"This kind of weather calls for it," he says around the steady film of steam leaking from hot chocolate. It does, but you wouldn't entirely know, seeing as how you grew up in subtropics and sunburns and beach shorts when the rest of the world lived in January. You have never seen snow. Experienced it's feathery lightness for yourself, so naturally, when a very flushed Kwon Jiyong came knocking on your door, all bright teeth and even brighter jeans, you jumped at the chance to be out in it. Your lips quirk as the mug's heat oozes into your palms. "It's pretty good, you know?" You jump as four fingers curl around yours, and he's laughing because you were thinking again and thoroughly distracted. You would yell and scream and kick if not for the lightness permeating his brown eyes. In this moment, you can't decide what is more perfect. The snow floating lazily in your peripheral, or Kwon Jiyong smiling genuinely as if all is right in the world. Taking a sip of the viscous chocolate with your free hand, you battle to contain the blush polka-dotting your cheeks. Later on if he asks, you'll never-mind it as a consequence of the cooling wind.

--

"Kwon Jiyong, you are the worst!" you cry with the stomp of your foot. His twilight-bathed silhouette doubles over in laughter, ice sliding decadently from his fingers. Your hair is dusted with snow, more-so than usual, and you're red-faced and pouting. Behind it lays a grin that threatens to split your face in twain, but you'll never let it be seen. Honestly, you're happy and swimming in tides of nostalgia--sand balls and laughter and screaming seagulls flit through your mind as you recall thrilling times at home. He's nearly laughed himself into a coma, the way he collapses to the wintry ground in tears and pain and "oh my Gods" that will surely wake your neighbors.