❄ for our muses to enjoy the first snow of winter [Damien] (no i’m not sorry)
“There you are!”
Damien whips around, startled, but his grip on his cane relaxes when he sees it’s only Solar who’s stumbled upon him in the garden. The festive lights in the manor windows reflect off the fresh snow on the ground and the large flakes drifting through the air, muffling the faint music coming from the party inside, but the garden in the courtyard is secluded enough that it allows Damien a moment to catch his breath from the forced performance of yet another holiday party that required his polite attendance. Solar is holding two champagne flutes in her hand; her expression softens as she notices the remains of the tension in his shoulders and his knuckles and she walks over to him, boots making a muffled crunch on the snow covered path.
“Are you alright?” she asks gently, offering Damien one of the glasses. He smiles as he accepts. “I’m fine, just needed some air,” he replies, taking a sip from the glass and letting the cane rest against the low stone wall they’re standing by. Solar’s not sure how long Damien has been hiding out here, but there’s a dusting of snowflakes in his slicked back hair and on his shoulders and his cheeks are rosy from the cold wind. Despite this, Damien looks more at ease in the quiet garden away from the other guests - something about the bite of cold air in his lungs calms him down and helps him think. These formal events have never been his favorite aspect of his job, but tonight is the last one on his schedule and the knowledge that he can take off the mask and set down the role he plays in a few hours, if only for a few days, brings him some consolation.
As does the company of the poet he’s invited as his plus one.
“How long has it been snowing?” Solar asks, reaching up and lightly brushing a couple of large flakes from Damien’s hair. For her part, Solar has been enjoying the party, mingling and talking with other people whose names sound half familiar from things Damien has said in passing, enjoying the drinks and the music and being by his side all night. It’s clear he’s had long experience at playing this game; he’s wonderfully charming and light with his words, always saying just enough to earn a laugh or a friendly pat on the back, making sure to touch base with every noteworthy name in the crowd. Damien almost makes it look effortless, were it not for the way he’s been slowly leaning more of his weight on his cane over the course of the evening, the way his knuckles have steadily been tightening on the silver pommel, the way that all of his feigned warmth doesn’t quite catch in his eyes like how the glow of a fire outside doesn’t illuminate a high dark window or the silent room within. She should have guessed he had sought a moment of quiet when he gently excused himself from the circle of conversation, but he’s not at all displeased by having been found by her out here and the warmth in his pretty brown eyes is genuine as he looks at her. “No more than a few hours, I’d say. It was snowing when I came outside.”
“It’s beautiful,” she tells him, admiring the white coated trees and the way the falling snow glitters in the window lights before settling her eyes back on Damien. /He’s beautiful/, she thinks, with his cheeks and his ears flushed a pretty red in his lovely formal suit, a white rose pinned to his lapel. Solar sees him all dressed up often enough, when he’s getting ready for work at the crack of dawn or coming home late at night, but she doesn’t often see Damien in action, playing his role - he’s good at what he does, though you’d have difficulty in getting him to actually /admit/ it. She shivers a little, and the mayor wastes no time in taking off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders, always the gentleman. He would have difficulty admitting this too, at least to anyone else, but below the duty-bound performance, Damien has been enjoying having Solar beside him all night. He sees /her/ often enough at her work, writing at all hours at her desk; she’s beautiful when she’s focused on the page in front of her but watching her talk and laugh as they move from one group of guests to another like a dance, wearing a midnight-blue cocktail dress and a blue chiffon shawl embroidered with golden stars, her hair tied up in an elegant bun, her smile warm and glowing under the soft party lights, is a different vision entirely. “I hope you haven’t been too bored this evening,” he says, almost apologetically, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “You’re much better at this than I am, you know.”
“It’s easy to be social when this isn’t my third holiday party this week,” Solar replies, the fond concern in her voice evident as she leans into him. “We don’t have to stay too much longer, just a couple more hours and then we can go home.” She can tell he’s getting tired; how he’s not freezing out here is anybody’s guess, but Damien sighs a little as he presses a kiss to the top of Solar’s head, her brown hair now sparkling with snowflakes of her own like falling stars. “That sounds heavenly,” he mumbles; the poor mayor wants nothing more than to be back in his own space, away from the noise and the crowd, but the snow shrouded garden serves as a safe haven at least for a minute, and he savors the weight of the poet in his arms, draped in his jacket. /His/ jacket he thinks with some satisfaction, it’s rare that Damien allows himself the luxury of possessiveness but his nerves have been stressed and the champagne tonight has been quite good and maybe he /likes/ the feeling of Solar hanging on his arm, a radiant partner to show off but even better when she’s curled up in his bed, wearing one his shirts (warm and slightly too large), his lips brushing her neck /just/ so and her ears flushed red, all for /him/. They stand there in the dark garden a few minutes more, watching the snow gently fall in soft silence and listening to the muffled sounds of the festivities inside the manor, then Damien takes one more deep breath of cold air, picks up his cane, and allows Solar to (almost regretfully) lead him back inside.
