❄️ Winter-themed prompts 2023 #2

# “I made a dick out of snow. It’s happy to see you.” - Nino

What was meant to be a ‘quick meeting’ stretches past your usual overtime, and the only upside to this is the hefty bonus check you’re going to receive by the end of this week.

Say what you want about the SPD, but they sure spare no expenses, even for an unrelated standby who’s doing nothing but playing a fool while the big guns come and play. You can only thank your luck... for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Still, it’s a much better outcome than expected, no matter how loud - and often - Alois tries to convince you otherwise.

Droning out the unrelated jibber-jabber, you strain your neck trying to spot Nino’s fancy black car in the parking lot by the HQ. The only thing you can see through the window is snow - a nearly opaque wall of it fluttering down the sky in heaps and mounds.

One of the agents sends you a look that’s as close to commiseration as it can get. Looks like you’re not the only one about to be ditched by a driver. Damn, and you didn’t even bring a scarf today.

Once the gathering is dismissed, you all but dash out of the building, holding on to the shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, Nino didn’t abandon you in your hour of need.

You wouldn’t hold it against her, though. It’s been two... and a half. Almost three hours since she gave you a lift there, and you left with a brisk ‘be right back.’

‘Right back,’ your ass. You should have known that all those SPD goons do is lie. Ugh. The snowstorm is lessening considerably, but would you be able to catch a cab in this weather?

You’re completely resigned to your fate when you exit the building, noticing not only Nino’s car, but the woman herself, dressed from head to toe in black.

She’s kneeling by a pile of firmed up snow with her hands buried in it nearly all the way to her elbows. The hood of her jacket has fallen off on her back, and now it’s gathering snow that shifts from the top of her head to her shoulders as she moves.

“Nino!” you shout, jumping in place from joy before running to her at full speed. “Ah, I knew you loved me! You’re the best!”

You’re still too far to hear her response, if there’s even any, but she briefly turns her head to acknowledge you, before returning to her task.

You almost ask her if she waited long, but the numbness in your legs reminds you of the hours you spent standing up at the briefing. She doesn’t look chilled, though, even as lightly dressed as she is, so she must have spent most of that time indoors.

“What’s that?” you ask once you’re right behind her. The figure is too out-of-shape to be a snowman, even if the upper part is a ball.

Done with her task, she gets back to her feet, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I made a dick out of snow,” she says idly, moving out of the way to display the entirety of her sculpture. “It’s happy to see you.”

“Wow.” Snorting, you imagine Fortin’s face when the first thing she sees after looking out of her office is this. Between Nino and Flavio, you’re no longer sure who’s the biggest enabler, but they sure go hand in hand. “I love the details.”

“Thank you,” she says, as formal and blasé as ever. Underneath that indifferent facade, you detect an undeniable trace of mirth.

“Who died for you to be so cheerful?”

Nino’s lips curl up into something you’d once thought was mocking, but now recognize as a pleased grin. “Santa,” she says promptly, with something akin to vicious satisfaction in her voice.

“Ah, that ugly singing toy at the office finally ran out of batteries?”

“It broke,” she lies, not even bothering to muster some regret.

“Willy finally knocked it off the shelf?”

“Mhm.”

As close as you are, you notice that her fingers reddened past the point of comfort. They have to sting, by the look of them, but she seems either oblivious or uncaring of that fact.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” you say, taking her hands in yours. They are freezing, even through the material of your gloves.

Nino shrugs slightly, without dislodging your hold. Her ears, peeking through the strands of pale hair, redden promptly, and you hope it’s from more than just the frost.

“I’ll buy you a drink, how about that?”

That gets her attention. “Sure,” she says, suddenly more energized, “I’ll disintegrate us.”

“Don’t—”

Shit. Too late.

# “Wait, is that mistletoe?” - Reed

The venue is large, though mostly empty at this time of evening. For now, instead of the scent of mixed perfume and sweat, it smells pleasantly of mulled wine and pine.

The long tables are set with white cloth, red separators, and Dia’s antique silverware that’s undoubtedly worth more than your entire bloodline. You know you’ll be afraid to drop it for the remainder of the party.

Aside from the free food, you’re looking forward to the gifts your boss is so generous with. Last year, aside from a bunch of gift cards, she got you a wristwatch that you still rarely wear for the fear that someone will steal it off you with half of your arm attached. This time she asked for a wish list, so your expectations are high.

“We’re too early,” Reed mutters, pinching the edge of your sleeve to get your attention. “I told you we could stay in for a sec longer.”

Reed, of course, is dressed up to the nines - suit, cufflinks, tie, the whole shebang. If you weren’t with him for the majority of the night, you’d never believe that he’d just pulled an all-nighter, only napping for a little bit during your bus ride here with his head propped on your shoulder.

...Only to complain about his ruined hairstyle for the rest of the way. Classic.

“It was the last bus today. Would you rather walk?”

He scoffs. “I have a car.”

“You haven’t slept since yesterday.”

“Then we could have taken a cab.”

“Sure thing, Mister Moneybags. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather spend my bonus on something other than a fare.”

Opening his mouth to refute you, he thinks better of it and keeps whatever he meant to say to himself. For the better. Especially since you spot something much more interesting than a worn-out argument.

“Wait, is that mistletoe?” you exclaim, taking a step backwards and almost barreling into Reed. He freezes, hands shooting up to your shoulders to steady you, only to quickly withdraw.

“No,” he says quickly, only to contradict himself when you look at him. “Yes. I guess. Sure. What does it matter?”

“It’s a tradition, isn’t it? Kissing—”

He blanches. “That’s stupid.”

“You used to kiss me on the cheek all the time.”

“I used to smoke behind the gym, too, but you don’t see me making the same mistake now, do you?”

Ouch. “Hey, what ‘used to’? You tried it once and your hair—”

“Shh!” he hisses, pressing an open palm to your lips, then taking it away just as fast. “You promised.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You’ve teased him too much, and you can’t fault him for being cranky after working his ass off helping you move. He continued unpacking your stuff after you fell asleep. You could afford to be nicer to him. At least tonight. “No need to be stingy. There are plenty of other people around.”

Reed’s expression freezes, stuck between a pout and dismay. Then, it quickly rearranges itself into an absentminded kind of grin you know well, as he lets his eyes wander across the hall.

“You’re right,” he says, sounding much more amenable. “Have fun with that. I know I will.” Dia’s acquaintances are all wealthy people. Reed’s favorite kind, naturally. It was a matter of time for him to stray from your side in favor of making a prized connection.

He turns away with a sloppy wave of a hand, heading towards a group of people, when you say, “So you’ll kiss anyone but not me?”

He hesitates a bit, without facing you. But then he chuckles, that kind of laugh that leaves you frozen in your spot. “We’re friends, dolcezza, why would I kiss you?”

He’s right. He is. But why does that sting?

“Ciao, for now. Enjoy your night.”

Watching him flirt and mingle? You’re not sure that you will.