Not even five minutes later, the powdery white snow crunched underneath their boots as they walked together the streets of Tokyo with no real destination in mind, the air around them a companiable silence. Unlike most people, Alastor found that they could just work as well without making too much small talk.
Although it would have been preferable.
He kind of likes hearing her talk…
But ah, this is still progress in his book. And after everything, Alastor thinks that the two of them are finally now on the same page, for once. Her gloved hand engulfed with his own was a pretty solid proof of that.
Alastor couldn’t quite hide his smile at that.
“It must be too cold for the others,” he noted, looking around them. And now that he mentioned it, it was true. Not many people crossed their path.
And the few who did seemed only intent on getting back into their own warm homes or other establishments rather quickly than being out in the cold far longer than necessary as the snow was something out of the blue.
Winters only hums in answer.
Once they had wandered around far enough from the hotel and there were no building anywhere near in sight to provide them proper protection against the constant icy breeze (not like it really bothered the two of them), Alastor quickly realized they had somehow found themselves somewhere near an open field… a school playground from the looks of it.
Otherwise, it was relatively deserted.
Alastor instinctively sticks closer to his mate’s side when he felt her hovering closely. Even though she had been the one to tell him to get a coat, Winters hasn’t really bothered wearing a scarf or even a hat.
And now, the snow stubbornly clings to her hair.
…She looks like she has a halo of white.
Or glitters on her hair.
Clicking his tongue, Alastor gently patted some of the powdery white off of her. It didn’t even melt against her, only stubbornly clinging against the thick strands of her hair. “Does the cold affect you?”
“The cold never bothered me anyway.”
He paused, “…Was that a movie reference?”
“No. That was a fact.”
The dryness in her voice was quite at odds with the amused glimmer in her eyes. And it didn’t even give Alastor a second to burst out laughing, giving her hair one last pat as he did, “Eh, hahaha, okay. That’s cool. I just wanted to see this with you actually.”
“You know we could just watch from a window?”
“Experiencing it is different from just seeing,” he retorts.
“Well, aren’t you cold?” Winters asked, brows raising as she looked at him from head to toe, “…maybe you should have worn earmuffs or something more… warmer?”
“Look who’s talking,” he teased.
Compared to him, Winters only has her usual black trench coat and gloves. At least, Alastor has a scarf and a knit cap (that he found in his coat’s pocket) on him. She’s practically underdressed for the weather.
“I just told you that the weather doesn’t affect me.”
“And I’m fine, Winters,” Alastor insisted, waving a hand. At the look on her face, Alastor can feel a charmed grin making its way to his face, “Actually… did you know that wolves do quite well during the winter season? It’s actually warm temperatures that bothers us, especially when we had to shift.”
She blinks, “It’s because of all that fur, isn’t it?”
Alastor nods, giving her a thumb’s up. “Bingo! You see, regular wolves are equipped with a double coat of fur, which allows them to endure temperatures as low as -40°F… although I haven’t really tried going for something that cold myself. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine, Winters.”
She only hums in response, yet her shoulders visibly relaxed a bit, making Alastor chuckle, squeezing her hand appreciatively. Winters really had been worried about him, hadn’t she?
How cute.
“Besides,” he continued, before stopping.
As if on cue, Winters stopped as well, staring at him curiously, and Alastor nodded at the landscape around them—most of the snow that has already fallen still untouched, pristine, and pure in its glittering white brightness, the entire world still and silent like a landscape painting… a real winter wonderland come to life.
“…it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
There was no answer at that, and when the silence has gone long enough that it made Alastor pause and look back, wondering what has gotten her so unresponsive yet again.
But much to Alastor’s surprise, Winters was only staring at him when their gazes met, her eyes crinkling a bit as she no doubt, caught his initial confusion, a real, proper smile curling at the edges of her lips, making her face appear gentler, a whole lot softer amidst the glow of the streetlights.
The snow and stars above them, witnessing.
Reaching out to tuck the scarf more firmly around his neck, gloved knuckles brushing over his cheek as she did—a faint chill against his too-warm skin—Winters finally answered, “It is. Thank you, Alastor.”
. . .
“They watched the snow fall and fall and fall until they thought that they were the ones falling.”
―Ann Patchett
. . .
“What’s your favorite season?”
