Thaw
Slowly, tentatively, it danced.
In the shadow of the night, in the embrace of a darkness that seemed to eat up all traces of light, it danced. One of many kindred, sixfold symmetry simplifying yet obfuscating its geometry, it twirled down through the air, currents pulling it to and fro and granting the illusion of sentience. Of purpose. Of meaning.
It danced, and it danced, and it danced.
Then, irrefutable, inevitable – the ground. The end. Finale.
Oblivion.
There was no encore. Upon impact, the snowflake became indistinguishable. Simply one of hundreds. Thousands. Millions.
One out of five.
A frigid wind blew through the open street, striking at the bones of all who walked its length. A coat, drawn tighter. A scarf, pulled over a mouth. Retreat. Recess. Multitudes, rushing to get home, to escape the night.
Yet, the cold was belied by the warmth of the light which had sprung up along the length of the street. Rows upon rows upon rows of fairy lights, strung together from lamppost to lamppost to lamppost. In a sense, they were almost rhythmic; their repetition, their regularity, their symmetry… there was something comforting about them.
They felt eternal.
Her hands were cold.
She'd been waiting for a while. Ten minutes? No, it was closer to fifteen now.
He wasn't late.
Yet.
People were streaming by, sectioned off into ones and twos, singlets and doublets and more that seemed in their hordes to all blend together. They were moving, and she was still.
She breathed. Her breath hung in the air, visible in the frosty night. Warmth, crystallized by its contact with the cold. She watched it dissipate, equilibrating away into nothingness.
Above her head, the dull ticking sound of a clock, perched at the top of a long pole. Around it, accoutrements of plants and rocks and all sorts of beautifying pleasantries – silently, she wondered if the greenery would survive the snowfall. Turning, her fingers ran across their leaves, down their stems.
So fragile; yet, there was something defiant about the flowers that bent under the slowly accumulating snow. They were bowed, but not broken.
Another breath.
Overhead, the clock ticked on.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Seven o'clock.
The people around her were like water, flowing past in chaotic and turbulent flow. Subconsciously, she drew closer to the frozen flowers behind her; protecting them. Guarding them from the wilderness of their surrounds.
A single finger, wiping away the snow.
Cold.
She looked up, her cheeks red. Another breath, warm. The hands of the clock, slowly turning moment by moment. The time seemed to be crawling, growing agonizingly slower by the second. By the minute. By the year, by the decade, by the century…
By the second.
She looked back down at the flowers, and a quiet feeling, tenuous, sprung up within her breast.
Now he's late.
Even with the snow swept away, even with their burden relieved, the flowers remained bent. The removal of the weight was insufficient to return them to how they'd once been. As her finger gently ran along the petals, she could feel the unease in her chest growing stronger.
She glanced back over at the crowds around her, and her hand tightened on the stone wall that encircled the clock tower.
Her eyes scanned the faces of the faceless horde. Searching. Identifying, cataloguing, discarding. Trying to separate from the noise the signal she wished to see.
His eyes.
Her heart clenched, and she turned back to the flowers.
Where is he?
Uncertainty. Restlessness. Acid in the depth of her stomach, clawing its way around inside her – and a quiet feeling of discontent. The residue of the despair that had once filled her; the certainty of her own worthlessness.
It was mostly gone.
Only ghosts remained.
Fingers, nervously tapping on stone. Eyes darting back and forth. A hand, absent-mindedly wiping snow from her hair.
Her hand tightened on the stone once more.
She glanced up at the clock.
Five past.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Shaking her head, she turned back.
It's just five minutes.
It's fine.
Everything is fine.
She breathed in, the cold air flowing into her lungs, stabbing at her throat; she didn't mind. There was something clean about it. Fresh. Pure. It made her think of spring water, high in the mountains.
She bit her lip, and her eyes rose back up above.
Twenty seconds.
She looked down.
Her jaw tightened.
She looked back at the flowers. Snow had once again begun to gather, weighing the leaves down. Relief was, as ever, temporary.
It was impossible to keep them unburdened forever.
Another breath.
In.
Out.
Visible in the cold, floating away from her.
Her hands were cold.
Her hands were freezing.
They were-
"Yotsuba!"
Her head jerked around, eyes widening.
He's here.
"Fuutarou," she breathed, her shoulders sagging.
"Sorry I'm late," he panted, coming to a halt in front of her. He had clearly been running. "Were you waiting long?"
"N-No…"
His eyes narrowed. "So, you were. How long?"
She looked up at his face. His eyes, his red cheeks, his lips.
He's here!
"It's not important," she said, wrapping herself around his arm. "I'm just glad you made it."
He looked at her for a moment. Then, he shrugged. "Of course. I'm not going to skip out on our date."
She could feel her face breaking into a grin. "Good. Let's go!"
Her hand snuck down his arm, and intertwined with his fingers.
Warm.
She looked up at his face again. Drinking it in, memorizing every detail. Each curve, each dimple, each small little imperfection which made up his everything.
The ghosts faded. A snowflake landed on the back of her other hand, ending its long dance in the dark. As she watched, it melted away; heat destroying its frigid structure, allowing its parts to truly meet, to connect.
Pulling his arm closer, tighter, she smiled.
"Fuutarou?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
His face erupted in red flame, and his eyes widened.
"Where did that come from?"
"Don't worry about it," she laughed. "We have a date to get to!"
"Uh… right."
They walked away, the clock tower and its flowers left in their wake. The acid that had scuttled through her stomach was gone, driven away by his warmth.
"Oh, one second," he said quietly. "You have snow on your shoulders. Let me get that for you."
He let go of her hand, and gently reached up, wiping away the snow that had gathered as she waited. His touch made her shiver… and when he was done, she looked up at him, her heart pounding.
"Yotsuba…"
Wordlessly, she waited. He looked away, his ears a bright red.
"...I love you too."
Quietly, she laughed to herself. Her hand slid back into his – and she began to walk, pulling him along behind her.
Her hands were warm now.
The cold was only temporary. Ephemeral.
Soon, it would be spring.
The thaw had already begun.
A/N: I've been having pretty severe writer's block for my main fanfic that I write, "How We Met Again". I know everything that's to come, but putting it down on a page has been really difficult. Coupled with my work simultaneously getting quite intense and my turn coming around to write a chapter of a relay fic I'm part of, "Sengoku Shuffle: C.R.U.B.B.L.E.", I was feeling very stuck. So, I decided that I wanted to try and just write something short and sweet – a scene of Yotsuba, and her feelings. I envisioned this as taking place relatively early on in their relationship. My hope was that, by writing something separate from my usual writing, I could try and get the creative juices flowing again. I hope you liked it!
