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Don Quixote awoke with his nose nuzzled into Bari’s soft blue locks. As soon as he was conscious enough to realize who’s sweet, comforting scent he was smelling, he let out a noise that sounded almost embarrassingly like a purr, hugging his lover closer and closing his eyes.
He spared a quick glance outside, at the snow falling silently outside the window. He shivered at the sight, even if it wasn’t exactly water. His ears perked as he heard a soft chuckle from where Bari’s face was buried in his chest, causing his lips to turn up in a smile instead.
“Mmm… Good morning, Dear.” He murmured the words cheerfully, shoving his nose further into Bari’s hair. She giggled a bit louder at that, smacking his shoulder lightly.
“Enough. You’re like a clingy puppy.” She muttered, even as she snuggled closer and closer, seeking out more of his warmth in the biting cold of the castle. Even the warm, thick blankets that Don Quixote had taken up knitting again to make weren’t enough to keep all of the chill away, Bari’s breath still visible in the freezing morning air of the castle.
Don Quixote chuckled softly at her words, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest, and for a moment, he could almost forget the memories of that horrible war and the world outside—forget the cold, forget the madness. It was just him and Bari, wrapped up together like two kindred souls in the softness of each other's presence.
"You wound me, my dearest Bari," he teased, his hand brushing through her hair, his fingers finding the silken strands of her blue locks once more.
"I am merely a man dedicated to the most noble pursuit of a valiant fixer: love!" His tone was playful, but there was a tenderness there too, something much, much softer than the jaded, empty man Bari had first met.
Bari snorted quietly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You and your grand speeches." She paused, turning her face just enough to peek up at him, her eyes twinkling.
"And I suppose this is your valiant rescue, then? Cozying up to me like this, trying to warm me with your… 'bravery'?"
Don Quixote’s smile grew, though he was careful not to show too much of it in the dim morning light. "It is a strategy well proven through time," he said with a mock-serious nod, "For what else can one do when surrounded by an enemy like the cold, but embrace one's beloved as a true fixer should… Bravely and without hesitation.”
Bari narrowed her eyes, slowly wriggling out of his grip and turning towards the window. “Hm. And what exactly does one have to be brave about? Could it be…”
A faint smile crossed her face as she saw the snow outside, blue eyes focusing on Don Quixote as he turned away, clearly embarrassed.
“Really? Your kind is even scared of snow?”
“I must ask you to shut your mouth.” Don Quixote mumbled back, his ears burning red with embarrassment as he pulled the covers over his head.
Bari's laugh echoed through the cold room, warm and full of life. She could see the way he fidgeted under the covers, trying to hide his flushed face. It was rare, these moments of unguarded softness, and she cherished them while she still could.
She reached for the covers, pulling them back just enough to peek at the slightly flustered Don Quixote.
"Oh, come on," she teased, raising an eyebrow. "You’re supposed to be a fixer, spreading ideals of justice and bravery to the masses…”
“Noooo…” Don Quixote let out a pitiful whine, playing up his aversion to the snow for dramatics. He shuffled further under the sheets, until Bari stood and yanked all of them off of the bed in one swift movement.
“Come on. You remember how to build snowmen, right? Or is your memory already starting to fail you?” She teased him, already getting dressed in her usual outfit. Perhaps Don Quixote’s eyes lingered on her for quite a while as she changed… Until she threw his own coat at him to cover his eyes.
Don Quixote grumbled under his breath, tugging his own coat off of his head as Bari pulled on her shoes with a practiced ease. The room felt even colder now, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much; he was far more invested in the warmth of her presence than the frost creeping into the stone walls of the castle.
He heard her voice, light with amusement, as she slid on her coat and zipped it up. "Well? You going to hide under there all day, or are you coming out to face your fears?"
At that, Don Quixote finally dragged himself from beneath the covers with a deep sigh. He threw a mock glare at Bari, who was standing with her arms crossed, clearly waiting for him to put up a fight. His pride as a fixer demanded a proper response.
"Very well, then." He stood up, sweeping his coat dramatically over his shoulders like a knight of old. "If I must face this cursed snow, I shall do so with the valiant resolve of a true warrior!"
Bari gave him a brief, slight smile as she pulled on a new pair of warm winter gloves, flexing her fingers to make sure they fit right. "Sure you don’t want to just crawl back into bed and pretend it doesn’t exist?"
Don Quixote straightened up, adjusting his coat as if it were armor, a flash of determination in his eyes. "I shall not retreat from such a worthy challenge, no matter how treacherous the terrain!" His voice was now full of mock-heroic grandeur, his hands gesturing toward the window dramatically.
She rolled her eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. "You're unbelievable. I think I’ve been reading you too many of those stories..." But then, she took his hand in hers, guiding him toward the door. "Come on. You’re not going to let me have all the fun, are you?"
