Now, I know what you're all thinking: Has the gremlin crawled out of her cave and is gonna start writing again? My answer: I dunno. I mean- here's this. Sorry for how short it is.
The days were growing colder and colder as the dates flew, much like the biting winds of winter, chewing at the fingers of pedestrians and ruining the joyous atmosphere of the upcoming holiday, the day next. Doors and shutters had all been lowered, closing for the evening and the next day; one, however, stayed wide open, lights gleaming into the streets in rays of artificial attention. He stands inside, just behind the counter, whistling a tune to himself, so foreign compared to the diverse stillness behind the doors.
His hair is a stark black, blending and mixing with the warm tones of the walls he stood in front of. Olive skin framed his face, scarred, in places but endearing and beautiful nonetheless; with his smile, the slightly-lopsided and playful one that often danced across his lips, he was an idyllic being. Yellowing lights gleamed from the hanging above, highlighting the man's jaw; it was hard-set and sharp and yet; looking into his eyes was much like that of staring from a boulevard into a vast, open sea, gentling tugging at the shore of sand. They were tender, and calm, the reassuring kind that always seemed to make the hot ball of anxiety in the girl's throat sink back down into her stomach in a feeling of tranquillity, less the plaguing worries of the days just before.
It was a shop, he stood in, the inviting smells of coffee lulling him, even, into a feeling of relaxation.
"The calm before the storm," He thinks to himself humorously, that witty smile coming to involuntarily raise his lips.
Door chimes interrupt his song and she stands there, wrapped up in the armour to defend her fragile body from the jarring, stabbing cold of the outside. The first thing that the man registers are her eyes; as grey as a brewing storm and constantly analysing her surroundings, and yet she ceased to do this compulsive practice at that moment Her blonde curls tumble over her shoulders from beneath a knitted, grey hat and they are an everlasting river of gold, shining in the yellow lights that dangle from above. She breaks into a wide smile, putting her usual, shy grin to shame; and she runs to him, yanking off her hat and scarf, disregarding them on the table nearest to the counter, and then jobs behind it, straight into the arms of her lover.
Heat he always has envelopes her; cradling her in his long-missed embrace and he whispers sweet nothings in her ear. The man's voice was low, as if he were trying to keep a secret from a crowded room, despite them being the only people in sight, telling her what he had been dying to express for weeks, now: telling her that she was even more gorgeous than the last time they had been united, that he had longed to hold her during the lonely night, that he had missed her so much that it was unbearable, and that he was never going to let her go again.
"But most importantly," He soothes. "You won't be alone this Christmas."
Merry Christmas Guys - Yes - I know its only Christmas Eve rn.
