EDIT: I realize that this site is a bloody piece of horse manure.

This is actually a piece of my fourshot story, Seasons. By some unexpected turn of fate, bloody mixed them up and so instead of Photoshoot, you got THIS, which is so completely unrelated that it is not even funny.

Out of spite, I'm posting it. God only knows when I'll be posting the rest of it, since I actually meant only to post them all once they were finished, but ff . net FUCKED UP (EXCUSE MY LANGUAGE) and that PISSES ME OFF HARDCORE, so here.

Maybe then I'll get to break my computer and feel relieved.

Bloody effing 'documents' section... not even capable of keeping a doc for over than 24 hours without losing the damned hyperlink. F--k it all.

So, if some of you already read this and reviewed it while it was under the title of Photoshoot, feel free to go over to Photoshoot and actually read Photoshoot, which was not this. Because this is DECEMBER, AS WAS PERFECTLY CLEAR WHEN I UPLOADED.

And then, somewhere between my posting it and it getting uploaded, they fucked with the files. Bravo, ff . net, you really give me faith in your server upgrades. Congratulations.

More in my profile.

Tell me if it's worth continuing this story or if ff . net deserves a pile of crap delivered to its front door as thanks. Either would be appreciated.

Please bear in mind that yes, I'm from Canada, no, our winters aren't eight months long, no, we don't live in igloos, no matter what people think, yes, we have Internet access, and no, I haven't ever seen a lumberjack/moose/beaver before in my whole life.

Well, okay. I've seen a beaver once. In the U.S. West Virginia, to be exact.

December

A boulevard in Montreal, Canada.

Less than a week before Christmas.

Link's lips were chapped from the cold. He stood on the sidewalk, chin tucked into his chest and collar raised to cover his face. He had a ski cap pulled over his ears, and dark sunglasses protected his eyes against the biting wind and bright snow. His thick parka, filled with feathers and lined with fur kept his torso warm. The end of the puffy arms of the coat had been stuffed along with his hands into his mittens, made of rough wool, and though he wasn't technically cold, he kept his fingers into a fist, as a reflex. His legs were only clad in jeans, however, and the cold bit at him from there. His feet were well covered by heavy snowboard boots that he simply couldn't part with, even though they were old and well worn. They just were too warm to throw out.

In any case, ―it was mentioned― he was standing on the sidewalk.

His lower lip trembled, and his expression matched that of the other people crazy enough to be out by a time like this: a sort of stupefied, blank look, with the eyes staring into emptiness, as typically seen. His mind was elsewhere, as everyone else's, perhaps in the Caribbean, where there was no such thing as god-forsaken snow. And his eyes didn't see the black ice threatening unsuspecting drivers. They saw endless beaches, and maybe one or two palm trees.

His bag's strap slipped slowly off his shoulder, momentarily bringing him back to reality and chilling wind, and he shrugged it back onto his padded shoulder precariously, shoving both his mitten-ed hands into his parka pockets.

To his side, a businessman in the same kind of attire cursed under his breath. He knew more than heard, because a cloud of steam appeared, white, in the frozen air before dissipating.

Link was a young man, but in this instant, he looked as tired and cold as everyone else, stuck in the dead of December, in the city of Montreal, Canada.

Cars sped by. He knew well that there was no way any walking imbecile would cross the boulevard soon. And they were too cold to press the waiting button. Who would be crazy enough to take out a hand and press the metal switch? It would be frozen solid anyway and wouldn't budge, most likely.

To think that just yesterday he was wearing his autumn coat. It had been a quick winter coming, this year. He wouldn't have known any better if he hadn't listened to the news this morning. A 'slight wind chill and bright sun' simply didn't describe the intensity of this cold. A shiver shook him.

No matter how long you lived here, you simply didn't get used to it. Link didn't think he knew anybody sane who liked snow and ice and winter in Canada. He couldn't believe that just four months ago, he was walking around in t-shirt and shorts, wondering how long the summer would last.

He hated the cold, like everyone else.

A few blocks further, and he felt the polar wind rushing at him, enhanced by the tall skyscrapers, which only made it turn into a hurricane like funnel, blowing at the passing innocents with frigid, uninterrupted sighs.

Damn winter.

Damn wind.

Damn cold.

It was less than a week until Christmas. At least that was good. The cheery lights and red and green called to him, telling him that he had yet to buy presents for his friends. It would be utter madness in the malls and stores. It was a surprise someone still had mercy for him and kept him alive through the 'Christmas shopping' ordeal in the first place.

Link brushed the thought off. It was a miracle he could still think. He felt his nostrils freeze over, damnit, and it was slightly uncomfortable. He wondered if anyone noticed, though it was doubtful, because they too had their sights on the ice-and-salt covered sidewalk.

