but baby it's cold outside { c }

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[attr="class","ltbold"]There were a lot of people on the ice that evening. They skated in pairs, couples, in messy groups that were all jumbles of flailing limbs. Pick anyone out of the crowd and the dream seemed to have created a story for them. There were twin sisters here on vacation and hoping to catch the eye of two brothers - both sibling pairs were currently skating on opposite sides of the lake and subtly sizing each other up. There were the Burkes, a family of five that lived "nearby" and were almost always up here skating or window shopping. Miranda Dancy, who looked just like Loretta Young, often skated alone but was sometimes joined by the local Cary Grant, which was fitting.

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Lucas was alone. Sometimes one of the regulars would try to pull him along to skate in time with the music that hummed out over the loudspeakers, but tonight he had managed to avoid all that. He wove wide, predictable circles around the lake, singing along to the carols under his breath and being careful not to brush up against anyone. After this he supposed he would go visit Maureen O'Hara, who was not Maureen O'Hara but "played" by her, at the hotel, and then head back up to the Workshop until his alarm clock woke him. Such was the gist of his routine, these days.

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You walk around as though you have only half of you, Miranda had offhandedly observed once. They both had gotten quiet for a moment and then agreed that it was about accurate. It wasn't as though he made a business out of being depressed all the time, but there was just something about this place that wasn't the same if you weren't sharing it.

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Well, that was enough skating for the evening. He glided in a long arc back toward the edge of the lake nearest the rental and hot chocolate stand, hands in the pockets of his coat and shoulders hunched as he burrowed part of his face into his collar. "Jingle Bell Rock" was starting to fade out into the slow instrumental introduction of the next song, and he was only paying attention to his surroundings enough to not bump into people, lost in absent thoughts of conversations he might have with Maureen O'Hara, and the quietness of the Workshop lately.

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There was a street lantern just by the stand, and the low fence on that side of the lake was garnished with yellow Christmas lights, giving the area a misty glow as Lucas finally slowed at the lake's edge and looked up.

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A line had formed at the hot chocolate stand. More cheery vacationers and regulars chatting quietly to each other. And a redhead. He always spotted them, as sure as if they had been supernaturally highlighted and wreathed with beacons. But unlike the others which he would quickly dismiss, this one held his attention. He couldn't see his face very well from here, but the profile of it, his posture, that shade of red, he almost could have been . . .

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But this was only a dream, after all, and it could be playing tricks on him. Setting a familiar face in front of him, just out of his memory, like the pictures in the Workshop. Except, this person was the right age, the age that he would be now, not the last time they had seen each other. Did that matter? Maybe it was more imagination. But what if it was him? What would he being doing here? Standing in line for hot chocolate like it was the most natural thing?

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Lucas must have just stood there staring for over a minute, frozen in place as his mind raced up and down across the possibilities. And it wasn't as though there hadn't been times before where Lucas thought he saw him, but this time, this time a slow pounding was starting in his chest, his eyes glossy from the gleam of the lights, and it felt real. This time, it felt horribly real.

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"J-Jerry?" he called out, just as a burst of laughter broke out in the line. He swallowed, sliding another foot forward over the ice, standing right in the glow of the lantern now. "Jerry?"

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[attr="class","tatag"]Jeremiah Burton

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[attr="class","ltbold"]The man turned, and it must have been some kind of miracle that Lucas stayed upright because the way his heart was threatening to explode in his chest at that moment, he felt, should have sent him to his knees. It was him. It was him, there wasn't a doubt in his mind. He could feel it. And for a moment as Lucas just stared up at him in awe, the blonde didn't register that it was confusion and not recognition on the other's face.

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He could stop searching now, he could stop waiting, his friend was here. Jerry was finally here . . . It felt like ages passing as the redhead made his way over, Lucas lost in his own silent reverie. How many times had he imagined this moment over the years? Every night, going to sleep wondering if this would be the night. Each day spent wondering how Jerry was doing, if he had woken up, if there were any changes. He had done his best to continue on with his life, yes, but never did a moment pass where he wasn't aware of who he was missing.

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But then when Lucas looked up at him as he reached the edge of the lake, a sinking feeling settled in, because he could no longer ignore that something was very off. Jerry wasn't looking at him right, it was like he didn't know . . . didn't know him? The questioning greeting, the expression that looked so composed when Lucas felt like his whole world had been shaken. His throat was closing up, eyes glistening as a quiet hurricane swirled inside him as well, confusion and sadness and fear and a quiet desperate hope that maybe something just needed to click and it would be alright again. Lucas' eyes certain didn't hide all of this, his weak smile starting to falter even as he spoke. "Jerry? . . . It's you, isn't it? Don't you know . . . ?" Don't you know who I am? I've been waiting here for you. "I-it's me. Lucas. Don't you remember?"

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If he didn't, well, it would explain a lot, but now the thought that Jerry might have been so close all this time and just didn't know to come home made him sway ever so slightly on his feet a little, skating grating quietly against the ice.

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[attr="class","tatag"]Jeremiah Burton