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The cold invigorated Ivan down to the bone and he hated it.
If only he could live on a tropical island, soaking in the warm sand and getting himself drunk on the sunset. All of the fun happy things happened where and when it was warm. What waited in the winter besides ugly sludge and ice waiting for someone to slip on it? Even if he did not take that business deal in Canada, biology shackled him to the snow. A warm, tropical island would melt him to a sickness.
Fantasizing of the improbable and impossible may have made his heart ache, but it kept his mind away from the blur of color and extraneous background noise.
"Stop 3G."
The bubble popped, and Ivan was once more faced with reality.
He was alone on the train from work. A breadth of no less than five seats sat between him and the gaggling of other riders, pushed and huddled to the front of the car. He was alone in Canada. He left his sisters in Russia to pursue more money in legal, healthy, and oh-so mundane ways. He was alone in the world.
Snow sprites, even in the frigid nations, were few and far in between. They were geographically stuck on their cold rocks, and who wanted more cold with the cold?
Ivan's eyes ran over the leathery red seats. Six seats, actually, were between him and the closest person. He couldn't help it. The bad thoughts ate him up like the cold. If only he could withstand warmer weather like those lucky heat sprites could stave off the chill! He could pose as a walking popsicle for those that sweat. A good cool-down from the sun. A way to stop ice cream from melting so fast! An excuse for people to crowd him with smiles. He didn't particularly desire to be crowded, but the existence of a snow-wielder was doomed to be a lonely one. Different problems he did not have seemed kinder than the ones he did have.
The train rolled to a stop, and a voice came across the intercom, "Stop 3F."
The crowd drained and replenished. Just a few more stops until Ivan could be home.
A trio of elderly women laughed their way through, lightheartedly smacking one another with their purses and butting each other with their canes. The one in the walker paused after Ivan's seat and exclaimed, "Oh! Do you feel that? There's a draft!"
"Let's see if there's anything up front."
With a clack of heels and wheels, the only people to have come close to Ivan were gone.
Every day it was like this. He even had his own private cubicle in the office. They said it was due to him being an overseas intern and needed 'secluded guidance,' but he knew why. Every day, but he was made of ice and ice was bound to crack.
The train picked up again, and Ivan tucked his chin into his scarf and closed his eyes. Just a few more stops. A loveseat in front of a boxed TV. Iced vodka before bed. His fingers twitched, thinking of his knitting tucked inside his shoulder bag.
The next stop came quickly, "3E."
Ivan opened his eyes to the train floor and touched the plaid against his neck. He startled as a pair of laced boots scuffled into his peripheral vision and one of the seats diagonally across him squeaked. He turned his face away, staring toward the back windows. The stranger would leave. Soon.
The clouds began to blur as the train pulled forward. The stranger did not leave? Ivan chanced a glance. Another young man. Curly hair. Pretty. He stared at a phone in fingerless gloves. He would leave in a few moments.
If not moments, minutes? Perhaps the stranger was a Grade A Canadian and staved off some chill, but who wanted to sit on an equally chilly train?
"Stop 3D."
What a weird occurrence! Who would sit there on a train like that, undaunted by the avatar of cold across from themselves?
"Ay, yo!"
The stranger tucked his phone under his arm and shifted his legs just as somebody charged through the aisle. Their eyes met.
He was pretty, so pretty, it wasn't fair. So close, so brave, dealing with the arctic sweats just for a comfortable seat. The stranger pulled his mouth into a soft smile—everything about him seemed so soft yet so manly—Ivan was gawking.
"Aw, shit!" The noisy passenger galloped through again. "Shit's freezing!"
The stranger melted in a laugh, soft, soft, soft-
Ivan's heart did a funny thing and he hated that just as he hated the cold. He swiveled his head away and pinched up his scarf. Then he realized the gesture made him bashful. The quiet pretty types were always his favorite.
Ivan needed the cold, but it made it harder to breathe. He looked up. He shouldn't have. He was too slow to look away. The curls caught his eye, and the stranger caught him staring.
He plunged his hands into his bag, yanking at his needles for something else to do besides ogle at strangers on the train. If he grew too nervous, he'd start to 'waft' even more chill into the air, but if he completely froze into a hunk of ice and fell over and shattered, that would be okay. His metal needles were already starting to frost. He had unfortunate times and splinters from wooden ones, either cracked in his bulky, awful hands, or the wood did not agree with the jolts of ice whenever he flubbed with the thread.
Oh, yes, what cold, dangerous creatures snow sprites were. No knitting needle was safe.
"Stop 3C."
Neither moved. Nobody else tried the back. The train began to roll again.
"It's pretty."
It took two moments for Ivan to register the whisper. He stopped. Blinked. Looked up.
"Did...did you make that scarf you're wearing?"
Him. The stranger was talking. To him. Staring at him. Tipping his head and smiling. It was cold, cold, cold, but he was soft, just like snow and Ivan wanted to bury his face in it.
"What are you doing?"
As soon as the wheeze squeezed itself out of Ivan's lungs, he wanted to suffocate himself in the snow.
The stranger gave a little shake of the head, staring at him like he had horns of ice sticking from his face. He didn't. It wasn't that frigid.
"No." Ivan slapped his knitting on his lap. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I...it's...I'm cold."
"It's okay. It's quiet back here and there's lots of space."
"But it's cold."
"I can handle it."
A very weird Canadian. Yes.
Ivan grunted and tried a smile but he was just a lump of ice waiting to melt in the spring sun and lilac skies.
"Stop 3B."
Ivan cursed under his breath and nearly dropped his knitting trying to get it neatly in his bag. He stood, pulling the zipper closed but jumped as he bumped into the other man. Frostbite shot through his clothes.
"Oh!" A giggle. Somehow it made Ivan melt and stiffen at once. "Sorry."
Words. Words! He needed words before it would be too late and just another thing to regret. "No, I did not make this scarf."
Another glance down. "It's nice." Before Ivan could pass onto the next life or step off of the train, the other man blurted, "Are you going to be here again tomorrow?"
“Yes. Are you...going to sit near me again?”
"Is it okay if I do?"
Ivan understood. It was a dream! How very nice and cruel at the same time.
"Yes." He almost said please.
They could start with names, or what kind of gentle storm was behind those light eyes, but the stranger shyly smiled but did a happy little bob, and that was what turned Ivan into a statue, a new decoration on the rails. He watched the man walk, and each window he passed had iced over. He almost didn't get off the train in time.