Chapter Text
The weather's been this cold for more than a week now, but it still hypnotizes me, the way my breath blows out in puffs of steam from the top of my blue scarf, into the white air. Wrapped up in fluffy layers, the air still feels so cold, as though my fingertips, face and skin might turn white with all the snow. My nose, though, remains as red as a character from an old Christmas song that I remember I used to sing with Grandpa.
There he is. I watch him walk towards me, careful not to slip on the ice, and my jaw almost drops at the sight of him.
All of his clothes were way too big on him, especially those boots that seemed to reach halfway up his thighs, despite them being only tiny. A big woolly grey hat with a brown pompom enveloped his head, leaving only his one eye and a tuft of purple hair sticking out from the bottom of it. The rest of his face was obscured by the multicoloured scarf that reached down to his knees, poking out from the bottom of the huge black coat he had zipped up right to his nose.
You could see by the way that one end of the scarf was knotted, frayed and tangled, while the other end was almost perfectly straight, that it was the maker's first attempt at knitting, their progress clearly displayed by how the quality and consistency of the project dipped and bobbed as it continued.
He walked quite slowly, eager to reach me, but happily taking in his surroundings at the same time. His arms sat down by his sides in a way that reminded me of how a penguin would waddle along with arms held slightly away from the body.
Almost invisible in the snow, a bird hopped along his path, picking at worms and sticks with joy. It caught his interest and his eyes were trained on it, even as he walked past and it flew up into a tree. I was almost so distracted by it myself that I didn't see the divot in the ground ahead of him, and unfortunately, neither did he, as he stumbled, still with his eyes on the bird.
We both let out a startled yelp as he landed on his hands and knees on the pavement. I couldn't see before, due to his coat sleeves being too long, but his fall revealed the mismatched fluffy gloves he wore, now dusted with a light layer of snow and ice and grit.
I offered a hand to him, gloved in a pink mitten, but he silently refused it, clumsily getting back to his feet on his own.
Now stood face to face, we both smiled at each other, the emotion visible easily in the little we saw of our faces, obscured by our layers of warmth.
I didn't actually know he'd be wearing any of this. I'm not really sure what I expected either though. I guess I assumed that he would've borrowed some of Yeonho's clothes? Surely they would have fit much better for him, and besides, would have made it a bit easier for him to walk in all this ice.
Or...maybe he found them with him in that closet he'd been waiting for me in. Maybe he didn't find them, but they were there all along. Waiting with him. Waiting for a cold day like this one for me to see them again.
I looked at those clothes he wore and recalled where I remembered them all from. The hat was Grandma's. I remember her winning it at a raffle she attended with me at an event at my old school. I think one of the teachers made it.
The coat was Grandpa's. I remember how the front and the sleeves were stained from when I insisted on painting outside, in the cold, but I was in such a rush that I couldn't find my own coat, so I used Grandpa's. I don't even remember what I was so eager to paint that I just had to do it outside, at the coldest time of the year. Maybe the snow was especially pretty that day? Whatever it was, it must not have been too good of a painting. I haven't picked up a brush since.
The scarf, I now recall, was a Christmas present. It was from me to Grandma, which she taught me how to knit. I'm not sure, but I think that year, my present to Grandpa was a pine cone? That might have been a better present, considering how messy the scarf is. But it seems that it's stood the test of time better than any pine cone ever could.
We held hands as I turned towards the others, waiting by the limo, and I felt the softness of his gloves. I admit, I believe that each item has it's own story, it's own memory. And despite remembering all of the other clothing item's stories, I couldn't recall anything specific about the gloves. Even the boots I could now remember wearing while trying to catch frogs at the nearby river. But I couldn't remember anything about the gloves.
I felt his warmth through them though. As impossible as that might seem. His warmth melted through the cold and kept me company, kept me safe.
I used to think that we should try to hold onto the memories of the things we have around us, of the things that have stood by us. But maybe I'm wrong. Memories hold power. But it's not everything to be able to hold onto a memory. Maybe it's just enough to hold onto it's value.
I don't know what the gloves mean. Perhaps he'll tell me. But I know that even if I don't remember their story, I still remember their worth.