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Rating:
Archive Warning:
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Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2025-12-19
Words:
573
Chapters:
1/1
Kudos:
4
Hits:
12

Snow.

Summary:

Someone does not want their friend to endanger themselves. Someone has learned to relish the feeling of being endangered.

Who is in the wrong?

Notes:

This is a metaphor/analogy for something very specific. I wrote it all at once several months ago and haven't felt the need to change it since.
If you find that you identify with the story being told, then I want you to know that I believe everyone is better than the worst thing they've done, as well as the worst thing that has ever happened to them. Everyone is capable of growth.
And yes, it is that deep.
Enjoy.

Work Text:

I like snow.

But it makes the road icy, and you know that’s dangerous. You can’t go out in the snow with icy roads.

I don’t mind the idea of icy roads and sidewalks, really. In fact, I think it’d be kinda fun.

Fun? You shouldn’t think that. Dangerous things aren’t fun.

But part of me likes the danger, y’know? Besides, what if you knew I had already slipped and fallen on the ice?

You did?

I did. The salt thrown down cut into my hands, and the cold pavement ignored the warmth of my clothes. Even as I settled down back into someplace warm, the chill of the ice wouldn’t leave me.

That’s normal. When something like that happens, it’s normal to still feel cold after a while. You carry the burden of ice with you.

But then, why do you still like snow? It’s what made you fall in the first place.

I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m cursed to long for the cold’s embrace. Part of me wants to go out, right now, and experience it again just to…make sure my feelings are the same. It’s like when you taste something bad, but have a second taste regardless as if to verify your own feelings.

You don't need to do that.

I don't need to. You’re right. It’s less of a necessity and more of a compulsion.

But like I said, sometimes it’s as if I’m cursed to long for the cold’s embrace. I’ve gotten so close to it, too.

One time I was feeling especially melancholic, and I went out in the snow.

Go on.

They had just thrown the salt down. A lot of the snow was melted, but there was plenty of ice. The funny thing is that I almost slipped, and it felt like my heart was about to come out of my chest with how hard it was beating. I could feel the cold air nipping at my skin, the tips of my fingers getting numb in the cold. But I kept walking.

I fell.

I cried a little. I had missed the feeling of rough salt and icy pavement scraping into my hands, and yet when it happened I cried. Isn’t that funny?

I don’t find it funny. You’re hurt.

But I liked it at the same time. Despite the despair settling in my chest, I giggled. The cold was seeping into my bones. It felt like I was naked, like I was baring something so gentle to something that could kill me. I sat in it for a moment, the melting ice making my pants wet and my sweatshirt cold.

And maybe I’m the frog in boiling water, but the cold feels more welcoming each time I go back. It feels nicer. But if I tell anyone that, they’ll just worry about the fact that I’m in the cold at all.

I am worried about you being in the cold.

But it really is nice when you get used to it, you know. When I inevitably fall into the snowdrift, I will sigh in delight. My cheeks will flush red and I’ll relish the moment. I’ll look back on it for days, it’ll haunt me for weeks. Maybe later I’ll feel ashamed, but right now I feel good.

I’m worried for you.

But I like the snow now. 

I don’t know how not to.

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry too.