She raised an eyebrow at the question as they continued walking, this time, in search for a bench to sit on. They’ve been walking for quite some time, after all.
“…That’s kind of a given now, isn’t it?”
Alastor chuckled, “No way. It’s winter?”
“Ha. No, I actually preferred the autumn season.”
“Huh. Well, I really love winter… the season, I mean, it’s usually snowing or very cold back from where I came from, so yeah. I guess I’m more used to the temperature and I prefer it like this.”
“I somehow thought you’d prefer spring…”
“Well, I thought you’d prefer winter since it’s your name.”
She gives him a strange look for a moment but says nothing. After that, there was only the sound of their breath and the usual crunch of their (or more like, Alastor’s) boots between them as they kept walking.
Winters seemed to ponder on something, gaze slowly becoming distant as she stares somewhere off ahead, that familiar look she had on her face something Alastor has soon come to recognize it as whenever she becomes much too engrossed with her thoughts. Most of the time, Winters doesn’t say anything about whatever she’s thinking whenever she got in this particular kind of mood and Alastor doesn’t like to seem invasive, so he doesn’t really ask, even if he has to bite his tongue or was left to stew in curiosity.
(Alastor would rather that she reveal her thoughts to him if and when she feels comfortable enough to share or even talk something about him. He’d like to respect her privacy, thank you very much.)
But apparently, this time wasn’t one of them.
He almost missed it when Winters suddenly began to talk, her voice soft even amidst the seemingly quiet stillness, “…I have never liked this season.”
Alastor tries to blink back his surprise.
“Wait, seriously?”
Her eyes glimmered in amusement, “Yes.”
“Winter was practically the norm from where I came from… so I get used to it.” Alastor says, rubbing at the back of his neck as he grins sheepishly at her. “Anyway, why not? It’s pretty.”
She hums, “I don’t like the cold.”
“But I thought it doesn’t affect you?”
“Okay, then. I don’t like how gloomy it is.”
“You don’t like its atmosphere?” an incredulous laugh escapes him as he absentmindedly brushed off some snow that was gathering on the top of her head again, “Wow, talk about irony.”
She chuckles, the sound soft and lilting, as she slightly raises a fisted hand against her smiling lips, “Indeed. Just imagine my displeasure when I experienced my first winter season… kind of annoying since I had been named after said season.”
Unbidden, Alastor tried.
He tried to wrack his brain, his imagination scrambling and trying to create a picture of a younger Winters in his mind’s eye; one that has still baby fat on her face and perhaps a whole lot shorter than she was now, taking in the sight of her first snowfall with eyes round, and much more expressive… and immediately gives up because he realizes that he just can’t.
Because Alastor had absolutely idea of what she could have possibly looked like back then, what she had been like before becoming the goddess of shadows.
The image of Winters Veil being a child proved too hard to even imagine, let alone grasp that she too, had been a little kid once upon a time. Something about his mate prohibits it, some otherworldly quality—her movements are far too smooth, with a sort of grace that shifts so easily from elegance to violence, her gaze far too steady or face far too calm. No one can look at her in the eye and not instinctively know that she is different somehow, the same way an animal intuitively recognizes a predator.
Still, Alastor couldn’t help the wistful smile blooming on his face as he playfully nudges her shoulder, “Oh man, what would I have given just to see you throwing a tantrum over frozen water…!”
She huffs, lips curled in amusement.
“So…” Alastor fidgets for a moment with the ends of his scarf, trying to pick out the proper words without sounding too persistent. He was just curious, is all. “Winters? Where were you from, really?”
The question hangs in the air between them.
And Alastor tries not to wince at the way her smile shifts, looking more like a grimace as her eyes suddenly becomes a little sad. He suddenly regrets asking what was supposedly an innocent question.
Even after all this time, personal information was still a difficult subject to talk about for her, let alone broach… although she had wordlessly given him the green light to ask as much as he wanted from her all those weeks ago, back in the private resort she and her brother had briefly stayed at.
“I… you don’t have to answer,” he tries.
“I no longer remember the name of the place,” Winters suddenly says at the same time, unblinking, “…but I do remember it being a small, seaside town. Me and William… we used to live in a summer house. It was a private property owned by our maternal grandfather.”
