“Come on, come on!” Kyle rocks back onto his heels, still lingering in the doorway to the bedroom. He keeps looking over his shoulder like maybe the weather might change in the span of time that it takes Stan to pull on a pair of pants.
The heavy cotton bunches up around Stan’s knees. They’re an old pair, a little too loose through the legs. Stan rolls his eyes. “Dude, it’s fine. I just need to get a jacket.”
“You have a jacket on the rack downstairs,” says Kyle, already shuffling away from the door and into the hall.
Stan purses his lips. “I hate that one.”
“Dude, come on!”
“Kyle, seriously. Chill out. It’s not going to stop in the next two seconds. Let me get a jacket and then we can go.”
“But – “ Kyle sucks on his upper teeth, looks over his shoulder again. “It’s the first snow of the season!”
“I just need a jacket,” insists Stan. But he hurries a little more than usual in getting one out of the closet.
The streets are still empty.
It’s early, enough that there are still pale strips of pink in the sky, half hidden behind thick gray clouds. Kyle knots their fingers together and tugs Stan out of the house, out into the front yard. There’s a fine layer of white on the ground but, more importantly, there are still soft flakes drifting down from the sky.
“See?” Kyle points up with his free hand. His grin is crooked and wide, nose scrunched up and freckles stark against pale skin. “Told you.”
Stan laughs. “I wasn’t doubting you, dude. I just needed a jacket. Which, uh, you probably should have gotten before leaving your own house.”
“Try and catch it,” says Kyle, instead of answering. “It’s good luck if you can catch a snowflake out of the first snowfall.”
Stan’s never heard that before, but he’s also never been able to say no to Kyle when he gets like this; all childish enthusiasm and endless joy.
Kyle tilts his head back, sticks out his tongue. Without closing his mouth, words garbled, he says, “come on, Stan! We need some good fucking luck!”
“Alright. I can’t argue with that.” Stan squeezes Kyle’s hand before tilting his head back too, tongue sticking out as he tries to catch a cold flake of white.
It’s early, but it’s nice.