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The banked fire made nary a sound, the steady warmth doing little to combat the chill of winter seeping into the bedroom. In the large bed that took up a decent portion of the room, Hawk was sleeping peacefully. Utterly content to have gone to bed with the man he loved in his arms - the deepening of winter and the approaching holiday season bringing back the memories of choosing each other and this fresh start in Milan. A complete personal freedom together.
Tim, on the other hand, was wide awake, sitting crossed legged above the covers, trying his very best to wake his sleeping lover.
"Hawk. Hawk." Tim shook Hawk's shoulder insistently. "Hawk! Hawk!"
Hawk had awoken the moment Tim's icy fingers had chilled through his flannel pyjama shirt. But, the chill numbing the tip of his nose told him it was still night, and whatever got his angel sounding that excited was guaranteed to make Hawk colder than he wanted to be right now.
Tim was silent for a moment, Hawk knowing better than to think it was the end of anything. "My mother's on the phone and she wants to talk to you."
If Hawk was less comfortable, he would admit that move might work. Fortunately, he was just awake enough to remember that it was now Tuesday and Mrs Laughlin only ever called on a Saturday.
"Tell Rosemary and the family I say hello and that I'm still not Catholic," Hawk muttered, grumbling the words into his pillow. It wasn't a definite conversation ender like pulling the covers over his head would have been. In fact, all it really did was tell Tim that he'd have to try a little harder.
Tim resorted to a move Hawk imagined his love did as a young boy on Christmas morning - bouncing on the bed. He kept up a constant flow of motion on the mattress that made it impossible for Hawk to drift back off to sleep.
Hawk wrenched the covers off his head, glaring with far less irritation than he would have liked. "What is it, Skippy?"
Tim's smile was beautiful. Eager and giddy and rapturous.
"It's snowing!"
"And your mother woke us up to tell you that?" Hawk quipped, feeling a smirk on his lips.
That earned Hawk a sassy half-frown. He bounced off the bed, pulling the heavy curtains open. A finger pointed at the window, where Hawk supposed he could make out something fluttering down from the clouds. "Snow, Hawk!"
Growing up in Pennsylvania, Hawk had seen more than enough snow. What he could never get enough of seeing was Tim Laughlin. Dressed in festive red and green flannel pyjamas, thick woolen socks on his feet, hair sticking up in all directions - he looked gorgeous. A vision of an Angel not yet given wings. Hawk's angel.
"Come back to bed, Skippy," Hawk called, giving up on any sleep for a little while. "Just looking at you is making me cold."
Tim shook his head, gaze drawn back to the window and the flurries of snow dancing before his eyes. "Just a little bit longer," he mumbled, "it's the first snow of the season."
Tim's face was shining with so much awe and innocent pleasure that Hawk almost remembered what it was like to be young and find amazement in such moments. Tim had a way of looking at the world that Hawk had forgotten - too used to seeing and preparing for the worst it had to offer to remember to enjoy the good things that it held.
So far this year, Tim had taught Hawk to find the joy in camping in their living room while the kitchen was being developed, in sleeping outside on a mattress under the stars (the joy in a hot summer neither of them were prepared for), and most of all - to let himself be open to trying new things. After all, their entire lives in Italy were completely new to him. Teaching, home renovation, loving Tim for the whole world to see.
And, much as the Hawk he had been this time last year could not have imagined it, this had been the best year of his entire life.
Hawk knew he would regret the bitter cold and the loss of sleep, but he knew he would regret not doing this more. Every new experience with Tim had been wonderful - even if only because he was experiencing it with Tim.
Swinging his legs out of bed, Hawk pulled on his seasonally appropriate dressing gown, padding over to join Tim by the window.
He wrapped Tim's own dressing gown around his shoulders, pressing his lips to Tim's temple for a lingering moment. "I suppose you have some idea of how to celebrate the first snow, Skippy?" Hawk teased, knowing Tim would know that Hawk's presence at his side was his willingness to go along with whatever it was.
