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White little speckles of frozen crystalline fell in a rapid motion, dancing unceremoniously together like an uncoordinated waltz. Occasionally, a few landed on Ivan’s skin, gracefully pecking it.
The night sky above him presented itself as a cloudy grey; he couldn’t see the pale moonlight shining, nor the clouds, all mushed together by the whirlwind of snow. His only source of light was the artificial illumination of the few apartment buildings below him. The scenario was rather dull; there was no sound coming from the streets, no cars passing by, despite living in a busy city.
He was alone, truly alone. He had been feeling this way for a long time. As if he lost a part of himself— he had been questioning the empty feeling plaguing his being, eating him from the inside out, entrapping Ivan in a vicious cycle of constant sorrow.
He clasped the Bloxy Beer in his gelid hand, fingertips freezing as they came in contact with the cold glass, pressing his lips against the bottle’s a swig of its content, the liquid every-so-slightly prickling on its way down. It made him believe he could drown out the tar he held deep inside of him, but it was just a fleeting thought.
As the cold weather got to Ivan, he wondered what the strangers in his city were doing at this hour. Were they sleeping? Were the children up and awake, waiting for Santa Claus to come and gift them their beloved presents? He took another guzzle of the drink. It stung with greater force than before. Were there any teenagers staying up way past their bedtime? What was Andrew doing? Were the lovey-dovey couples curled up against each other in this harsh weather?
Wait.
Andrew.
As he rewinded his train of thoughts back to his dear friend, his grip on the Bloxy beer stiffened, its condensation dripping in the grooves of his fingertips. Andrew.
His name sat in his mind, repeating on a loop that seemed to slow down everything— like a pesky pest, forcing Ivan to redirect his complete attention to him. One of his dearest friends.
Well, used to be. Andrew distanced himself from his friend shortly after moving into Ivan’s dreary and dull grey apartment. He could never tolerate the city life— Ivan knew his friend had no other hope than to stay with him, as if it were his last resort. (Ivan always secretly sulked and prodded his brain about this, though he never thought of mentioning it to Andrew.)
Andrew was always buried in his computer. He had never given much time to Ivan, even before moving in. It was always quiet during their hangouts, Ivan could not tolerate it: his constantly silent and calm demeanor made Ivan feel an uneasiness that he couldn’t shake off no matter what. He could feel the sinking, icky feeling slowly creeping up every time they were together.
Even with this problem that perturbed Ivan, it didn’t make the good moments trickle away: he still remembers three winters ago, when he was still around in his company, they used to head to Andrew's house; at the time, he lived in the countryside, far, far away from the city.
Ivan had the pleasure in visiting him there during the colder months; the air quality certainly felt much cleaner there, and there were no neighbours nearby, making it perfect for any type of deep conversations and stupid chatter they wanted to have, unjudged. And the best part, it snowed, much more than in the city.
If Ivan were to guess, the snow he was experiencing in this very moment was probably not even half of what Andrew got to witness during this season; living away from the city had its perks, afterall.
They used to have snowfights, often. Ivan still remembers the feeling, as if he could ever forget it. Even if Andrew’s build was rather lanky, it was no feat to beat the other: Ivan’s apartment did not even have a single window, and he did not get out of his small hideout unless it was strictly necessary, or to visit Andrew. His friend was always much quicker than him, compacting all of the small crystals of snow into one swiftly before throwing it with force onto Ivan with an audible thunk to his arm or torso: smaller pieces of snow somehow always managed to get under his jacket, ending with him being attached to the radiator for the remainder of his stay.
Ivan, unlike Andrew, lacked the agility he had. But, above all, he lacked the control to resist snowballing him directly on the head. He took pride in seeing the way his nose reddened from the sudden cold of the snowball, and if he was lucky enough, Andrew would recoil back as soon as the snow impacted his face. The way he would get jokingly sour with him made Ivan chuckle without fail.
And after they exhausted all of their energies by squabbling with snow, they returned inside Andrew’s abode. The warm embrace his house had always welcomed him inside, gently pushing him inside with a lukewarm hug. His place definitely felt more like a home than a house, and that’s what he liked about it; it was the exact opposite of his living situation, a perfect temporary detachment from his numbing normality.
Andrew used to make all sorts of festive drinks during the season. His favorite drink to make for him and Ivan was hot chocolate: the drink itself was nothing particular, fairly easy and simple to make, just how Andrew liked to carry out his doings.
Sharing a hot drink with the closest person you know during a snowstorm was a feeling Ivan could not shake out of his: snow pouring ruthlessly, just up to the windows, while thankfully being protected by the warmth and security of his home was everything he could ever want. Though Andrew was not the talkative type, Ivan enjoyed spending quality time together. The warmth of Ivan’s heart only grew by the second just from the memory. He savoured the moments during the colder months the most because it gave him an excuse to stay closer, closer together with him. Andrew.
Everything went downhill after he moved in with Ivan. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.
All that was left of their relationship was chipped away, piece by piece— until the roots of their bond rotted, breaking every possibility of reconciling.
Breaking out of his daydream-like state, the world dawned on Ivan, uncovering the source of his suffering: it was not his stuffy apartment, nor the lack of vitamin C he was getting, not even the loneliness that came with being naturally reserved, no, it was the lack of Andrew’s presence. Andrew was at fault.
Ever since he had left Ivan’s side,a shift started presenting in his daily life. He was enveloped around Andrew’s finger.
The deep, plaguing dread buried in the deepest parts of of his heart, pumping that dreading feeling through his veins, staining him with his irrational fixation for him.
It was always him. Him, him, him. From morning ‘til night. And he hadn’t even realised it.
Ivan let go of the Glass of beer he had been holding, his fingers feeling numb at the loss of the grip. He wiped the residue of dew that stuck to his hand, and stood up.
He gazed at the tall skyscrapers in front of his view, feeling impossibly enormous at that moment, reflecting.
“I hope he never forgets the memories we made together, even as we are separated,
Merry Christmas, Andrew.” He murmured, hoping that one day, maybe, Andrew could open his door for him again.
But Ivan was just a fragment in the back of his mind— small and forgettable.
Like he had always been.