"The death of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world."

– Edgar Allan Poe



"Miyagi…scoot over…" A sleepy voice mumbled, drawing the man's mind further into the world of the morning. Miyagi cracked open an eye, his first sight a mop of honey blonde hair curled tightly into his chest, and his second the very close edge of the bed. The lean man shifted his legs and moved more towards the center of the mattress, dragging Shinobu with him. Once they were comfortably situated, the youth rolled over onto his back, enabling Miyagi to see his slumbering face.

The dark haired man gave a slight yawn, then leaned down and planted a dry kiss on Shinobu's forehead. The action brought a quiet murmur from the boy, and Shinobu wrapped his arm around Miyagi, snuggling closer to him. Miyagi yawned again, glancing around the room with groggy eyes, and Shinobu shifted even closer to him, a slight shiver coursing through his petite body.

Miyagi's eyebrows furrowed at this, and he immediately picked up that it was noticeably cooler in the room before they'd gone to bed. He reached over to his side of the bed and pulled the thermostat remote off the nightstand, clicking the temp up a few notches as he smoothed his hand along Shinobu's back.

Miyagi settled back down, but he wondered at why it had gotten so cold in one night, but as he laid his head on top of the soft golden one, he found his answer.

The window on the opposite wall had been glossed over in a blanket of white, and he could faintly see more frosty tendrils falling in the distance.

Miyagi's lips parted, and he felt tendrils of a different sort begin to stir nostalgic memories in his mind.

It was snowing.

Shinobu noticed that Miyagi's breathing changed, and his gray eyes fluttered open to see a look of frozen contemplation on his lover's face.