Work Text:
Above, the clock strikes midnight.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just passing by.”
“Midnight, on Christmas Eve.” Her tone is soft: a manifestation of the snow falling crystal-white on velvet-black. “Do you have no where else to be, Terry?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“And you would already have the answer to your own question.”
Silence follows. Their breath plumes pale grey in the air.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have nowhere else to be. Unlike you.”
“Not sure I have somewhere else to be myself.” A pause. “You cold?”
“Are you?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
From behind, arms enfold her in close: an embrace of warm skin, supple leather, and silent comfort. “Better?”
“Yes.”
His cheek rests on a hazy crown of platinum. She feels his breath flutter against her hair. His fingers, bare and chilled, close over hers, nestled in cheap but soft wool. “Melanie?”
“Hmm?”
“…I miss you.”
Her fingers slip entwined with his. And squeeze, tightly. “Can we start over?”
“Go back to the way things were?”
“No. The way things were is why things are the way they are now.” Their shared grip is nearly bruising. “And I hate the way things are.”
“I know.” His face lowers to the curve of her throat. Breathes in her scent: honey, vanilla, and the faint bitter burn of cleaning materials.
“So, can we? Start over?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
His lips are cold on her skin, as he kisses the smooth roll of shoulder. Then the line of her jaw. She turns to face him. His lips are warmer know, as he finds the orbital bone, then the bridge of her nose…and finally her mouth.
“Sealed with a kiss.”
“…Hey, Terry?”
“Hmm?”
“Merry Christmas.”