Chapter Text
Snow piles against the low stone walls lining the village paths, the fields beyond vanishing into a stretch of white beneath the clouded sky. Graz’zt locks up the pub, the keys cold against his palm. The street’s quiet, the last few lanterns glowing in windows as the village settles into the hush of a winter night. As he walks, his boots press into the fresh snow, leaving deep impressions on his way home. He breathes deeply: woodsmoke, distant brine, the sea just beyond the hills now hidden beneath the weather. Home.
Light spills from the house ahead, warm and steady through the kitchen window. The scent of rosemary drifts from within, softened by the richness of simmering stock he had started that morning. Graz’zt steps inside, shutting the cold out behind him. He unwinds his scarf, shaking the snow from his coat before hanging it by the door. He rattles a few pots as he nudges one’s handle from where he’d left them on the counter, waiting. He pulls out a cut of lamb from the fridge, humming idly.
The front door creaks as it swings open again. Pazuzu steps in, his hair damp from the snow melting into it. His jacket holds the last traces of the weather, white against dark wool, though the warmth of the house’ll see to that soon enough. He shrugs the camera strap from his shoulder, setting the bag carefully on the side table.
“You closed early,” he says, toeing his boots off by the door.
“Not much point staying open when no one’s braving the weather.” Graz’zt pulls a knife from the block on the counter, pressing its edge to the lamb before slicing through with slow, even strokes. “Besides, I had other plans.” Pazuzu watches him for a moment, then steps forward, fingers grazing the edge of the table as he moves.
“What’s the menu?”
“Lamb, slow-braised in red wine. Garlic, rosemary, a bit of stock.” Graz’zt gathers the trimming into a neat pile, then lifts his gaze. “There’s fresh bread in the tin. If you’re feeling generous, you can slice it.” Pazuzu exhales a quiet laugh and reaches for the bread knife.
“Guess that makes me the assistant tonight.” Graz’zt smirks, tipping the lamb into the pan. The sear rises immediately, a deep, rich scent unfurling through the kitchen. Pazuzu sets to work, the slow rhythm of the blade against the bread filling the space between them.
“You get anything good today?” Graz’zt asks, adjusting the heat beneath the pan. Pazuzu brushes a few stray crumbs from the board, his expression shifting thoughtfully.
“Some good shots of the cliffs. Caught a few birds tucked in the rock face, waiting out the worst of it. Snow softened everything, made the edges look less sharp.” He pauses, glancing over. “You should come with me one morning. It’s different in winter.” Graz’zt turns and leans against the counter, arms folding as he watches him.
“You know I don’t wake up for anything before noon.” Pazuzu snorts, setting the bread aside.
“Could always make an exception.” Graz’zt hums, noncommittal, but the thought remains. He pushes off the counter, returning to the stove to pour in the wine. The sharp hiss rises with the steam and Pazuzu leans against the table, watching him work as the overhead lights catch in his dark eyes.
The meal comes together slowly, their movements practiced and familiar. The house fills with the deep scent of rosemary and slow-cooked meat, the warmth settling into the walls. By the time they sit, the snow outside has quieted, the wind easing into a steady drift.
Pazuzu picks up his glass, rolling the whisky over his tongue.
“You’re closing the pub earlier lately.” Graz’zt lifts a brow, reaching for his own glass.
“Noticed, did you?” Pazuzu takes another slow sip.
“Hard not to.” Graz’zt leans back, the fire in the hearth casting low shadows along the table.
“Maybe I like slow evenings.” Pazuzu studies him for a moment, then lets a smile pull at the corner of his mouth.
“They suit you.” Graz’zt glances toward the window, where snow presses against the glass to turn the world beyond into something still and untouched.
“Winter has got its comforts.” The fire crackles, the last of their meal between them. Outside, the village sleeps beneath the hush of snow, but here, warmth lingers in the quiet and unhurried.
The village outside is quiet beneath the snow’s weight. A few flickering streetlights glow along the street, their light softened by the steady fall, but hardly anyone’s out. The pub is mostly empty save for a few regulars gathered near the hearth, their voices low and unhurried. The scent of simmering broth and fresh bread drifts through the air, the warmth of it wrapping around the space like a second hearth.
Graz’zt leans against the bar, polishing a glass out of habit rather than necessity. The night’s slow, but he doesn’t mind. Outside, the wind shifts, carrying another wave of snow past the windows. The bell over the door jingles, and a familiar chill sweeps in before the door shuts again.
Pazuzu stands just inside, shaking the snow from his coat. His hair’s damp, dark strands curling at his temples, his boots dusted white. He steps forward, tugging off his gloves as he glances around.
