By the following morning, Mizuki had convinced himself that as unlike him at it might be, he must have somehow presented himself to the man. He didn’t know why he would’ve done something like that, but silently accepted it as fact. He had been under a lot of stress lately after all, with the essay due over Christmas hanging over him like a cloud of doom, and then the sudden shock of almost crashing into him. That was probably it.

Mizuki sighed, placing his feet on the floor. It was ice cold. For some reason it never seemed to heat up properly, and because he was on the ground floor, it was especially freezing in the mornings.

Shuddering, he stifled a yawn while regarding the Christmas Star on the table.

It was pretty to look at. He’d agree to that. And it gave off a vague, but pleasant scent. The fact that it was a Christmas plant didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it, although it hardly looked like something belonging in his house.

Still, there was something homely about it – his mother had always loved gardening, and would keep fresh flowers and potted plants all over the house. Still, Mizuki frankly knew very little about them. He’d never paid attention to her prattling as she preened and fussed with her plants.

                                                    ❋❋❋❋

He roused his laptop from sleep mode, an unfinished paragraph glaring at him from the word processor. His writing was coming on slowly. Mizuki sat with his legs crossed on his bed, the duvet draped over his shoulders like a cape. Though he fought his word count with all his might, it was all waffle.

It was too early in the day to be writing about the Roman Invasion of the British Isles.

Giving up on getting anything productive done before heading out, Mizuki shut down the laptop, and made for the shower.

It was a typically routine morning, as usual he was behind schedule. The cold weather made him sluggish and unwilling to leave his bed, no matter how much his alarm howled. Leaving the shower was even worse.

                                                   ❋❋❋❋

His gaze fell on the plant as he emerged from the bathroom.

“I suppose I should water you first,” he spoke out loud, just like his mom.

He didn’t really know how much water to give it though, and gambled on just pouring a third of the smallest glass he owned into the pot. As he did, the plant seemed to perk up immediately, the red color deepening, and its sparkle increasing. Did a splash of water really make such a difference?

For that matter, he was surprised the walk home the night before hadn’t killed it. Maybe that’s why the water seemed to perk it up somehow?

He caught a glance of his alarm clock.

“Crap,” he bit his lip.

He grabbed his laptop and bag, attempting to stuff the computer into it while also stepping into his shoes and wrapping himself in his coat, then flicked the lights off and tumbled out of the apartment.

It had snowed during the night. The thin layer of white cotton on the ground had replaced the slush. Only some fresh tracks defiled the smooth surface.

Someone swore behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a neighbor from across the street desperately straining to scrape the ice off of his windshield – he was clad in a suit, looking anything but thrilled about the winter wonderland.

In the middle of the street, slanted tracks bore witness to a car skidding along, narrowly avoiding the pedestrian sign ahead.

He sighed, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Winter indeed. And this was only the beginning.

He honestly didn’t see what the deal was with romanticizing winter; all these near-accidents; if not freezing, it was blustery and wet; all the time wasted shuffling snow or scraping ice; baby stepping down the street not to break your neck… And still people walked around all jolly as they called it, in the midst of the stress.

One of his professors kept whistling carols on his way through the corridors. A girl from his course had already started donning a red Santa hat.

Though, he liked the lights. Here in the North the sun didn’t come up until late in the mornings, and the darkness came creeping back in the early afternoon. He’d struggled to get used to it, finding it rather depressing to spend the hours of actual daylight in the lecture halls or library.

Since late November however, everything had been illuminated by various decorations and strings of lights. Even the university gates were adorned with a string of golden orbs of lights, blinking happily towards him as he approached campus.

He supposed that was one of the better aspects of the season.