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Winter's air was cold and clear on that afternoon, and of course the children loved it. They weren't the only ones either, if the streets of Miranda were any indication. Everywhere you looked people were walking in the streets, stopping every now and then to have a chat with friends they hadn't seen for a long time (at least half a day, I would have been willing to bet) and only every now and then would you see a couple ducking into one of the cafes along Whitstone Road or hastening their steps to get home faster.
It was the same every winter, and just as I did every year, I wondered briefly if the city had gone mad overnight with the first cold winds from the Cobalts.
Still, I couldn't quite blame the wind for its presence or its lack of a more agreeable temperature when it swirled into the room the moment the door was opened and Hal stormed in, his face red from the cold he brought with him, his eyes bright with whatever new excitement the day had presented.
I had, predictably enough, been sitting by the fireplace, skimming through my books in search of a poem that would fit the season well enough without indulging in descriptions of white, immaculate snow that went on far longer than could possibly be good for my sanity. It had not been a very successful search.
I looked up just in time to see Hal open his mouth and take a deep breath before he seemed to reconsider and closed it again without having said anything. Instead, he smirked.
That was unusual. Hal was, of course, far more inclined to open smiles and gestures that gave away what he was thinking, but he was not nearly as easy to read now as he had been a year ago, at least for most people. Studying at the 'Versity suited him well.
"Guess what I found at the library." he said then, closing the door behind him and stepping closer to the fireplace and me before he began to remove his cloak. I resisted making the most obvious guess and teased him instead.
"I thought actually finding anything at the library was nearly impossible." He liked to complain about it, half joking and half serious, whenever he came home later than usual, just like today, when I had returned from my official business at the Basquiat sooner than he had from his lectures. Today, he merely shrugged and rummaged in his bag for whichever book it was that he had brought with him.
"You took--"
"They aren't going to miss it." he said before I could actually voice a reproach.
Sneaking books out of the library was probably something every 'Versity student did eventually. Every teacher too, if Adamo was any indication, but I wasn't about to reveal that. As long as the books were returned to their proper places sooner rather than later, and as long as they weren't taken from the more highly guarded sections, it wasn't going to cause any undue commotion.
Still, it wasn't a behaviour that Hal had indulged in before, and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in question when he had finally located the book. He held it in such a way that I couldn't make out its title.
"Here," he said, and offered it to me. He looked almost worried then, as if he suddenly wasn't so sure anymore whether or not this idea of his had been a good one, so I hurried to accept the book. The leather bindings bespoke its high quality and it seemed to be fairly old, but it obviously hadn't seen many readers in its days. Judging from both title and author, that was hardly a surprise. I couldn't hide a smile.
"Ke-Han poetry..." My voice dropped to a whisper when I ran my fingers across the spine and opened the book to touch the pages. To think that something like this was sitting on the shelves of Thremedon's 'Versity, of all places... Except for the one battered volume I owned, I had not held one of their works in my hands since the war. To think that one had been so close all the time, and in such a good condition too--
I looked up again at Hal, and whatever he saw in my face then made him smile that open smile I knew and loved so well.
"You like it?" he asked, even though I was certain he knew the answer already.
"Of course I do." I nonetheless answered. True, it wasn't quite as illegal to own their poetry, their romans, their art since the Treaty, but it was still frowned upon, even at the 'Versity and certainly among the residents of the Basquiat who had every reason to look at anything created by the Ke-Han with less than benevolent eyes.
But of course Hal had paid attention, he always did, and of course he knew how to take my mind off the cold, even if the means he chose were fairly ironic. Not that it mattered.
"I thought we could read some of it later this evening." he said after several moments in which I couldn't take my eyes off the pages. The book was a treasure, true. It was also true that it wasn't going to run away.
"Later, hmm?" I held a hand out to him, laid the book down at the table beside me.
"Later." he repeated and took my hand. I drew him towards me and onto my lap as I settled more comfortably into my chair by the fireside.
His fingers were still cold where he had held onto his bag. Even his lips where cold when I kissed him, but I couldn't bring myself to mind. I tangled my own fingers with his hair, shorter now than it had been when I'd first met him, but still long enough to toy with, and chuckled when he mirrored me, brushing the grey at my temples the way he seemed to enjoy (even if I never quite understood why).
"You know the best thing about this?" he asked then, a little breathless, still smiling (and I remembered how I had wondered, on that first day in Nevers, how a single person could smile so much, and now I found myself more than willing to do the same) and still beautiful.
"There's a dedication on the first page." he explained. I was reluctant to take my hand off him, so I just looked up at him expectantly.
He laid a hand on my chest, and it was cold even through the fabric, but the shudder that ran through my body was altogether too pleasant to protest.
"It says 'To Everyone who has seen the Beauty of the Mountains and the Spirits of Winter'." I laughed and mumbled something about the Ke-Han having a very strange sense of humour indeed, and then Hal kissed me again and I forgot about the book - or the cold. There was no place for it between him and me and the fire on a winter's evening in Thremedon.