How long until the office? It seemed that whenever it was cold out, his bosses would find it fun to move the office a few blocks away, by some magical way. The old geezers most likely had their chauffeurs and garages and no concerns about ordinary transportation means. And a warm car in the morning. Link sighed, before realizing that the cold had seeped even deeper into his skull. Man, his brain was freezing over! The thought made him laugh.

As if on cue, he reached his office doors and pushed them open. Immediately, he felt a blast of warm air on his face, and he took a few breaths to unfreeze his nose and feel the blood rush back to his stiff fingers. He moved them, as though feeling them for the first time. He was smiling in relief. The secretaries looked at him in sympathy, hugging their cardigans closer to themselves.

Link nodded to them, the cold having stolen all his strength away. He pushed through the hallways and reached the elevators. He blew in his hands, taking off his mittens and unzipping his coat. He could think a bit clearer now, but he didn't bother. He'd have a massive amount of thinking to do later on for work, and a break was appreciated.

"Hold the door!"

Link turned to look at the person who called, and felt a smile crack the frost on his face. The young woman grinned at him, hugging herself against the wind that constantly came in from the lobby, and entered right after him. She took off her baby blue toboggan cap and shot him a sunny smile that made the remainder of the cold melt away.

"Hey, Link, how are you?"

Link shrugged, a faint smile on his lips as he glanced off to the side. They hurried to remove the rest of their winter apparel and sighed at the relief. With a cheerful 'ding!' the elevator doors slid open and they walked onto the much warmer carpeted floor.

They walked side-by-side through the hallways, coming to put their coats in the hangers, before coming out again and sighing. It was always a relief to be free to move without the hindrance the coats presented.

"Hey, Zelda. D'you enjoy your movie?" Link asked, remembering a conversation they'd had the day before. The petite woman at his side grinned, holding back a giggle.

"You would have liked it. It was memorable."

Link frowned, looking down at her. "Didn't you mention once that it was a Christmas chick flick?"

Zelda looked astonished. "Did I? Oh well, darn it. Here I was hoping you would watch it again with me."

Link winced, understanding his mistake. He tried repairing it hurriedly.

"I don't care, really, you know," he declared. Zelda laughed, and he continued, grinning as well. "I mean, if you insist on having me as your human pillow, I really won't mind."

"Nice try," Zelda retorted. "You know what they say about office romances."

"It's not in the office, is it? Unless you just can't wait." He waggled his eyebrows, and she smacked him lightly on the arm, laughing. "No, really," Link went on, "I know of a meeting room that's always empty and if you simply can't hold your need for me back anymore we could make a run for it."

Zelda burst into a fit of light chuckles. Link was grinning widely, enjoying the sound of her laughter. It wasn't a major thing, but knowing he could make her laugh was a big plus in his day.

"I know you will always be ready to help others, Link, but really, you needn't do this for me."

Link shook his head, half bowing. "It's always a pleasure. Literally."

Zelda looked slightly disturbed, though a smile continually pulled at her lips, and her pale blue eyes twinkled. Link threw an arm around her shoulders and briefly hugged her to his side, before letting her go. It was a purely friendly gesture, but he couldn't help his fingers lingering on her shoulder just a second more.

It wasn't unjustified. Zelda was beautiful, intelligent, and they had become instant friends.

Alright, so she had become his friend, and he had hoped for more. It didn't matter anymore. They knew each other too well now. It just couldn't be, though a part of him wished and believed it was still a possible way to go.

In fact, just last night, he had had a few thoughts about that. Now, as he stood by her and joked about what would never be, he felt silly for simply hoping for it. He was hopeless.

Zelda flicked through a few pages of a file someone had given her in the hall, and her brows furrowed in concentration as she tried making sense of all of it. Link found it adorable, though his male ego would never tell her so. Her pink lips pouted, pulled together. Okay, so that wasn't as adorable so much as it gave him other thoughts . . . It was best not to think of it now.

"Link? Why are you red?"

He snapped out of it a split-second late. It didn't matter. "It must be the remnants of the cold outside. That chill is out to kill us."

She giggled, nodded, and went back to reading. Link knew he had to ask now. It was now or next year, and he didn't think it could wait that long. He leant over, glanced around to make sure everyone was busy doing something else, and murmured in her ear, "So, what are you doing for Christmas, this year?"

She didn't even look up and answered, "Nothing big. I'll be dropping by my mom's house for a short salute on the 25th, but otherwise, I'm not doing anything."

