Making Snow Angels- Tamaki/Kyouyadiglossia_ficDecember 30 2010, 03:43:09 UTC
Kyouya feels foolish, watching Tamaki collapse down onto the pile of snow in absolute glee. He understands, on some level, because he’s read about his and knows that this is something people do do but on another, the normal level that decides his conduct, he does not get it at all. Why? He wonders, looking at his blonde best friend grinning up at him from the snow.
“Come on!” Tamaki calls, sitting up, finding purchase somewhere in the deep white flakes. “Kyouya, it’s magnificent fun!”
Kyouya pushes his glasses up with one hand, disdain evident on his face.
“I would rather not,” he says stiffly, eyeing the snow and remembering the price tag on his expensive fur coat. He remembers Tamaki’s price tag, too, and wonders how his friend can ruin such a nice coat with so little concern.
“Don’t you want to feel the snow?” Tamaki asks, looking confused. “The great wonder of winter under your fingertips?”
Kyouya sighs.
“It is cold,” he protests.
“Very cold,” he adds when Tamaki begins to pout. Kyouya begins to seriously debate the monetary worth of his coat versus making Tamaki happy. It does not take long to decide.
The snow is, as he pointed out, cold. It is also soft, light, not yet tamped down by a hundred pedestrian feet or a thousand tires. Kyouya can feel it crunch underneath him, can feel the snow melting at his fingertips. It is not quite as unpleasant as he expected.
“What are we doing?” he asks, turning his head to look at Tamaki.
“Making snow angels,” Tamaki says happily, grinning from ear to ear. He spreads his arms wide at the same time as his legs, making a crude shape that, Kyouya admits grudgingly, looks vaguely like an angel. “Anges dans la neige,” he sighs.
“Anges dans la neige,” Kyouya repeats quietly, letting the elegant words slip through his lips. “Is that right?”
Tamaki sits up, resting his weight on one arm, touching Kyouya’s cheek with one warm hand. He leans down and kisses him.
“Come on!” Tamaki calls, sitting up, finding purchase somewhere in the deep white flakes. “Kyouya, it’s magnificent fun!”
Kyouya pushes his glasses up with one hand, disdain evident on his face.
“I would rather not,” he says stiffly, eyeing the snow and remembering the price tag on his expensive fur coat. He remembers Tamaki’s price tag, too, and wonders how his friend can ruin such a nice coat with so little concern.
“Don’t you want to feel the snow?” Tamaki asks, looking confused. “The great wonder of winter under your fingertips?”
Kyouya sighs.
“It is cold,” he protests.
“Very cold,” he adds when Tamaki begins to pout. Kyouya begins to seriously debate the monetary worth of his coat versus making Tamaki happy. It does not take long to decide.
The snow is, as he pointed out, cold. It is also soft, light, not yet tamped down by a hundred pedestrian feet or a thousand tires. Kyouya can feel it crunch underneath him, can feel the snow melting at his fingertips. It is not quite as unpleasant as he expected.
“What are we doing?” he asks, turning his head to look at Tamaki.
“Making snow angels,” Tamaki says happily, grinning from ear to ear. He spreads his arms wide at the same time as his legs, making a crude shape that, Kyouya admits grudgingly, looks vaguely like an angel. “Anges dans la neige,” he sighs.
“Anges dans la neige,” Kyouya repeats quietly, letting the elegant words slip through his lips. “Is that right?”
Tamaki sits up, resting his weight on one arm, touching Kyouya’s cheek with one warm hand. He leans down and kisses him.
“It’s perfect.”
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