୨ৎ .ᐟ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ── kurt angle.
. ݁₊ ⊹ plot: kurt’s been on the road for weeks, and you feel the ache of his absence as the first (and only) snowfall of the year begins. the distance stings, but the snow becomes your quiet bond, a reminder that you’re still under the same sky.
. ݁₊ ⊹ notes: this is a request for my 100 follower event from @neveruncaged for number #24! it is for kurt angle (he’s such a stupid dork (😭), but this is gonna be so ANGSTY….)
the house was too quiet. only the steady tick of the clock and the hum of the heater filled the silence, but even the noises seemed to emphasize the emptiness. you sat curled by the window, blanket pulled tight, your mug long gone lukewarm between your hands. outside, the first flakes of the season drifted down beneath the streetlamps, slow and hushed, painting the neighborhood in white. kurt’s second pair of winter boots still sat by the door, out of place without him to fill them.
your eyes lingered on the photo frame propped on the end table closest to you—a picture from last year’s snow. the memory stirred uninvited: kurt’s in the yard, spreading his arms wide, calling out for you to join him as snowflakes dusted his hair. you had resisted, laughing about the cold, until he’d scooped you right off the porch, ignoring your protests. you’d fallen into the snow together, chuckling, his breath clouding in the air as he leaned close. it had been warmth in the cold, joy that melted into intimacy. you blinked, pulled back into the present silence that swallowed the room whole.
the sharp buzz of your phone on the table startled you. your heart skipped when you saw his name glow across the screen. you hesitated only a moment before answering, voice soft with need. “hey.” kurt’s voice came rough but warm, tired from the road, yet filled with relief just to hear you. he asked what you were doing.
your eyes flicked to the snow outside as you murmured, “watching the snow.” his giggle followed, low and familiar.
“it’s snowing here too.” that small overlap cracked the distance wide open. kurt admitted he missed you more than he could say, the road lonelier than ever with winter creeping in. you swallowed, pressing the phone closer, confessing how hollow the house felt without him, how the snow only made his absence sharper. silence stretched, heavy but necessary, neither of you willing to let go of the moment. when kurt finally spoke again, his words were quiet enough to feel secret. “…every snowflake i see, i’ll picture landing in your hair. that way, i’ll never feel far from you.”
a shaky titter slipped from you, eyes wet with tears you didn’t bother to wipe away. “you always know what to say…”, you whispered, aching and grateful all at once. he hummed low in response, voice carrying love across miles of winter road. you traded soft “good night”s, reluctant, stretching every second until the call finally came to silence.
the room felt stiller when the line went dead, but you didn’t move from the window. snow fell heavier now, layering the world in white, covering everything in a kind of suspended time. you set your phone down and whispered into the emptiness, “we’ll have next year.” outside, the snowfall didn’t feel like a reminder of absence anymore, but a quiet promise…
…threading you to him until the day he came home.
