Day 2: Activities

Arthur loved the snow.

He loved the texture of the snow, the cool flakes melting in his palm and dripping onto the ground below. He loved the feeling of catching snow on his face, chilly, comforting spots across his skin. The cold was the perfect remedy for the heat he despised so much. He loved the fluffiness of the snow drifts and was content to lie there in the snow for hours at a time. He loved it because it didn't remind him of London.

Arthur could imagine the flakes fluttering down, raining diamonds and magic. Pity he would never see the beauty of winter for himself.

He loved everything and anything related to the snow, but his unrivaled favourite was snow angels.

Arthur laid in the snow, in an untouched patch of snow just off the sidewalk. His arms and legs spread out and moving, absently, and he felt the softness of the snow break underneath him, slowly sinking. It was comforting, feeling the cool warmth surrounding him. The snow crunched as his arm continued to move, drawing wings, creating a perfect image of holy innocence.

A few metres away stood a bus stand. Some of the travellers missed Arthur completely, too busy burrowing their noses in a book, fiddling with their phones, or preoccupied with small armies of children. Others noticed Arthur. Couples and small groups leaned in close to whisper about the strange man with the thick eyebrows and empty, soulless green stare behind mittened hands and giggles. Those travelling alone would send off a quick text to their friends, telling them of the 'strange guy making snow angels in the snow omg what if he's homeless!?'. The odd child would walk by, sometimes throwing a handful of snow at Arthur, only to be chided by an accompanying sibling.

But no one considered him worth anymore of their time, their minds preoccupied with Christmas gifts and family reunions. None of them thought to consider that all Arthur really needed was a little companionship. A break from his dark prison, his shattered eyesight the outcome of a fiery accident back in London.

Swish, swish.

Back and forth, up and down, his limbs swung in the snow, pendulums against his body. At some point it had begun to snow, but Arthur embraced the bitter cold on his face. After all, every little feeling counted when one could only see an endless, pitch black emptiness.

Then Arthur heard someone come up to him, snow crunching beneath heavy boots. He felt a body lie down beside him, joining him in the snow. The newcomer repeated the actions, open close, open close. No words were shared, but the silence conveyed so much more than words ever could.

With only the sound of their own breaths, they continued to make angels.

Sometimes the tips of their fingers would brush together. When that happened, the newcomer would lightly close his gloved fingers over Arthur's bare fingers, red with cold, before releasing them just as fast, then continued his angel as if nothing happened at all.

Arthur's thoughts were swimming, blinding images of fiery reds and oranges, replaced by mechanical beeping and limbs strapped to hospital beds, whether a shard of ice could kill a human and then peace. The sun was out. In his mind he was in a field. Rolling green hills. A single marigold, stem snapped in half. So many images overloading his mind. The absurdity of it all pushed Arthur over the edge.

He opened his mouth and laughed, completely lost in a fit of insanity. Or was it sanity? Arthur didn't know, didn't care, just curled up in the ball and rolled around, ruining his angel, laughing until he couldn't possibly have the energy to laugh any more. His stomach was sore from all the laughter.

In the aftermath Arthur lay on the ground, in the snow, catching his breath. The ghost of a smile remained on his lips. Watery green eyes threatening to overflow; it had been a long time since Arthur had heard himself laugh, since he had released such an unbashful declaration of joy.

It was a duly needed change.

Beside him, his companion, an American just barely out of his teens, grinned. "Today's a perfect day for snow angels, yeah? Name's Alfred Jones." He stuck a hand out towards Arthur.

Arthur lips curved up a bit more, ever so slightly.

"Yes. It's always a fine time for a snow angel."

Empty green pools stared blankly ahead, unaware and ignorant of the hand offered to him.

You know, I think these were supposed to be happy prompts for fluffy holiday cheer. Whoops.

I don't own Hetalia^^