maybe this time destiny won't be late

The knock on the door surprised Oliver.

He had been doing homework on the couch, notebooks sprawled across the coffee table and filled with equations that he still didn't understand. He was twirling a pencil in his hand until the knock made him drop it, rolling into non-existence. Instead of picking it up, he went to see who it was.

Oliver opened the door, and he was met with a light breeze and the scent of fresh but also decaying leaves; perhaps it would rain later. Rowan stood there, wrapped in a scarf and endless layers of clothing, but his smile still projected the same warmth. Oliver blinked a couple times as if the light was playing tricks on him, but just as always, Rowan took his hand and they set out for the day.

They spent most of their time at the parlor, sipping apple cider and talking about their weeks. It was cozy inside as the warmth from pumpkin pies and loose cinnamon wafted through the air and seemed to coat them in a layer of sugar. Perhaps that was why it seemed like Rowan’s smile sparkled a little as he spoke while Oliver listened, observing.

While most people ventured to the carnival or cornfields, the two went out into the forest. The dried leaves crunched against their shoes as they made their way to the clearing and the familiar secret tree. It was much taller than the both of them combined, and halfway done with shedding its leaves but still leaving a good amount scattered beneath it.

Maybe it was because of the scattered leaves that made the clearing a little more unrecognizable, a reminder that they had outgrown the battleground of grass and the endless battles they used to fight together. Now they were fighting their own battles.

Rowan stared up at the tree and suggested they make a leaf pile to jump into, and Oliver agreed. As he knelt down and scooped leaves into his arms, throwing them into one place, the grass was starting to be a little more visible and it was almost like they were transported to a moment back in time.

When they were all finished, they gave a small running jump until they both jumped into the pile, the soft cushion giving way to safely catch them. Rowan laughed and Oliver smiled as he caught his breath.

However, hearing the laugh roughen into something hoarse made him turn his head, and he watched as Rowan doubled over as a coughing fit overtook him. Oliver patted his back, unable to do anything more than simply watch him work through it.

His lungs were filled with too much cinnamon. Yes, that must be it. The sugar caramelized too close to a warm heart.

There wasn’t much time left after their brief escapade; they had to get home, even if Oliver didn’t want to. He would go back to his homework while Rowan would have to get his caramel sorted out. Or at least try to.

wish your hope for me

If Oliver wasn’t paying attention, he would mistake the strong wind as a knock on the door.

He found that he had too much free time on his hands as he slouched on the couch, molding into the surface. The television was on to the news, but he was more interested in the bug flickering over it until there was a sound at the door. He whipped his head towards it, finally coming into his own body.

He left the television on as he stood up and slowly made his way towards the door. Opening it made a blast of cold air hit him, and he flinched. He blinked a couple times as his eyes adjusted to the bright light until he realized it was only the reflection from the blinding snow on the ground. And there was nothing there.

It was snowing, the cold slowly seeping into him, and after a moment he finally closed the door to put a coat, a scarf, and boots on. He shoved his hands into his pockets before he set out for the day.

Oliver didn’t have anything in mind; he never did himself. He didn’t dare go into the packed parlor, but he passed by and was briefly warmed by the smell of hot chocolate and baked cookies. Other than that, he strayed away from the toy store bustling with shoppers and the pond that was full of ice skaters.

Instead, he ventured into the forest where he made his own path through the otherwise untouched snow. He left a single pair of footsteps as he tried to remember the way back to the secret tree—their secret tree.

He took in a slow breath as he approached and saw the barren tree in the middle. Its branches were barren but reached far enough into the sky that it could almost touch it. But it still wasn’t close enough. Its trunk had grown larger, and it made Oliver wonder. Maybe, maybe.

His pace slightly quickened as he approached, matching the beating of his heart and whispering wind. He came to the other side of the tree and found that it was empty. He looked at it a moment longer until he circled around it again just in case. Over and over, his own footsteps overlapped each other to merge into multiple paths at once.

But his eyes weren’t deceiving him this time, and his brain knew it better than his heart. He finally leaned his back against the tree, tired from the journey and the endless pacing.

The cold air stung Oliver’s face before he buried it into his scarf, an itchy red material. His hands were similarly shoved into the pockets of his thin jacket with little insulation. Feeling the sharp breeze against his ears made him sigh, billowing useless steam that did nothing to relieve the pressure weighing in his chest.

He tilted his head up, and noticed that snowflakes were beginning to fall down and seemed to fog his vision. A while longer of staring made him realize the blurriness was from tears yet to drop, as a few blinks let them fall down his face along with the snowflakes. He didn't mean to, but they continued falling, and they began to freeze into him until he became a statue with permafrosted tears.

The snow fell gently and slowly before settling on top of him, beginning to build layers to bury him. He could move and shake the snow off, but he instead he kept frozen. The sky was a dreary gray with no color which seemed to keep blurring into meaningless nothing.

After all, what was day without the sun?