Chapter Text
cold. it's always cold this time of year. it's not just cold, it's dark, the grey skyscrapers looking like the epitome of death, a concrete desert not meant to be used for living, yet thousands live here. the sun didn't even peak through the clouds today, grey waves controlling the sky and you can feel it. when you look into the faces of the people passing, they look empty, stone cold, lifeless. dead inside.
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you stomp through the white snow, the flakes crunching beneath your black boots, making your way to a left behind bridge, the walls covered in graffiti, the only colorful part of this town. with frozen hands, you take out a pack of cigarettes, slipping one out with red fingers, putting it between your dry lips before taking out your trusty lighter, the orange flame illuminating the area as it burns the end, smoke rising up as you take a long drag. too focused on taking another drag, you don't hear the crunchy footsteps getting closer to you. you eventually hear rustling and then a flick from another lighter, turning your head to see a man with blonde curls, face lit in orange and yellow hues before being shortly hidden behind a wall of grey smoke. he doesn't look at you right away, eventually turning his head, your stone cold eyes meeting in a bonding gaze. neither of you says anything, just smoking and staring like you're both thinking of words to say, both looking like you're in the middle of solving a mathematical equasion. eventually, you break the silence. "your hands look cold. they're red." you say matter-of-factly. "yours too" a deep voice answers, slavic accent thick. you follow with another question. "you also live in this hellhole?" you ask without thinking. in retrospect, the question is dumb, like where else should he be from? luckily, he doesn't answer rudely or points out the stupidity of your question, just saying a short "yes". you don't notice your cigarette going out, only realizing once you try to take another drag. cold red hands fumble with the lighter, too stiff to create a flame, the flicking only making your thumb sore. you try again, another hand moving into your peripheral vision, lighting the cigarette for you. slightly surprised by the small act of kindness, you mutter a shy "thank you", taking a much needed drag. he stays next to you, not moving back to his more distant spot. "you look lonely" he says, his voice making you feel weirdly warm. "I am. everyone here is." "I know." "you don't talk much, do you?" you tease. "not really." he answers shortly. "I get that. it can feel draining and sometimes the mood is not right." "exactly." you rub your hands, trying to warm them with your breath. "one day, I'll leave this place. live somewhere warm...or lively. somewhere with colors and sun or something." you fantasize. "just somewhere far away from here." after one last drag, your cigarette ends up under your thick sole, being squished into the snow. "me too." his voice cuts through the cold air. your eyes dart up, looking at him doing the same, his gaze softer. a soft smile grazes your lips, his face mirroring you, cigarette burning mindlessly. "aren't your hands cold?" you ask, knowing what answer you'll probably get. "they are." he answers simply. "how about this?" you ask, not waiting for an answer before cupping his hands in yours, trying to warm each other somehow. you can hear a chuckle escape his lips, making you smile. "I know it probably won't do much but why not try?" you look at him, feeling like you finally get a glimpse of who this young boy is and you don't even know his name. all you know is that something about his smile makes you feel something. it's endearing, maybe cause you have the fewling he doesn't do it much, so it feels like you just found a rare gem in the muddy waters. he doesn't seem to shy away from you anymore, warming up to you by the minute. "I haven't even asked your name." without missing a beat, his honey like voice speaks up. "Ilya." "that's a beautiful name."
-
you both stay out in the cold a while longer before leaving, finally feeling too cold, yet you don't feel like it. the walk home felt shorter than usual, his number scribbled on a piece of paper now stuffed into your pocket. you found each other when you needed it the most, caged in this lonely and dark town. you were strangers, nobodies, yet you found a strange solace in his presence, something soft and warm in his touch.