Link gulped down his nervousness, before muttering the words he'd pictured himself telling her. "So, do you want to drop by my apartment on the 24th?"

"Okay. I'll be there at seven." With those words, she was already wandering off, as though nothing special had occurred. Link was left standing, in awe and elation, smack in the middle of the hallway. It wasn't long before he regained his senses, and he fisted his hands, soundlessly crying out a victorious 'YES!'

He wasn't feeling so victorious four days later, however, when he came to the glum realization that he didn't have any wine. With the S.A.Q. on a strike, he'd have to find a cheap bottle. Now. He grabbed his keys and wallet and ran out of his apartment. It was 6:40 PM, on the 24th of December. He was doomed. It would be a miracle if anyone on the block had a store still open, much less a bottle of anything alcoholic left.

He was proven wrong, however, when, slipping on black ice, he reached the closing doors of a private retailer, who stared at him as though he had two heads.

"Uh, sir?" The man questioned, his francophone accent evident in his voice. "You need help?"

"WINE!" Link wheezed. "I . . . need . . . wine . . ." He breathed. " . . . Date . . . cute . . . girl . . ."

"Oké, Oké. I will give you wine if you breathe. You have twenty bucks?"

"Uh, yeah," Link handed the man the money, and the man grinned at him.

"It is one of my last bottles, but I've been making lots of money with the strike and all," the man snickered. "You have a . . . lady with you?"

"Yes, but please, I'm gonna be late to my own apartment!"

"Alright. Here. Thanks for coming!"

Link didn't even respond. He was already running back to his block. He ran up the stairs, only to bump violently into his date. She let out a muffled cry and fell backward towards the ice. Link barely had time to grasp her and help her stay upright. By the time they both stopped breathing harshly, Zelda was cuddled against his parka-covered front. Link looked down at her, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I thought you wouldn't be so early and I'd get a slick entrance."

"Sorry to burst your hopes," Zelda dismissed his apologies with a bright smile. Link grinned and opened the doors for them. They walked in silence up to his apartment. She stepped in and looked around, taking in her surroundings. She walked into the living room and sighed at the comfortable heat. She wasn't sure Link knew, but his apartment had an atmosphere that she fell in love with immediately.

Link was running around the place trying to fix things, take his coat off and talk at the same time. She watched him in gentle amusement for a moment, and when he realized she wasn't answering, he turned to her from across the room, and their eyes met.

In the warm lighting, her cheeks still rosy from the cold and coat half unbuttoned she looked stunning. Link said nothing, and his face was expressionless, but he felt his heart warm. She licked her lips shyly and glanced sideways, choosing not to withstand his intense gaze. Her golden locks shielded half her face as she walked to a shelf where a few useless knick-knacks were displayed. None of them particularly interested her, and all her attention was on Link's movements.

Link carefully took his scarf off and threw it on a chair, on top of his coat, sighing. He didn't dare look at Zelda, instead choosing his words.

"Uh, Zelda," he started nervously, bracing himself for the worst, "I need you to know, um . . . I didn't invite you over because we're friends. Um, in fact, I was hoping to, well, show you that I―"

"Link," Zelda cut him off, "it's okay. I know."

Link's voice was weak and cracked as he repeated her words, "You know . . .? Then . . . do you . . .?"

"Do I what?" Zelda asked, resolved, as she turned to Link, who was feeling weaker and weaker every passing second. "Do I want to leave? Do you want me to leave?"

Crestfallen, Link shook his head desperately. "No, no, I . . . want you to stay. Even if we don't feel the same." The last bit of sentence was hardly whispered. He felt his chest constrict, and he had to avert his eyes and focus on something else. He had to warm the food he'd prepared earlier in the day. He walked into the kitchen. Zelda followed him slowly, keeping at a safe distance. She was biting her lip, knowing that she'd hurt him, unintentionally.

"Link, I―"

"No, it's okay," he reassured her, not meeting her eyes. "I was expecting that. It's okay. I mean, it bites a bit, but I'll get over it, right? It shouldn't keep us from being friends. At least I hope."

He interrupted himself, taking a deep breath. Zelda watched his profile. He was faintly smiling, as though his heart wasn't breaking inside. She felt her heart tug at his strength, his honesty and kind intentions. She wondered why she couldn't love him too. He had everything, from brains to consideration to humor. And she knew for a fact that he wasn't too bad on the eyes either.

In fact, Zelda surmised, the problem wasn't with him. It couldn't be. The man was perfect. The real problem was with her.

She did feel something for him. It could keep her awake in the middle of the night, it would make her daze off, it would make her think of him whenever she had nothing to do, it would make her heart beat faster, just slightly faster, or maybe stronger. It was not friendship. Zelda knew it for what it was.

