Right from the start, from that eventful day at the coffee shop, Rita of Lancaster and Peter Kavinsky felt like they belonged to each other on an ineffable level, but destiny has a soft spot for them and enjoys massively to put them trough a series...
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''Fuck.''
''You're so sexy. You're so fucking hot.''
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The entire town had been completely covered in white since Sunday morning. At the same time it looked like the most gorgeous painting. It looked too, like an unfinished one, as great part of the canvas was still perfectly white, waiting for the artists hand to return.
Intricate patterns of ice floated weightlessly downward from the pure white sky above, pilling in the most satisfactory way above the branches of the tree outside Rita's bedroom. Every wooden arm looking like a compilation of perfect white, feathery cushions that were also soft and warm.
The curly haired girl was more than used to this kind of weather. More than that, she adored it. The satisfaction of being the first to make an impression in the blanket of freshly lain snow, the subtle crunch underfoot as she strode forward and the best bit of all...the sight of low hanging shafts of sunlight illuminating the sparkling whitened scene before her.
However now she hated it, with passion. It reminded her of London, place she once called home.
Rita's long shaky fingers didn't leave the silver, cold knob of the sliding window door for a whole minute. Her mouth open wide in sock. Her big brown eyes blinked a few times, confirming the sigh ahead of her wasn't some kind of winter mirage.
Peter Kavinsky stood impatiently on the other side of the clear glass, face flushed, from the frigid air and semi hidden within the collar of his black padded jacket. A grey wool cap hugged his head, his curled locks hidden under it.
''What are you doing here?'' She was, somehow, able to articulate those words as he stepped inside her room.
The brief instant during which the room was exposed to the outside's conditions was sufficient to lower it's previous, warm and cosy temperature. Her body was momentarily numbed by the frosty air that raced inside.
''You've been ignoring me.'' Peter sounded extremely mad as he spoke hoarsely. ''Again.'' He threw his beanie over the bed, revealing his wild hair underneath. He run his hand trough to fix it but Rita preferred it before. ''I've been trying to talk to you for the last four days Rita. Four. You didn't answer one.'' He held four fingers up and then just one. Rita glanced away. ''What did I do this time?'' His hazel eyes burn into her jaw line, showing profound and genuine distress.
