::snow:: :)

[thrihyrne]

I just stood outside for a little bit, watching the snow fall, enjoying the quiet. It just put me at peace, watching the flakes as their patterns shifted around the streetlight. I also have a slab of chocolate generously sent from matildabishop that I've been gnawing on a bit; that's lovely too.

In honor of our unexpected snow, here's just a wee snippet that fits in this wee universe begun here.


"What do you mean it's snowing? You're bloody having me on! It's April!" Dean growled, but Seamus wouldn't be deterred.

"Yes, it's snowing. Come outside, you berk, if you don't believe me. Come on," Seamus insisted, pulling Dean up from the couch where he'd been lying down, listening to some obscure wizarding audio book about werewolves in Scotland.

"I was comfortable, y'know," Dean muttered, shaking Seamus off. "And I know where the door is. I can get around without your help."

"I know. Git," Seamus said with a smile as Dean navigated their furniture flawlessly, though he did keep one hand out in front of him.

They went out onto the small porch where the uncharacteristically cold and quiet air dampened the usual hubub of a London Friday night. Dean paused where he stood, his sightless eyes looking left and right while Seamus just stared upward into the night, blinking when the flakes fell onto his face. He stuck out his tongue, catching what flakes fell on it before they melted.

Dean had shoved his hands into his pockets, but upturned his face, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths through his nose. "Bloody hell," he said under his breath. "It's not supposed to snow this time of year."

The night was muffled in a hushed way only made possible by snow, encouraging Seamus' chatty nature to be quiet as well. He was enraptured by the swirls and mini whorled patterns made when the slight breeze danced in the airy dusting, and he wished he had the kind of eloquence to describe it to Dean, even though he could probably envision it in his mind's eye well enough. It seemed natural to be almost motionless, simply watching the unexpected return of winter.

"There's not that much, is there?" Dean asked quietly, pulling a hand from his pocket to hold it out, evidently wanting to feel the faint snowy caress.

"No. It's beautiful, though." Seamus made a slight scuffling with his feet, letting Dean know he'd moved away to the edge of the railing. "Doubt it'll stick, but it's right gorgeous, falling pretty steadily. Really small flakes," he added, trying to add a bit of visual for his best friend.

"Mmmmm."

Dean took a hand and rubbed at the little bit that had clung to his forehead and eyebrows, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Pretty odd."

"Yeah."

Seamus shivered, thrusting his hands up into his armpits, but unwilling to go back inside just yet.

"Are you supposed to make a wish or anything with something like this? Like a shooting star?" Dean asked, turning to face Seamus.

Seamus gave him a look of disdain and rolled his eyes, even though he knew Dean couldn't see it. "No. But the next one I do see, I'll give you my wish. I already have mine."

Dean's brows furrowed. "I find that hard to believe. Fred's still being an arse. You're not getting any, though I'm sure you could if you wanted."

Seamus made a rude noise. "Could if I wanted, sure. Thanks for that." He walked past Dean, heading back inside their flat. Dean followed with a last deep inhale and exhale, his breath hovering visibly for a few seconds until it vanished into the chill. "I'd always wished for happiness, to be around someone who actually wanted to be with me. I mean, I'm quite a catch, but things haven't always worked out," he said pragmatically, though the bruising on his heart from his unexpectedly short, but torrid time with Fred was still quite raw. "You put up with me."

Dean's lips quirked to the side as he made his way into the kitchen, heading for the pantry with the teas and coffee. "Yes, I do. Ought to be sainted, I suppose."

Seamus snorted as he closed the door, feeling oddly at peace despite the strange weather and his definite solo romantic status. "Yeah. Saint Thomas. 'Fraid that title's already been taken." He put on the kettle, finding some ancient hot chocolate while Dean sniffed at a few of the tea bags until he found an herbal raspberry one and placed it on the counter. "Still, we've a good life, you and me."

"Only you could get heartbroken and become a sentimental poof," Dean said with a wide smile, edging backward in anticipation of a friendly clocking Seamus was only too happy to provide.