway through January, and for the first time Watari noticed that Tatsumi actually shivered in the sharp air when they walked home from work together. That was strange, and it shocked him into silence the first evening he saw it--after all, if Tatsumi was anything he was solid, strong against nearly everything and thick-skinned against annoyances. A shiver that came from chill rather than fingers along the back of his neck was a silent admission of imperfection.
On the second evening, he paused, and found himself tugging his scarf away from his neck. Tatsumi raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth as if to protest--but then Watari reached up with a quick gesture and looped the scarf around his neck instead, over the collar of his coat, and the smile that passed between them then was distinctly awkward.
The third evening was grey, not like steel or stone, just heavy and dark and very slightly blue. This time they talked a little, vague nothings about the work day and the rather lumpy scarf Wakaba-chan was knitting for her partner.
Something brushed Watari's cheek, and he glanced up. Tatsumi's hands were still buried in his pockets, but he had stopped walking, face tilted up towards the sky.
Light, cold touches, like lines painted with a hair-thin brush, skimmed across his cheeks and stirred his hair...
Snow.
"Hey," he heard himself saying, a smile already tugging at his lips. "Hey, finally--"
A shadow, thin and fuzzy under the weak light, spilled across his shoulder. He turned his head, and the lines of Tatsumi's gloved palm were firm against his jaw.
"Um," he began, suddenly aware that his pulse was overloud in his ears. "Seiichiro, what--"
And the rest of the words were lost, consumed by the warmth and pressure of Tatsumi's mouth on his.
He knew his eyes were wide, but he couldn't see anything. His hands were tingling, and numbness was starting to gather in his fingertips; he knew it wasn't the cold. They were within five minutes of the main office complex--in all likelihood, anyone on the front steps would have seen them--and it was snowing, and they were kissing.
No, that wasn't quite right. He was still taut with surprise; Tatsumi was starting to pull away.
The cold suddenly made no difference at all.
In a swift movement, he hooked his arms around Tatsumi's neck and pulled himself closer; he felt a warm hand at the small of his back in the heartbeat before he closed his eyes. The wind picked up, a little colder, a little sharper; there was snow melting in his hair and on the edges of his collar and he barely felt it.
It was Tatsumi who pulled back first, who offered him a more confident version of his usual uncertain smile--something not shy, but not sure of itself either.
"I've always wondered what it would be like," he said quietly, "to--do that, in the snow."
Watari felt something under his collarbone shake and bristle. The world started tunneling around him, closing over his head as if he were in free fall and hurtling towards something razor-sharp. Something like panic flared in him, briefly, lit up his veins in electric blue; something screamed run, retreat, fire at will, this wasn't supposed to happen.
Then it was gone, and a dizzy, effervescent peace flowed in its place, coming in like the tide.
"See," he heard himself saying, "that's the fun thing about the scientific method."
Tatsumi laughed, and let his hand drop from Watari's face; the touch left tiny streaks of electricity under his skin. "You're hopeless."
The best and worst of it, Watari thought, was that he was right.