A Promise Fulfilled [WattyAwards#2012]

Chapter V: The Snow Angel

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Chapter V: The Snow Angel

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"I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops."

― Nikki Giovanni, The Snow Angel.

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They fell into a pattern. It came easily, and naturally—at least for Dex. The first coffee non-date went quite well. The two of them sat across from each other at a table, and debated the merits of the upcoming presidential election candidates. Timmy, he discovered, although he was not surprised, was a rather raging liberal, and wasted no time in shooting down all Dex's contributions whenever he tried to contradict what Timmy was saying. It quickly became not so much of a debate, but Dex blindly throwing out articles and Timmy tearing them to pieces with his usual snark. When Dex's laughter interrupted Timmy's rant about the senator from Wisconsin, Timmy stopped immediately and stared at him with shock.

"Sorry," Dex apologized. "It's just...I'm not used to you."

"You're not 'used' to me?" Timmy's face grew guarded, a little wary, and Dex instantly hated himself for it.

"No, no, it's a good thing!" He assured Timmy. "Do you have any idea the kind of people I am used to?" When Timmy didn't answer, Dex continued. "Boring, passive, mindless pencil pushers, right? And you...you're not anything like that! You're...exciting, and opinionated, and I really like that about you." He blushed a little and ducked his head.

"Oh." Timmy curled his hands a little tighter around his coffee cup before giving Dex a bright smile. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yes. It's alright."

They went back to Timmy's home afterwards, and Timmy grabbed his cheap acrylic paints and spread canvas out on the floor. They could hear Haley upstairs, singing raucously along with Alanis Morissette, and Dex couldn't stop from smiling.

Timmy's face, however, was troubled, his eyes dark and mouth twisted.

"What's wrong?" Dex asked him, shuffling a little closer along the floor so his knees brushed against the other man's.

"I don't like seeing people in pain," Timmy whispered, eyes flickering up towards the ceiling.

Dex followed his gaze. "Is she in pain?"

Timmy bit his lips and fiddled with the paint in his hands. "She fell in love someone who couldn't love her back as much as she loved them."

"Oh."

"I think that would have to be one of the most painful things of all," Timmy whispered, almost more to himself.

When they painted, it was cold and wet and slick. Dex tried trees this time, the trees he could remember from those childhood hikes in the woods.

Timmy painted a person, all in yellow, sprawled and mangled, stretched across the canvas like a corpse.

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The next time, Dex insisted on dinner. Timmy insisted on fast food. Dex paid the bill when Timmy went to wash his hands, and Timmy glared at him for a good five minutes afterwards. The fast food joint was empty, except for the lone employee, who was mopping the floor up near the counter and humming along with the music over the intercom.