Disclaimer: Apart from merchandise with his logo, I do not own Inu-Yasha.

Author's Note: After finding myself hooked on them, I've decided to start my own little ficlet corner (600 words or less in each installment) for my baby ideas that I don't have time to nurse into full blown plot lines. (; They will have no rhyme or reason or order- some may be AU, others not. I just felt like this would be fun to try. (:

Please enjoy!





"The snow's falling."

He cast a vague look out the window at the sound of her voice, taking in the moonlit scene with a little snort. "So it is," he replied rather flatly, seemingly unimpressed by the quiet night.

In spite of herself, the girl kneeling in front of the window smiled at his characteristic impassiveness, resting her elbows on the ledge— nose pressed to the frost-caked glass. "Don't tell me you dislike snow, in addition to everything else. . . ?" she questioned lightly, an idle finger darting out to doodle on the soft ice covering the panes.

Her companion gave an apathetic shrug, back pressed to the pale yellow wall; eyes closed to the scene. "What's so special about it?" he inquired a bit harshly, a bite of anger to his voice. "It may be pretty from inside, but I can tell you that it's cold and wet and shitty out there."

She opened her mouth to retort sarcastically— but fell silent at the look on his face: one of a sad, lost puppy's; a slight droop to his ears. A moment of consideration followed, her face turning back to the window. ". . . I suppose it's hard to forget, isn't it?" she murmured, lashes fluttering. "The coldness. . . Even after you come inside. . . it lingers for a long time, waiting just beneath your skin—no matter how thick your jacket was."

He grunted his agreement, arms tightening around his chest. "People have icy hearts," he then muttered. "They're programmed to shun differences. . . and leave the ones that need them most out in that damned cold."

The schoolgirl frowned slightly at this, deep in thought, resting her chin atop her crossed arms. "Maybe. . ." she finally agreed. "Maybe you're right. But even more then that. . . I think that the snow's sort of represents people in general." Upon deciding this she slouched a bit, gaze still glued upon the dancing flakes. "Cold and proud, trying to be the prettiest or the best. . . but as soon as you take them out of their comfort zone, they melt. And you see they're not really so different from you after all. . . you're made of the same stuff in the end." She smiled hesitantly up at him. "They're just scared of being left out, too, aren't they?"

Her friend didn't reply; instead he chose to look away. "And then," he whispered disgustedly, "when they do get scared, their hearts become more frozen."

". . . Yes," she agreed delicately, suddenly standing. "They do."

She left the room. Yet on the glass she left the message: But they don't have to stay that way, do they, love?

". . ." He smiled.

And the snow continued to fall.