“Oh. So you came from a really big fam–”
“Like the Northern pack, that place was usually so cold. Snow falls so early compared to the other countries… it was nothing beautiful like this,” she says, as though she hasn’t heard him, hasn’t been interrupted. Winters’s free hand gestured at the scenery around them, encompassing it as she slowly clenches her hand to a fist. “And as the months go on, everything becomes frozen solid. Dangerous.”
Alastor suddenly feels like he had come across on something he shouldn’t have. Something that should have been better off left alone.
He shuddered despite himself, feeling a different sort of chill in the air, as he pressed himself closer to her side, for once, wishing that she would remain tight lip about this. “You know… I think I prefer this kind of winter.”
When Winters smiled, it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. Alastor’s heart clenched painfully at the sight, and he barely swallowed back a sigh.
There was landmine there, a sore spot from somewhere within that particular topic about her old home, a shadow from the past that creeped in and stayed. He didn’t know what, exactly has bothered her but he recalled the clear, impersonal way she described of what could have possibly been her hometown.
The memories couldn’t have been good things, then, judging by the way her shoulders had locked up in a familiar stance that Alastor has now come to recognize as almost defense, her gaze turning distant again.
Damn it.
How could he have messed this up?
Alastor just wanted to show her a romantic view, especially since the first snowfall was practically a special event in this country, not digging up painful, old memories…
Wondering how he could possibly salvage this, Alastor let his gaze wander. The air between them had shifted into a sort of depressing one, but the landscape around them still remains the same and absolutely useless even in its beauty. Who would have thought that talking about something as innocent as the seasons could ruin–
Alastor could have sworn a light bulb just lit up in his brain. He paused, subtly looking back at Winters who had already sat down on a bench in front of them.
She had that sad look in her face again.
And that was all he need to get his resolve.
He would put a real smile back on that face.
Winters must have sensed the clear intent coming off from his stare as he backed up a few steps from her because she suddenly looked up at him, her gaze zeroing on him as he bent down and get to work, “Alastor, what are you–?”
…only to receive a projectile of snow face-first.
“Headshot!” Alastor declared, grinning proudly to himself as he watched, appreciating the full view of the snow hitting her on the face, the way her hair and skin was snow splattered with powders of white.
He rather liked this look on her.
Winters, caught off guard by a mere snowball.
Oh, sometimes life is just too good.
Even he could tell that getting hit by a snowball is the last thing she expected, judging by how she did not (could not) react at that. She didn’t even move to dodge!
Oh, no. Instead, she had gone still as a statue on the bench, eyes still wide and mouth slightly agape as she stares blankly at him, as though her mind was still reeling from the shock that was the snowball, still processing and scrambling over what the hell just happened.
Alastor tries not to laugh.
He swears he really did.
Biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from outright cackling (never mind that his cheeks already hurt from grinning too widely, too much now), Alastor made a show of scooping up his next snowball, eyes never leaving her’s, a hint of challenge in his gaze.
“Deer on the headlights is such a good look on you, sweetheart, you should wear it more often,” he taunts, patting his snowball to perfection, “…The goddess of shadows, done in by a mere snowball!”
Her eyes instantly narrowed into a glare.
Alastor tries to keep his heart beat normal as he can all but see the moment she had snapped out of her stupor, because he still wasn’t sure if Winters possessed supernatural hearing like him. He could only hope that he hadn’t made things worse.
He just hopes she understands.
That she sees right through his intentions.
Because he doesn’t like seeing her look so sad. He doesn’t like knowing that something bothers her, and he couldn’t even do a thing about it, because I can’t erase the pain, or your past… so Winters, let’s just make new memories. Happier ones, anything to make you smile… okay?
“What was that?” she demanded.
He shrugs, “…A snowball.”
“And you think it’s a good idea to throw one?”
“The best, so far, actually,” he goads, throwing the snowball up and down in his hand, “What do you say we have a little snowball fight, princess? Or are you afraid of dirtying your pretty little nails?”
“You are going to eat those words,” she says lightly, too lightly, the warning sitting higher up in the inhuman sharpness and gleam in her eyes of black, and Alastor tries to hide the chill that ran down his spine at those menacing (and kind of hot) words.
“Big talk for someone who’s gotten a mouthful of snow.”
When Winters slowly stood up from the bench, every single movement sleek and filled with intent, lips curling in a familiar smirk, Alastor could have sworn he can hear the unspoken challenge accepted, making him grin wolfishly in return.
Now, that’s better.