A Winter Day

Bittersweet

Winter. It was a cold, cold winter. The sky was a stormy grey, gloomy clouds scattered all over the vastness like a blotched masterpiece. They drifted slowly, mournfully, as if they were carrying sorrows of weeping children to a place far away. The damp, despondent atmosphere stole Phil's hope, and he wondered if the sun would ever shine again, if the wintry day would ever spit the dreams it had swallowed.

His fingers were as cold as ice, his lips tinted blue as he stood at the entrance to Dan's home, blades twisting in his gut, digging into the wounds of his past. His mind was deliberately blank, empty like the void in his heart. He could hear the clatter of utensils, the faint buzz of the television and excited ramblings of kids from inside the large house. He felt his confidence burning down to the ground, and his hopes turned into ashes right before his eyes. The pain in his chest and a strong sense of nostalgia threatened to break him down, but he fought hard against the emotions that bubbled up his chest.

Phil turned around abruptly. The cold wind bit into his delicate skin, and his heart froze over. He closed his eyes, his brain a swirling, spluttering mess of emotions. He tried to walk away, but his feet won't move. They were planted on the floor firmly as if nailed to the ground. He took a deep breath, and turned around once more. With nothing but sadness in his chest, he raised a trembling hand and tapped his knuckles lightly against the door, his heart in his throat.

~*~

"We need to talk, Phil," Dan whispered, his voice filled with painful sadness. He put down the plate he was washing in the sink, and turned around abruptly, froth dripping from his hands to the hardwood floor.

It was a lazy afternoon, a day like any other day. Phil was sat comfortably, oblivious like he always was. He looked up from where he was sitting, raising an eyebrow at Dan's serious tone. "What?"

"It's just . . ." Dan started, his voice that of a broken man. Phil was instantly alarmed. He sat up, staring at his husband who wouldn't meet his eyes. Dan simply bit his lip and sighed, washing his hands timidly in the sink and walking around to sit down next to Phil on the dining table. "This isn't working."

~*~

Phil waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

The anticipation crawled up his throat like a cunning snake, climbing and climbing and climbing, coiling around his throat and choking him. His breaths came out in slight pants, puffs of smoke leaving his cold lips as he waited in the chilly air.

He wondered when the sun would shine again.

The door swung open, fresh scent of coffee and home invading his senses. Warmth crept out of the house in waves, washing over Phil like waves crashing on the shore. Phil's breath caught in his throat when his gaze, blue like a frozen lake, fell upon messy curls and dark brown eyes for the first time in five years. He stared, mesmerised, at the face of his past lover who he hadn't seen or heard from in years. A large lump grew in his throat, and his heart sunk deep down into the depths of his stomach.

Dan stared right back, his eyes so vividly brown, warm like a hot cup of coffee on a cold, winter day. Phil's heart melted like ice on a hot pan, and his eyes fogged up. Dan's hand was frozen on the door, the polite smile he had on his lips slipping from his face as a reluctant recognition dawned in his deep brown eyes.

Phil's heart was beating, using every last bit of energy in his body. Thud. Thud. Thud. He could hear the sound of it pulsing in his ears, making him deaf for a full minute. He couldn't stop looking at Dan. He had changed. Phil could barely recognize the boy he loved. His curly hair was swept back, and his face had aged, his once innocent brown eyes now showing a level of maturity that came with adulthood. He was wearing an apron, covered in a slight dusting of flour. A small bit of dough was caught in his hair, and Phil couldn't help but stare helplessly, his heart breaking into a million little pieces.