𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃, chris sturniolo

030.

"What's the point of me keeping my window unlocked if you're going to keep throwing pebbles?"

Chris rolls his eyes as he climbs the tree. He is surprised when he sees the path he walks on, be free of slippery ice––she must've cleared the way for him because she knows this is their thing. As Chris steps into Bianca's room, he is greeted by an immediate sensation of coziness that seems to wrap around him like a welcoming embrace as he takes off his shoes that are covered in flakes of snow. The transition from the biting cold of the snowy outdoors to the comforting haven of her room was nothing short of magical. Soft, amber-hued fairy lights adorned the walls, casting a warm and gentle glow that danced gracefully across the room. The air was scented with a delicate mixture of vanilla and lavender, the fragrance emanating from a cluster of neatly arranged candles on her nightstand. A plush, well-worn rug underfoot felt like a cloud beneath his sock-covered feet.

"It's more romantic that way, don't you think? And plus, I don't want to just barge in." He shrugs as he sits in the nook decorated with many square pillows, his back leaning against one as his eyes gaze at the brunette in front of him. Just like her, Chris was tossing and turning in bed all night, thinking about the week planned ahead of them. Things have been ill at ease between them for a while now, mostly on Bianca's part.

With her feelings for him growing each day like marigold flowers, being around him feels arduous. She stumbles on her words far more than usual, fiddles with the cross pendant of his necklace that she hasn't taken off whenever she would immerse herself in a casual conversation with him, avoids meeting his eyes at all cost as if staring right into them would turn her into stone. Her cheeks would drown in a rose flush whenever Chris' hand would touch the curve of her waist; goosebumps would decorate her arms and she has never been more grateful of the frigid air because her sweater would conceal them.

"You're excited to be with me in the mountains for a week, yeah?" Chris asks, a lopsided grin tugging the corner of his mouth.

Bianca turns around, walking to one of her duffel bags on her bed whilst pretending to fix the contents inside as her face turns crimson. She playfully scoffs, seeing his lazy grin grow wider from her peripheral vision. "You wish."

Chris leaves his seat as Bianca zips up her bag once more, her hands grasping the handles, only for Chris to snatch them from her gently; their fingertips faintly brushing, making Bianca's twitch slightly at the contact. The boy is taken back by the weight of one of her duffel bags, his eyes diverting to her silhouette in confusion. "What the hell did you pack that weighs this much?" The brunette flashes him a bashful smile, her fingers creeping up to her lips––a habit she had adapted to whenever she would grow sheepish.

"I bought you and your family each a present." Bianca chews on her inner cheek, fearing that Chris would find her peculiar for doing so, especially because she doesn't know them well enough. She did have a difficult time trying to find the perfect gift for each one of them, mostly Chris. Each time she found a potential present to get him, her conscience would tell her that he wouldn't be fond of it.
Meanwhile, Chris is gazing at her with those glimmering eyes of his, his heart swelling at her kind gesture; he knew being altruistic has always been in her nature, but this just proved to him just how gracious she truly is.

"You didn't have to, sunshine."

The girl shrugs. "I know, but I wanted to."

She heads for the bedroom door, opening it as it creaks slightly. They descend down the steps, saying their farewells to Natasha as she walks them out to the front door, telling them to be safe during the trip. Bianca steps out of her cozy, snow-dusted home and onto the winter wonderland that surrounds her. The street lay beneath a pristine, wintery veil, as if a celestial artist had gently brushed it with a canvas of purest white. Each flake, an individual masterpiece, had women itself seamlessly into a tapestry of shimmering diamonds that stretched as far as the eye could see. The street, once a thoroughfare for hurried commuters and bustling city life, now lay in quiet repose, wrapped in the serene hush of freshly fallen snow. Under the gentle weight of countless snowflakes, the asphalt of the street had disappeared, replaced by a soft, undulating landscape, like a frosted cake that beckoned the weary traveler to indulge in its icy sweetness. The snow, untouched by human intrusion, a vast expense of purity that stretched from one end of the street to the other. It is as if the world has taken a deep breath and held it, in reverence of this newfound stillness. The houses along the street wear their own white cloaks, rooftops sagging under the weight of snow, chimes exhaling plumes of smoke into the frigid air.