Because I couldn't think properly during the AAW post.
OT4GY DOUBLEDATE DRABBLE, BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE WONDERFUL AND EAT MY BRAIN LIKE BANANA SLUGS.
...okay, that was a horrible metaphor. Moving on.
Winter in Camp Fuck You Die comes down pink that year, smothering the woods and buildings in candyfloss-colored snow. Some love it and some utterly detest it; the mess-hall roof collapses when someone tries to build an ice palace atop it, and there is a fiasco of argument and alchemy until the cooks take matters into their own hands. Life moves on, and the inhabitants wait for spring.
Quite impatiently, in certain cases.
"I still don't know why I agreed to this," Hisoka grumbles as he kicks a path free for the two of them, hands thrust as deep into his jacket pockets as they can possibly go. His breath steams out from behind the scarf that obscures half his face, fogging out fine and white on the chill air.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rikuou snickers, standing far enough back to dodge any books Hisoka might have stashed about his person. “You’re a sucker for baby animals.”
The young shinigami whirls on him, eyes flashing. “What is that supposed to mean?” he growls, but any threat in his voice is nulled when Rikuou then covers the distance between them in a few long strides to ruffle his hair. Hisoka sputters and shoves him away, and they keep walking on as though nothing happened.
Hisoka knows the dark-haired man is just as weak to the puppy/kitten combination their respective partners pull on them, anyway. One, either of them can deal with. Two, and they can't be stopped by any force on Earth. Or they can, but it’s just not worth the effort.
It’s not like they’ll ever say as much out loud, anyway.
Kazahaya’s easy enough to find, engaged in (not-forced!) conversation with Saya and Yuma, who are too giddy over the long-awaited snow to do more than squeal over the three of them for a few minutes and then shove a couple of gaudily-wrapped boxes at them with identical winks. They wave cheerful goodbyes as Rikuou slings an arm over each of the shorter boys’ shoulders, leading them off.
Tsuzuki’s a little bit more of a challenge, and the general good humor has gone back to its usual bickering banter by the time they find him-perched on the cabin roof, of all places, and folding origami.
“Tsuzuki!” Hisoka calls up. The older shinigami doesn’t seem to hear, absorbed in a particularly intricate crease. “Tsuzuki! OI!”
“-abuh? Hisoka?” He peers down at them, grinning widely over the pulled-up collar of his cold. “Were you looking for me?”
Kazahaya nods, half-grinning. Rikuou smirks. Hisoka grumbles.
“YES, we were looking for you! Come down from there already!”
“All right, all right!” Tsuzuki holds his hands up in surrender-and a flurry of delicate white shapes fall from his fingers, blooming in light as they floats down towards them. “Oops! Catch!”
“Wh-“ they say, before the normally innocuous bird-shikigami turn into snowballs and smack them unerringly in the face.
There’s a long, long awkward silence. And then-
SPLAT!
SPLAT!
SPLAT!
It’s nice, when one’s job allows one to fly, and prevents possible accidents resulting from being pelted off the top of a building. There really are upsides to being a shinigami, and they include being caught the second your feet touch the ground and being pelted and pelting back until everyone is pink-frosted and shivery-damp and flushed with laughter-or the equivalent thereof.
And it’s even better afterwards, when they head back inside to warm up, accepting drinks that warm them up and are guaranteed not to turn them into anything odd. Even the stray, snickering sprig of mistletoe above them doesn’t disconcert them much-Rikuou and Tsuzuki exchange looks, each clap hands on a flailing partner’s shoulder, and coax them into a kiss.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…it’s still up there.”
“And still laughing.”
“…”
“Four-way?”
”…”
“Oh, why the hell not. Merry Christmas.”
...okay, that was a horrible metaphor. Moving on.
Winter in Camp Fuck You Die comes down pink that year, smothering the woods and buildings in candyfloss-colored snow. Some love it and some utterly detest it; the mess-hall roof collapses when someone tries to build an ice palace atop it, and there is a fiasco of argument and alchemy until the cooks take matters into their own hands. Life moves on, and the inhabitants wait for spring.
Quite impatiently, in certain cases.
"I still don't know why I agreed to this," Hisoka grumbles as he kicks a path free for the two of them, hands thrust as deep into his jacket pockets as they can possibly go. His breath steams out from behind the scarf that obscures half his face, fogging out fine and white on the chill air.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rikuou snickers, standing far enough back to dodge any books Hisoka might have stashed about his person. “You’re a sucker for baby animals.”
The young shinigami whirls on him, eyes flashing. “What is that supposed to mean?” he growls, but any threat in his voice is nulled when Rikuou then covers the distance between them in a few long strides to ruffle his hair. Hisoka sputters and shoves him away, and they keep walking on as though nothing happened.
Hisoka knows the dark-haired man is just as weak to the puppy/kitten combination their respective partners pull on them, anyway. One, either of them can deal with. Two, and they can't be stopped by any force on Earth. Or they can, but it’s just not worth the effort.
It’s not like they’ll ever say as much out loud, anyway.
Kazahaya’s easy enough to find, engaged in (not-forced!) conversation with Saya and Yuma, who are too giddy over the long-awaited snow to do more than squeal over the three of them for a few minutes and then shove a couple of gaudily-wrapped boxes at them with identical winks. They wave cheerful goodbyes as Rikuou slings an arm over each of the shorter boys’ shoulders, leading them off.
Tsuzuki’s a little bit more of a challenge, and the general good humor has gone back to its usual bickering banter by the time they find him-perched on the cabin roof, of all places, and folding origami.
“Tsuzuki!” Hisoka calls up. The older shinigami doesn’t seem to hear, absorbed in a particularly intricate crease. “Tsuzuki! OI!”
“-abuh? Hisoka?” He peers down at them, grinning widely over the pulled-up collar of his cold. “Were you looking for me?”
Kazahaya nods, half-grinning. Rikuou smirks. Hisoka grumbles.
“YES, we were looking for you! Come down from there already!”
“All right, all right!” Tsuzuki holds his hands up in surrender-and a flurry of delicate white shapes fall from his fingers, blooming in light as they floats down towards them. “Oops! Catch!”
“Wh-“ they say, before the normally innocuous bird-shikigami turn into snowballs and smack them unerringly in the face.
There’s a long, long awkward silence. And then-
SPLAT!
SPLAT!
SPLAT!
It’s nice, when one’s job allows one to fly, and prevents possible accidents resulting from being pelted off the top of a building. There really are upsides to being a shinigami, and they include being caught the second your feet touch the ground and being pelted and pelting back until everyone is pink-frosted and shivery-damp and flushed with laughter-or the equivalent thereof.
And it’s even better afterwards, when they head back inside to warm up, accepting drinks that warm them up and are guaranteed not to turn them into anything odd. Even the stray, snickering sprig of mistletoe above them doesn’t disconcert them much-Rikuou and Tsuzuki exchange looks, each clap hands on a flailing partner’s shoulder, and coax them into a kiss.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…it’s still up there.”
“And still laughing.”
“…”
“Four-way?”
”…”
“Oh, why the hell not. Merry Christmas.”