“Quiet night.” Graz’zt sets the glass down, pushing off the bar.
“A wise man once told me that no one likes trudging through a snowstorm for a pint.” Pazuzu snorts, unwinding his scarf.
“Sounds like a coward.” Graz’zt gestures toward a table near a space heater, where the lights are turned low, the chill less likely to creep in.
“Come sit. I’ll get you something warm.” This brooks no argument and Pazuzu settles into the chair with a sigh. His camera bag lands beside him, the strap flopping over the edge of the table.
“You still got that soup on?” Graz’zt lifts a brow.
“You doubt me?”
“I’d never,” Pazuzu says, but his grin’s evident, even as he leans back. Graz’zt disappears into the kitchen, the soft clatter of bowls and spoons filling the air before he returns, setting a steaming bowl in front of his husband.
“Leek and potato. House special.” Pazuzu exhales, the warmth already chasing the last of the cold from his skin. He picks up his spoon and takes the first bite.
“Mm. Alright, I’ll admit it. Worth the walk.” Graz’zt sits across from him, watching as Pazuzu eats. The lightbulb overhead flickers, casting shadows over the planes of his face. There’s something about the way winter slows everything down, makes moments last longer. Maybe it’s the quiet, or the way the snow hushes the world outside, but the pub feels separate from everything else, like nothing exists beyond these walls for the time being. Pazuzu glances up, catching him staring.
“What?” Graz’zt shrugs, fingers tapping lightly against his glass.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous habit,” Pazuzu murmurs, but there’s something softer, knowing, in his voice now. He sets his spoon down, tilting his head. “Good thoughts?” Graz’zt hums, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.
“Mostly.” Pazuzu watches him for a moment, then pushes his chair back enough to close the space between them. His fingers curl against the edge of the table, his gaze steady.
“Think you’ll share?” Graz’zt doesn’t answer, at least not with words. He reaches for Pazuzu’s scarf, the wool still carrying the last traces of cold, and pulls him in. The kiss is slow, unhurried, the warmth settling like the heater humming just a few feet away. Pazuzu exhales against his mouth, smiling into it.
“Bet I taste like soup.” Graz’zt huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers toying with the edge of the scarf.
“You do, but I love it.” Pazuzu doesn’t argue, only leaning in again and letting the cold of the night slip further away.
The snowfall comes fast, soft flakes swirling through the air and blanketing the village in a quiet, steady white. The roads disappear under the coat of snow, the rooftops capped with thick layers. Everything seems quieter, muffled by the snow that drapes over the world.
Graz’zt pulls on his coat and steps outside, breathing in the cold air. His boots crunch against the snow as he walks down the path, glancing back to make sure Pazuzu’s right behind him. His husband trails after, scarf pulled tight and hands tucked deep into his pockets.
They head toward the village square, their steps leaving deep prints in the fresh snow. The trees on the outskirts of the village stand tall, their branches holding a layer of white like a crown. The quiet is sacred, the world hushed under the storm’s gentle touch.
Pazuzu pulls ahead, turning back to grin at Graz’zt.
“It’s like everything’s asleep out here.” Graz'zt smiles, his breath visible.
“Maybe it’s a good thing.”
They reach the small park by the well, the swings and benches empty and untouched. The snow has settled thickly over the ground, leaving only the faintest outlines of where people have passed before. Pazuzu stands at the foot of the well, looking up at the snow-covered rooftops, amber eyes full of something Graz’zt can’t quite place.
“I miss the puffins,” Pazuzu says softly, his breath misting in the air. “I haven’t been to the cliffs in weeks. Can’t exactly find a puffling in this.” Graz’zt steps beside him, leaning against the well.
“They’ll come back. You’ll catch them when they do.” Pazuzu nods, though his gaze stays on the horizon, the thick snow stretching over the hilltops.
“I know. But it’s not the same. It feels like everything's so still. I can’t get the shots I want.” Graz’zt watches him for a moment, then steps closer, nudging his shoulder gently.
“You’ll find your way.” Pazuzu looks over at him, the soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You always say that.”
“I mean it,” Graz’zt says, voice low but playful. He turns his face up to the sky, letting a few flakes drift onto his skin before he looks back. “Not everything needs to move at a hundred miles an hour. Maybe winter’s better when it’s slow.”
Pazuzu laughs quietly, shaking his head as they walk back toward their house. The snow settles heavier now, the world outside even quieter like the whole village is holding its breath.