The wind greeted them as they stepped outside, biting and sharp, but the snow was peaceful in its steady fall. It covered the ground like a blanket, soft and pure, a stark contrast to the turmoil in the world outside the castle’s walls.
Don Quixote stopped right before the white expanse of snow, shifting uncomfortably as his skin prickled in discomfort at the mere IDEA of touching the snow. Bari let go of his hand briefly, stepping out with crunching footsteps as if to show him that it was alright. When he didn’t move, she frowned, glancing around before her eyes landed on the snow at her feet.
Bari didn’t hesitate. She scooped up a handful of snow, compacting it into a ball with expert hands, and launched it right at Don Quixote, who only had time to raise a hand in defense before the snowball hit him square in the chest. He blinked at the cold wetness seeping through his coat, before a full-body shiver wracked him, his hands scrambling at the water now soaking his coat as he whined.
"Ah! Treachery!" he exclaimed, hands and voice trembling. "You would attack a noble fixer in such a base manner?!”
Bari stood there, hands on her hips, watching with mock disbelief as Don Quixote scrambled to shake off the snow, the wetness clinging to his coat like a stubborn enemy. A small laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she couldn’t help but tease further. “Oh, what’s the matter, brave fixer? Is the snow too much for you to handle?”
Don Quixote took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “I’ll have you know,” he began, his voice still shaky from the cold and the feeling of wetness clinging to his skin, “That no fixer, no matter how noble, is immune to the treacherous tactics of such a fiendish-” He suddenly raised his hands in a dramatic flourish, “-snowball attack!”
Bari’s lips twitched. “So, is this the great and powerful first kindred Don Quixote’s real weakness?” She was still laughing softly, but there was a fondness in her voice, the warmth of her affection wrapping around him like a blanket in spite of the cold.
Don Quixote’s indignation lasted only a few moments before his natural exuberance took over. With a quick, determined movement, he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, pushing through the natural revulsion that made him want to scratch at his skin until it bled. The snow was… Cold. Yes, it was cold. But it didn’t melt in his hand, much to his relief. “Aha!” he exclaimed, his voice now full of dramatic resolve, “You have made your first mistake, my dear Bari! For you have awakened the full power of the noble and valorous snowball fight!”
Bari’s soft laughter turned into a playful smirk as she took a few steps back. “Bring it on, brave fixer.” she spoke, her eyes glinting with a slight mischievousness. “I’m more than ready for whatever you’ve got.”
He threw the first snowball with dramatic precision, but Bari dodged with ease, launching her own in retaliation. It was much like their usual sparring duels, each strike and slash blocked or parried easily, each snowball thrown dodged or blocked by the other. They knew each other well, almost too well at this point.
Don Quixote’s face was flushed from both the cold and the exertion, his breath coming in sharp, clouded bursts. But despite the biting wind, despite the chilly dampness soaking through his coat, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Bari too, was laughing a rare, joyful laugh. It sparked a fire inside him he hadn’t felt in years.
But soon, he realized that despite all his bravado, the cold and the water was beginning to get to him. His hands were numb and disgustingly wet, his cheeks stinging, and he found himself longing for the warmth of the castle’s hearth and the soft bed they had just left behind. He took a step back, holding up his hands in surrender.
“Alright, alright, I admit defeat!” he shouted, panting slightly. “You have bested me, fair Bari, with your unparalleled snowball tactics. I am undone!”
Bari stopped in her tracks, her breath visible in the icy air. She raised an eyebrow, as if unsure if she should believe him. “You’re giving up so easily? What happened to all that stamina you bragged about? Three days straight of fighting, three days straight of se—”
Don Quixote placed a hand dramatically over his heart, bowing slightly, as if presenting her with the ultimate surrender before she could speak. “I would never quit in the face of a true challenger, but my body… my poor, frozen body… has reached its limits.”
Bari chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re such a drama queen.” Still, she walked over, her coat making a soft swishing sound in the snow. She stood in front of him for a moment, her gaze softening.
“Come on,” she said, her voice gentler than it had been. “Let’s go back inside before you freeze to death. Or worse, before you end up scratching your skin off.”
Don Quixote smiled at her, the warmth in his heart making him momentarily forget the freezing cold and melted snow that still clung to him. “You know,” he said, “I may be defeated on the battlefield of snowballs, but at least I have you to take care of me.”
Bari glanced off to the side, but there was a glint of affection in her gaze. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now,” she murmured, though her tone was soft. She offered him her hand, and after a brief pause, he took it.
“…So, about those three days…” He started, staring down at Bari with wide puppy eyes.
“Only in your dreams are we doing that again.” Her voice was firm, and she grimaced slightly at the memory. Not out of disgust or anger, but out of embarrassment.
“But you were so cute-“
“No.”