Snow Boots (#3)

a n g e l

"When you stop believing in Santa, you get underwear." – Unknown

DEDICATION: bookperson555 for caring and being so sweet! I love you <3

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Andrew's POV

"Chipmunnnnnnk! Tell meeeeeee!" Quinn's voice whined down the phone, hints of static snipping off the ends of her words. Snowfall had strengthened over the past few days. A mattress of snow glittered mischievously past the glaze of frosted windows.

The fingertips of Andrew's right hand grazed the glossy glass of a snow globe. It followed the theme of a winter wonderland. Tiny flakes of iridescent snow rested in a thin layer on the ground, though the tiny villages and trees were not spared either.

Andrew squinted at the minuscule figurines preparing for a snowball fight. A sudden rush of homesickness flooded through his chest. It didn't help that the snow globe was a gift from his non-biological Aunt Faith, who enjoyed collecting them and told Andrew that she'd strangle him if any harm came to this one. Oh, what a loving family he had.

Having just admitted his undying-ish liking for a mozzarella stick, he needed a few seconds to collect his thoughts so they wouldn't spill out in a jumbled mess. He had a tendency to screw up the order of his words, you see, and with a girl he has a grudging yet almost genuine liking for, that was bound to happen.

The snow shimmered a different colour depending on which angle Andrew tilted the snow globe, which gave him another idea. He shook it gently, keeping his eyes fixed on the snowy clouds. "It means you're every colour of the rainbow. Words strung together to form a poem. Multidimensional. Scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle."

No hint of a sound came from the other end regarding his expressive verse, but for once, Andrew wasn't worried. He felt entirely in his element, and had never been so sure of anything in his entire life. The God of Confidence could zap him for all he cared.

After a few moments, silence was reaching an unbearable volume. At this point, Andrew was feeling mighty less confident and was actually starting to wish that the Confidence God would fry him like a fly in a bug zapper. But eventually, Quinn's flummoxed whisper graced his ears. "And what, you think you're the one who can put me back together?"

"I just think you're a broken kind of beautiful," Andrew said earnestly.

To avoid potential fainting or cooing from the other party, he ended the call at a hasty pace and gingerly set his phone down. Once making sure that Quinn would not call back and scream in his ear about how cheesy he was, he turned to a figure behind him. Andrew gnawed his bottom lip uncertainly as he asked the figure, "was that okay?"

"She'll be thinking about your poeticalness for a week," Oliver reassured him.

He'd arrived unannounced at Andrew's door a half hour ago, and made up a sob story about how Quinn had taken down his Christmas decorations. One glance at the lodge and anyone could see that he was lying. The fairy lights twinkled as beautiful as ever in the distance, and their glow highlighted the glint of the tinsel mania Oliver had created.

Of course, Oliver was also cunning enough to know that there was no way Andrew would leave him to freeze his snowballs off in the increasingly frigid weather. He'd had enough skiing experience to know the pain of genital frostbite firsthand.

Thus, Andrew let Oliver bound in, bringing flurries of frost and enthusiasm with him. Just before Andrew had called Quinn, Oliver filled him in on what he was planning for his sarcastic coworker. It was then that Andrew planned a more sentimental route for his phone call, because he needed to keep her distracted.