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“You guys won’t believe this,” exclaims Miles, bursting into the Rooster Teeth kitchen and causing the late night staff to jump with scalding coffee. “It’s fucking snowing.”
The disgruntled murmurs and whispered insults stop dead in their tracks, childlike glee filling the room. You frown, confused. “What’s the big deal? It’s just cold.”
Mile sucks in an offended breath, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction as the others rush out into the night. “How dare you, do you hate all things good in this world?!”
You shrug, playing with the bottle of water in your hands, fingers piggling at the wrapper. “I’ve gone my whole life without seeing snow, I don’t see the appeal.”
“That’s cus you’re Australian and run with water in your lungs,” counters Miles, standing with his hands on his hips.
Your eyebrow quirks before furrowing. “That’s not how humidity works, asshole.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Miles lashes out and hooks a hand around your elbow, jerking you after him as he weaves through the room and towards the door. “What matters is this!”
The wood swings open to reveal the car park, dusted in silence and snow. Swirling from the clouds and drifting through the sky, flakes catch in your hair as you draw in a breath, rocked with the beauty you’d only experienced through sappy movies that left your tongue bitter.
But you’re smiling, Miles’ hand holding yours as you stare at the sky and then to your co-workers, their shrieking joy piercing the quite night – and you can’t tell if they’re high on sugar and caffeine, or just Christmas cheer.
Miles lets go, backing into the snowfall with a beam splitting his cheeks and arms wide. “You still think it’s not a big deal?”
“Shut up,” you say around tentative, gentle steps, trying to memorise the soft crunches beneath your feet. “This is pretty cool.”
“You know what else is cool?”
He doesn’t give you time to respond, the clumsy snowball colliding with your shoulder with a heavy thud. You rock back, clutching the area as curses slip from your lips, fingers freezing. But he’s laughing in the face of your glare, doubling over in childish laughter.
“You’re fucked, Luna.”
Miles’ remains unfazed by your threat until you’re tackling him, his body instinctively curling around yours to cushion the blow of the ground. Winded and aching, it takes a moment for him to let you go, your head lifting from his chest to see your friends following your lead and lying on their backs. Something hits your side and you glance back to Miles as his hand swipes past your thigh, smiling.
“What’re you doing?”
“Snow angels!”
You lie back down, watching the sky shed snowflakes in wonder. “Cool.”