Ficlet: Snowflake for Grace
Chuck is visionsandvodka + Grace is freakytwinthing
Dusk. The lamp-posts of the public garden were blinking on. Chuck queried this as he felt the dark was not supposed to come on early but the compounding factors of an overcast sky and a quickly approaching winter season had started to cut the days shorter and shorter.
He sat there on the classical park bench with Grace, both of them snug up to the neck in Fall attire, from knit booties to scarves to beanies. They were outside in such horrible weather because she was determined to get Chuck out of the house as much as possible. As adamantly as he exclaimed that his bodily metabolism needed very little Vitamin D to function and the fact that the weather was far too Canadian for late September, one stern look from the Winchester let him know this was an argument (like most if not all arguments with her) that he was not going to win.
So the two of them sat there, Grace pouting due to her failure of trying to have a civil conversation for once and Chuck doing his best impression of an Asperger’s patient with his nose buried in a trashy novella.
As the sky grew darker he felt icy flakes drift from the sky (Snow in September? Must be the apocalypse). Chuck turned his head to Grace about to do some hefty complaining. However, the eternal dork that was his wife had jutted her tongue out to taste the first snowfall of the season. As she sat there, with her tongue just sitting out, Chuck couldn’t help but shake his head in laughter. Their eyes suddenly met and Grace was laughing along as well. Swallowing the flakes she scooted even closer to Chuck, planting a warm kiss on of his nose first and then his lips (the latter smooch he wholeheartedly reciprocated). He rested his book on his lap and threw an arm around his wife so they could share in the warmth and comfort. They snuggled until the sun had dipped over the horizon. And maybe a little longer.
Dusk. The lamp-posts of the public garden were blinking on. Chuck queried this as he felt the dark was not supposed to come on early but the compounding factors of an overcast sky and a quickly approaching winter season had started to cut the days shorter and shorter.
He sat there on the classical park bench with Grace, both of them snug up to the neck in Fall attire, from knit booties to scarves to beanies. They were outside in such horrible weather because she was determined to get Chuck out of the house as much as possible. As adamantly as he exclaimed that his bodily metabolism needed very little Vitamin D to function and the fact that the weather was far too Canadian for late September, one stern look from the Winchester let him know this was an argument (like most if not all arguments with her) that he was not going to win.
So the two of them sat there, Grace pouting due to her failure of trying to have a civil conversation for once and Chuck doing his best impression of an Asperger’s patient with his nose buried in a trashy novella.
As the sky grew darker he felt icy flakes drift from the sky (Snow in September? Must be the apocalypse). Chuck turned his head to Grace about to do some hefty complaining. However, the eternal dork that was his wife had jutted her tongue out to taste the first snowfall of the season. As she sat there, with her tongue just sitting out, Chuck couldn’t help but shake his head in laughter. Their eyes suddenly met and Grace was laughing along as well. Swallowing the flakes she scooted even closer to Chuck, planting a warm kiss on of his nose first and then his lips (the latter smooch he wholeheartedly reciprocated). He rested his book on his lap and threw an arm around his wife so they could share in the warmth and comfort. They snuggled until the sun had dipped over the horizon. And maybe a little longer.