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The night was bitter cold; the dry kind, with only sparse snowflakes drifting aimlessly around as though unwilling to settle. When they stepped out onto the bridge, hoarfrost crunched softly under Lin Ling’s boots, and the air stung the inside of his nostrils on the way in. And yet… it wasn’t unpleasant. There weren’t many cars around, so the pollution was unusually low, giving them a magnificent view of the city center with all its technicolor glow. So far in the outskirts, it was easy to feel separated from whatever could be happening there - and so separated, to appreciate its beauty in ways they didn’t normally have the option to. So many things can be a matter of perspective. Lin Ling looked wistfully at the skyscrapers jutting upwards from among the smaller buildings, outlined in sharp, bright colors against the emptiness of the night sky. Some of the sounds of the city carried over the water to reach them even here: the hum and beep of traffic, the intermingling jingles of ever-present advertising. All mercifully muffled by the distance. The city was so different here, with mostly residential houses and empty streets. The sky opened vast above them, black as tar; looking up, Lin Ling could even see a few particularly bright stars winning the fight against light pollution. The cold seemed… fitting for the scenery, somehow, focusing his senses, turning every detail crisp and brittle. The quiet of the outskirts; the emptiness of the sky; the glow of the distant city; even the noisy shuffling of his own, padded jacket. He rested his hand on the railing to better ground himself in the moment, and watched frost catch at the edge of his glove, sparkling with reflected light like powdered crystal.
“A-Ling,” came a soft chide. Lin Ling looked ahead again; just a few steps away, Nice had paused and turned to check on him. “Are you even listening?” The city lights behind him framed his silhouette in a dazzling rainbow, catching in his hair, his eyes, the buttons of his jacket; casting a soft, diffused shade over an even softer expression on his face: an unguarded kind of fond exasperation. Lin Ling breathed in, feeling the sting of the frigid air… and for a single, almost painfully clear moment time seemed to slow. In this one, wholly perfect second, their life was a fairytale. A snapshot from a romance movie. A love story.
But then he breathed out, and the white plum of air momentarily obscured his vision. When it dispersed, he saw again everything he didn’t want to focus on: black, jagged lines cutting down Nice’s cheek, the flash of blue under the cuff of his jacket, where his Trust Value counter still clung to his wrist like a shackle.
Perhaps for as long as they were together he would never again feel like his heart wasn’t breaking.
“You have snowflakes in your hair,” he said, not because it was true, but because the silence didn’t seem comforting anymore and it was the first thing that came to mind. A thoughtless, cruel thing, he realized belatedly, as Nice’s smile dropped and his hand twitched up in a reflexive need to correct. “Just a few,” he added quickly, stepping forward, breaking the freezing distance between them to reach out towards Nice’s hair himself. “I’ll get them for you.”
The effort it took for Nice to be still was written in subtle tension all over his body. As Lin Ling fussed absent-mindedly with his hair, he searched again for the sharp beauty of the moment, for the calm it brought him. He couldn’t find it. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it. For the span of a single breath, they lived happily ever after. Except then reality came rushing in again.
“You’re miles away,” Nice observed quietly, and though his expression was carefully guarded now, Lin Ling saw through it to the anxiety beneath. Nice did that sometimes; braced for impact at the slightest hint of withdrawal, like he was always ready for Lin Ling to decide he wasn’t worth it anymore. Lin Ling didn’t particularly mind proving him wrong. As many time as it took. Though it was sometimes difficult to judge what was the right thing to say.
“I don’t want to be,” was what he settled on. “I’m just thinking.”
He let his hand slip from Nice’s hair to rest on his cheek. Something like inspiration came to him then, a pull to stop trying to chase that brittle, perfect image; but to also stop focusing on Nice’s scars or the uncertainty in his eyes. Instead, he chose to focus on how blue those eyes were, how softer now than they seemed on all the posters and magazine photos; how the cold turned the very tip on Nice’s nose red and painted gentle blush high on his cheekbones; how his warmth seeped through Lin Ling’s glove; how their misting breaths mingled together between them. How they were together, here and now, alive and human.
“About?” Nice prompted, growing impatient. Lin Ling smiled.
“How winter suits you.”
Nice scoffed. “On account of my icy demeanor?”
“No, idiot.” Lin Ling pulled his hand away from Nice’s cheek in favor of flicking him in the forehead. “On account of how everything’s shiny and sparkling,” and brittle, and precious, and fleeting, "like you.”
“Ah.” Nice blinked at him, and then started to laugh, pulling away to rub his forehead. "That has to be the corniest thing you said to me all week.”
“Only this week? I need to up my game.”
“Stop!” Nice swatted at him in mock indignation, but then slipped his arm around Lin Ling’s to pull him forward. “And let’s get going, or we’ll miss the show.”
“Tell me again what it’s about,” Lin Ling asked as they resumed walking, earning himself an exasperated gasp that was only half in play.
“So you weren’t listening!”
“I was!” To a point. “But tell me again. It’s easier to follow the story if you describe it to me first.”
“Ballet is wasted on you. Interpretation is a part of the experience!”
“Not when I end up misunderstanding the whole plot!”
“Mm, probably not,” Nice acquiesced, and began to recount the story of the play again. Lin Ling was only half-listening, too busy watching him instead; soaking up the sense of contentment that was now at least partially restored. It wasn’t as perfect as it had been in that fleeting moment… but it was there.
Perhaps that was what life was: a string of imperfect moments, interrupted now and again by singular seconds of such undiluted serenity you wished you could hold onto them forever. Perhaps the entire point was to collect them, as many of them as you could, until they shone brightly enough to dispel whatever darkness may lay around them. Perhaps all the struggle was worth it, so long as you had someone you could trust to experience those perfect moments with, again and again. Regardless of everything else. Including everything else.
"Lin Ling, I swear, if you make me repeat this again—"
"I’m listening, I’m listening!"
He didn’t know if any of this was true.
But right now, in that perfectly imperfect moment… he chose to trust that it was.