Winter Wonderland
S is for snow-Alex-PG
For waltzmatilda
It didn’t snow that much in Seattle.
Which was weird, what with the constant wetness of the freaking place.
They got a lot of freezing rain, little bits of ice hitting your skin, burning a little, like someone somewhere was really pissed about something.
And even when it did snow it wasn’t ever really the kind of snow he was used to, the kind he grew up, heavy snow that landed on your eyelashes, covered your body after about five minutes.
The first time he’d ever kissed a girl, really kissed her, it had been snowing like that.
Her name was Alison, or something like that, and she’d had red hair and said she liked his smile.
8888888888
He wished he could go home sometimes.
Maybe everybody did.
Maybe Cristina, over all her protestations really secretly missed Beverly Hills and the unending sunshine and the shiny, happy people.
He’d go home in December, if he could, wish for some magic Christmas Eve snow the way you did when you were a kid and that was the only thing that would make it really feel like Christmas.
He missed the stillness that came with the snow, the kind of undisturbed quiet when it blanketed the city overnight, when it seemed possible that things could change that easily.
He never let himself think that maybe he missed more than the snow.
888888888
Cristina liked the snow because snow generally meant accidents, mass traumas, a chance to stick her hands in someone’s chest.
Lexie liked it because she kind of still believed snow was magic, even though she wouldn’t admit it because she knew they’d make fun of her.
Meredith like the snow for what she claimed were ironic reasons, because it covered everything up, made everything seem perfect, even though it was still the same crappy ground underneath.
And he hated it, because it was never what he wanted it to be.
For waltzmatilda
It didn’t snow that much in Seattle.
Which was weird, what with the constant wetness of the freaking place.
They got a lot of freezing rain, little bits of ice hitting your skin, burning a little, like someone somewhere was really pissed about something.
And even when it did snow it wasn’t ever really the kind of snow he was used to, the kind he grew up, heavy snow that landed on your eyelashes, covered your body after about five minutes.
The first time he’d ever kissed a girl, really kissed her, it had been snowing like that.
Her name was Alison, or something like that, and she’d had red hair and said she liked his smile.
8888888888
He wished he could go home sometimes.
Maybe everybody did.
Maybe Cristina, over all her protestations really secretly missed Beverly Hills and the unending sunshine and the shiny, happy people.
He’d go home in December, if he could, wish for some magic Christmas Eve snow the way you did when you were a kid and that was the only thing that would make it really feel like Christmas.
He missed the stillness that came with the snow, the kind of undisturbed quiet when it blanketed the city overnight, when it seemed possible that things could change that easily.
He never let himself think that maybe he missed more than the snow.
888888888
Cristina liked the snow because snow generally meant accidents, mass traumas, a chance to stick her hands in someone’s chest.
Lexie liked it because she kind of still believed snow was magic, even though she wouldn’t admit it because she knew they’d make fun of her.
Meredith like the snow for what she claimed were ironic reasons, because it covered everything up, made everything seem perfect, even though it was still the same crappy ground underneath.
And he hated it, because it was never what he wanted it to be.