kalpurna

Oh my GOD, I am never no, wait, I am complaining about bandslash fandom EVERY DAY if it gets me results like these. DUDES. First ficbyzee wrote the Travis/Beckett unreliable narrator romance of my HEART, and then schuyler and clumsygyrl wrote Patrick/mystery person penpal romance of discovery and joy and emotions. alkfjalsdfjkl;askdfj and then mistful posted the next chapter of Drop Dead Gorgeous, just in case I didn't have ENOUGH wonderful fic to read. YAY. And it is a lovely sunny beautiful afternoon, and my curtains are billowing in the breeze, and I have eaten my weight in French toast sticks and hash browns and eggs and toast. Not even the fact that I just got syrup all over my bedsheets is getting me down right now.

Chicago doesn't really have a spring. The weather goes from miserably cold to uncomfortably hot in two days flat, and Benton Fraser leaves off his coat, disciplines himself to ignore the trickles of sweat that start to form under the heavy fabric of the uniform. Ray starts to go around in t-shirts again, like he did in the fall, the ends of his sleeves rolled up a little, and Fraser has to train his gaze all over again to pass disinterestedly over the lines of Ray's arms when he gestures to punctuate his arguments. In the Northwest Territories, spring weather only arrived late in the season, and temperatures would linger in the mid-twenties for most of the summer before fading back into the cold of fall. Winter hit heavily, a physical assault that could kill a human being easily, but summer was mild and calm.

Fraser's beginning to realize that Chicago doesn't mess around with the twenties. It's either bitter cold or hot, wind sweeping angrily off the lake in any season – although it's much more welcome from May onward. They go out on a case, and the stetson gets blown off his head and tumbles down the street like a toy, Dief barking after it. Violets are blooming in patches of grass along the verge. The lake is shining, and the sidewalk is warm. Girls like stray butterflies fight to hold down their skirts against updrafts, while their hair flies in their faces, their whole bodies caught up in the bright breezy day. The sun is setting later and later every day. Ray grins into the wind, and Fraser, hat in hand, follows in his wake.

ETA: and calathea wrote JWalk/Patrick. YES!

ETA2: God, hey, and this is amazingly good, too. What the hell, is there something in the water today? Is it the sun?