Tim turned to Hawk, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "We're going to need cocoa!"
Hawk felt the warmth of Tim's lips press against his own for a handful of fleeting seconds, then all he could see was the end of Tim's robe disappearing out of the doorway.
"Cocoa," Hawk said into his now empty bedroom, bemused.
Shimmying his hips in that giddy way he always did when he was excited, Tim was heating milk on the stove when Hawk persuaded himself to leave the relative warmth of their bedroom for the much chillier kitchen. Knowing his angel well enough to at least guess at what his plan might be, Hawk had retrieved their heavy winter coats from their hooks, laying them down on the kitchen table.
Tim grinned over his shoulder at him, the look so fundamentally Tim - sweet and eager and good - that Hawk wondered how he had ever thought he couldn't possibly love him more.
Hawk walked up behind him, gently taking the spoon from his hand. "Go on, Skippy," he urged, nodding to the back door. "I'll bring the cocoa out when it's ready."
Tim looked between the milk now slowly beginning to warm and the back door, where the call of the snow was getting harder to resist.
Tim kissed Hawk's cheek, grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into the boots he kept by the door, and disappeared outside into the wilderness that was their garden.
This late at night, Tim wouldn't go much further than the patio. Sticking close enough to the villa but far enough out that the snow wouldn't be impeded.
Stirring the milk slowly, Hawk kept an ear out in case Tim called for him. Slow, steady circles, as he'd done a hundred times before - helping Tim sleep with warm milk, relaxing in front of the fire with him and hot cocoa. The taste of both on his lips, as exquisite as ever.
When the cocoa was hot enough, Hawk carefully poured the drink into two tall mugs. He set the pan aside, slipping on his coat and finding his shoes, gathering up both mugs before braving the cold.
Hawk's breath crystallized in front of him almost as soon as he opened the door. The frost nipped at his nose, and he wished he'd thought to grab a scarf and the knitted gloves Mrs Laughlin had sent in the mail.
But almost as soon as he had that thought, it didn't matter. Because all Hawk had eyes for - all he could ever have eyes for - was Tim.
He stood, arms outstretched, cast in the light from their villa. The tiny specks of snow fluttered around him, catching in his hair, on his eyelashes, on the tip of his nose. Making him look ever more like an otherworldly creature. One made of pure goodness and love. Who Hawk didn't deserve but loved with every fiber of his being just the same.
On any other occasion, Hawk would set the mugs down and find his camera, capturing Tim like this forever. But some things were perfect because they weren't preserved. Because they were fleeting and existed only in that moment. As fleeting as the first snow of the season, destined to vanish with the sun.
Hawk didn't need his camera to remember this.
The image of Tim, standing amongst the twirling snowflakes, was one that would linger in Hawk's memory - clearer and more precious than any photograph he could have taken.
Tim's smile brightened, beaming love right at Hawk. Pulled by his gravity, Hawk moved towards Tim, pressing a mug into his chilled hands.
"Thank you," Tim whispered, the perfect volume to fit the stillness of the night.
Hawk smiled, cupping Tim's cheek with his free hand.
It didn't take much leaning in before they both were kissing. Snowflakes still dancing around them, catching in their hair, fizzing into steam in their cocoa.
It was cold but Tim was warm. Kissing him, in that moment, Hawk felt it. A little bit of magic, of awe, of wonder.
Such a simple thing, but so beautiful.
"We're not going to make a habit of this," Hawk murmured, smiling against Tim's lips.
Tim's eyes sparkled, even more beautiful with the snowflakes still caught in his long eyelashes. "Yes, we are, beloved," he replied, kissing the corner of his lips. "We'll be back out here next Christmas. And the one after that. And the one after that."
Rather than agree with him, which was inevitable, Hawk sipped on his cocoa and watched the snow fall. Tim leaned against his side, head resting on his shoulder. And they both stayed there, for a little while longer, surrounded by the first snow.