By the time they reach the door, the warmth of their home calls them in, the heater running at full blast and the artificial scent of wood smoke welcoming them inside. They shrug off their coats, each step they take melting a little more the chill from their skin.
Pazuzu goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for hot cocoa whilst Graz’zt adjusts the heater, the warmth filling the room like a slow, steady pulse. He brings over two mugs, both topped with a generous swirl of cream and steaming up an invitation.
They settle in front of the television, close enough that their legs brush as they sit on the low sofa. Pazuzu takes a sip of his drink, looking lazily around the room before shifting closer and leaning against Graz’zt, curling his legs beneath him.
“Sometimes it’s nice, you know?” Pazuzu says, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “The way everything just stops for a bit in the winter.” Graz’zt glances down at him.
“Yeah. I think that’s why I like it. It gives space to everything else.” Pazuzu smiles, though Graz’zt can’t see it. He sets his mug on the table in front of them, then twists to lean up, pressing his lips against Graz'zt’s.
The kiss is slow, the kind that doesn’t need words. It tastes like warmth and cocoa, like quiet afternoons spent together with nothing to rush. When they finally pull apart, Pazuzu chuckles softly.
“Guess it’s better than a puffin’s call,” he says, his smile playful. Graz’zt grins, brushing a lock of hair from Pazuzu’s face.
“You’re a handful, you know that?” Pazuzu shrugs, the playful gleam in his eyes never leaving.
“You love it.”
“Yeah,” Graz’zt says, pulling Pazuzu closer. “I do.”
The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth wrapping around the room. Outside, the first hints of spring make their way through the still-cold air, and the days grow longer with each passing one. Graz’zt sits at the small table, a notepad in front of him, his pen tapping lightly against the page as he mulls over a list of new ideas for the pub. The scent of fresh herbs drifts through the air, a reminder of the season to come.
Pazuzu sprawls in the chair next to him, legs stretched out and a cup of tea cradled between his hands. His gaze drifts out the window, over the snow melting into muddy tracks in the yard.
“I think I want to set up a new spot at the cliffs,” he says, already picturing the scene in his mind. “Somewhere quiet. Away from the usual trails.” Graz’zt glances up from his list, the sound of his pen scratching across paper slowing.
“A new spot?” Pazuzu nods, staring out the window.
“Somewhere no one else goes. I think it’d be perfect for the first light of morning. The cliff gets beautiful at that time, just as the sun starts to hit them.”
“That does sound good,” Graz'zt says warmly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He turns the page in his notebook and starts jotting down notes for the spring menu. “I’ve been thinking about new dishes for the pub. Something fresh for the season. Maybe a light seafood salad with herbs from the garden, or a spring vegetable risotto.” Pazuzu hums in approval.
“I can already picture it. The kind of dish that makes you want to eat it slowly, take your time with it.” He looks up at Graz'zt, his eyes bright. “Could be a good way to kick off the warmer days.” Graz’zt chuckles softly, tapping his pen against the paper in thought.
“And I can’t forget a fresh bread recipe. There’s always something about spring air that makes you crave the smell of baking bread. Maybe some sort of rosemary focaccia.” The room falls into a comfortable quiet as they both focus on their plans. Graz’zt continues to jot down more ideas for the menu, his pen moving fluidly, while Pazuzu leans back in his chair, tapping the edge of his cup lightly.
“I’ve been thinking about the cliffs,” Pazuzu says again, breaking the silence. “Not just for the shots, I mean. I think there’s a piece of the landscape there that I want to capture. The quiet, the way the light shifts across the sea… It’s different when you stand there in the early mornings, just watching it all unfold.” Graz’zt sets his pen down, looking over at him.
“Sounds like you’re really drawn to it this year.” Pazuzu’s eyes meet his, and there’s a softness in them, an understanding between them that doesn’t need to be explained.
“Yeah. It’s the kind of place that feels like it has its own rhythm, its own story. I think I’ll need more time there this spring.”
“I’ll have more time at the pub,” Graz’zt says with a slight grin, returning to his list. “So we’ll both be busy.” Pazuzu smiles, reaching out to rest a hand on Graz’zt’s. The touch is light but steady.
“I think it’s going to be a good spring.” Graz’zt nods, his thumb brushing lightly over Pazuzu’s hand.
“It will be. The quiet of the last few months... It’s the calm before everything starts up again. But we’ve got time. We’ll make the most of it.”
The fire crackles louder for a moment, the heat from the flames keeping the room warm against the chill outside. They sit together, plans for the season unfolding between them, but for now, they let the quiet be the thing they hold onto.