And yet, she couldn't tell him. It would ruin their friendship, right? It would last a time, and then the romance would be over. If it didn't work out, it would forever destroy all they had, all those precious moments that she remembered and cherished.

She couldn't do that. She loved him too much to risk losing him.

Something struck her as she watched him open the Tupperware bowls and slip them into the microwave. He'd said he cared for her. It was so simple, so easy to just say no, when her heart was shattering in time with his. Would telling him make the hurt that stabbed her go away?

Well, she'd just ruined everything. He wouldn't believe her. He'd think she was trying to make him feel better.

"Link?" He stiffened, but said nothing. She took it as a cue to keep going. The microwave hummed. "Do you think I would have pity of you?"

Yes, if this worked, then there was still hope.

Link shot her pained look, but shook his head. "No, I would think you're too kind to pity someone. You'd help them, but not pity them. You're not that cruel. Are you?"

"I hope not," Zelda whispered before continuing. "Do you think I can make mistakes?"

"Everyone does. Even me," he said, a faint smirk appearing on his face, his cockiness coming back.

"Do you think it was a mistake to tell you what I did?"

Link froze, his grin too. After a short moment, he answered deliberately, taking the warm platter out of the microwave. "How is it a mistake to say the truth?" His voice was extremely weak, drained. He sounded broken. Zelda smiled, putting a hand to his arm. He was wearing a nice black button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and it had warmed from the contact with his skin. When they touched, there was a strange jolt. It didn't hurt, or make them jump, but they were both very aware of every square inch of contact.

"What if I'd lied out of fear?"

She could almost feel his heart beating erratically under his skin, his wild pulse. He turned to her and their eyes met again. His were a pool of worry and hope, and hers of hope and worry. They connected. Zelda raised her chin. He licked his lips, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

"Did you?"

Zelda said nothing, but her eyes pleaded for him to understand. Link's eyes were becoming more and more alert, and his forehead slowly smoothed clear of wrinkles of anxiety. He was beginning to get it. Zelda's breathing was shallow. Link leant forward unconsciously.

"Why are you scared?" He asked.

"It's new. I don't want to be hurt."

Her honesty made him smile. It was such a gentle expression that immediately she felt safe to walk the plank. His forehead grazed hers, and he whispered the next few words.

"I'd never hurt you. I love you too much."

Her eyes started tearing, and before she lost it, she pressed her lips up to his. He was surprised, but he didn't pull back, reveling in the feeling. He wrapped his arms around her body and arms, bringing a hand to the back of her neck, as though begging her not to go and let him keep her forever.

She was his sun in December.

To Bvv3138, who reviewed Photoshoot after actually reading this: Non, en fait, j'suis bilingue. J'ai pas vraiment de préférence, mais à force de vivre dans la région de Montréal, on finit par choisir le plus approprié. Dans ce cas-ci, vu que c'est Internet, j'écris en anglais. Mais j'écris aussi en français, dans mes temps libres. Je savais pas quedu monde de T-R lisait mes affaires. Joie! Enfin quelqu'un de chez nous!

Little explanations for more specific terms that were in the story:

Black ice: a rather threatening type of ice that is so thin you can hardly see it. It looks like the pavement is wet, while in fact the temperature outside is below 0 degrees Celsius (temperature where water freezes) and it is extremely slippery. Called black ice because of its transparency: you can see the black road under it.

Montreal, Canada: I come from there, and yes, it can be that cold. Temperatures in Montreal vary from +40 degrees Celsius to –30 degrees Celsius. Let's just say our houses are very resistant to temperature changes.

Ice-and-salt: In winter, as with many cities, Montreal spreads salt on the ice to make it melt. Salt gathers energy and heat quickly and makes the ice around it melt. It also helps you get a grip on the ground, like tiny rocks.

The S.A.Q on strike: S.A.Q. means Société des Alcools du Québec, or, translated, Society of Alcohols in Quebec. It is the main and most influent distributors of alcohol in the province. Recently, for the past month or so, its workers have been on strike, causing all the stores to close. It is thus practically impossible to buy whiskey and the like, though cheap wines can be found in seven elevens and other mini stores.

Francophone accent: The majority of the Quebec population is francophone, but some of them in the province, and most in Montreal, are bilingual (French and English) or have one of the two official languages and one different ethnical language. Montreal is multi-cultural city, and therefore has many different languages. The main one remains French, however, in its montrealer accent.

Okay. I'm calming down. Still pissed, dammit, but whatever.

I DON'T KNOW when I'll update this. Or even IF I will, because I think I ran out of inspiration after all this bs.

Seriously,

Love,

CM