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It was an endearingly futile effort, but Billy couldn’t find it within himself to care terribly. The more he swept aside the ever-forming banks of snow, the more obvious it became that come morning, he’d be doing it all over again. What a way to start the Christmas day, but again, he did not mind. It was a small price to pay for the privilege to spend it with a man he had grown closer to over the past year than he would have imagined at the time.
Pushing his beanie up, Billy allowed his weight to rest against the snow shovel. Above and around him, snowflakes danced gently in the twirling winter wind, landing on the exact spots he had cleared up a mere minute ago. The night sky was partially blanketed by the clouds, but if you looked closely, there were tiny glimmers of stars shining between the cracks. Behind him, the snow covered little cabin gave a squeak as the temperature dropped, logs creaking in the frost. Not for the first time, Billy was grateful of the fact that they’d managed to rent the place so far away from the other residents of the area. It painted a snowglobe-ish picture, just the two of them, huddling together in a cabin in the woods during holidays.
Speaking of his companion...
Shaking his frozen fingers out, Billy set the shovel aside and began to make his way towards the far side of the property. A narrow walkway, framed by little lanterns, led him past the frozen-over well, a dainty four-seat swing and a child’s toy tractor, most likely left behind by one of the previous renters. As he carefully stepped over it, his eyes caught a sight of a dim light flickering near the treeline.
Machiavelli’s back was facing him once he reached the man. The light was no longer visible, but now that he was closer, Billy could see a lighter held tightly in a gloved hand. A covered candle laid unlit in the snowbank, while Machiavelli struggled with the fire.
“Havin’ problems there, huh?”
“Shut it,” Machiavelli muttered, fidgeting with the lighter. “It was working fine a minute ago.”
“Aha.” With a quick glance upwards, Billy huffed. “Well the wind has picked up. If you’re gonna get anything lit up, you’re goin’ about it the wrong way.”
Taking notice of the one candle already shining softly in the snow, he stepped around it and came to stand right by Machiavelli’s side. He snatched up the unlit candle in passing. “It’s blowing from the east, so you gotta protect the flame as you fire up the wick. Like so.” With his body, he positioned himself between the candle and the gusting wind, and reached a slow hand up. “And if it still won’t catch fire, then you gotta tilt the candle slightly, put the lighter inside the protective casing, and keep it there.”
While still talking, he carefully took the candle in his own hands, and with some difficulty managed to keep the flame alive long enough for it to ignite properly. With a smirk, he passed it back, watching in silence as the other man placed it into the snow with care. Only once he stepped away did Billy notice a plastic bag by his feet, a pile of unlit candles peeking through the opening.
“You plannin’ on illuminating the whole property, or just this particular corner of it?”
Without a word, Machiavelli reached in and pulled another one out.
“... How many do you have there? Especially odd, considering you were the one to lecture me about burning them indoors just last night.”
Following along Billy’s demonstration, Machiavelli tilted the candle. “They make the room stuffy.”
“They do not. How are you a person born in 1400’s?”
The newly lit candle was set by the two others. “I was of that opinion back then as well.”
Billy sighed. “Stubborn in his views and unwilling to change. Surprising. ”
With a quick move of a hand, he plucked the bag up and peered inside.
“Why seven?”
The corners of Machiavelli’s mouth tightened. He did not attempt to wrestle the bag back though. “A lucky number.”
“So this is more than a light show then? Something personal?” The withering glare aimed at him made Billy nod. “Ahaa, gotcha. Won’t bode well for me to intrude, is that it?”
The strain in Machiavelli’s posture relaxed, if only slightly. “It is not an intrusion. It’s merely...” His eyes dropped down, resting upon the two candles.
“... It is personal.”
“I get that.” Stepping closer, Billy’s gaze followed the line of Machiavelli’s. “But just because it’s personal doesn’t mean you have to bear it all by yourself.”
The silence between them stretched for a long moment. The snowfall picked up, slowly covering the path leading back to the cabin. In the woods proper, the weight of the snow forced fir branches to give in, clumps of snow falling down with echoing thuds. There was barely any starlight left, its way blocked by the dark clouds growing in size as the night rolled on.
“How old were they?”
Machiavelli’s gaze turned hazy, but never left the flames. “I find it hard to remember nowadays.” In the stillness surrounding them, his inhale was barely audible. “Does that make me a heartless bastard?”
After a moment, Billy shrugged. “Don’t think so. If you were, you wouldn’t be standing out here, freezing your ass off.”
“Too little, too late.”
“My momma used to say ‘better late than never,” when she was still kickin’.”
Machiavelli threw a sideways glance at him. “A wise woman.”
Billy nodded. “Among other things.”
One by one, the candles were lit and placed into the snowbank. All seven of them, standing side by side in the cold winter night. Their faint glow battling with the darkness embracing the two men, whose eyes remained glued to the flames flickering in the wind.
“Hang on a sec.”
It took some doing to get back to the cabin, but once inside, Billy strolled into the living room, grabbed one of the lanterns still in working order, and rushed to the front door. On his way he pulled open a cupboard, reached inside and pulled out a small, partially burned wax candle. Placing it inside the lantern as he walked, he kicked the door closed and walked all the way back to the edge of the forest where Machiavelli still stood, watching as he came to stand beside the man once more.
Neither of them spoke when the last candle was ignited, and as Billy set it down, Machiavelli simply watched. Soon enough, its warm gleam joined the glow of the rest.
“... Personal?”
Crouching, Billy pushed the lantern a bit closer to the group of light. It was big enough to block some of the wind, and protect the fluttering flames.
“Nah.” He straightened up, and without a glance or eye contact, rested his weight against Niccolò’s side. Before the man could flinch out of reach, a warm arm wrapped itself around the slim waist.
“Sympathy.”