First Summer, Last Winter

“It needs a mustache."

 Ichabod and Atticus were outside on a frigid Sunday morning.

Ichabod had woken Atticus way too early, exclaiming that it was indeed snowing, which surprisingly triggered a similar response from Atticus — judging by how he had jumped out of the bed to run to the window and then to the closet to immediately throw on warmer clothes. 

It's not every winter that it snows like this.

In fact, it’s not every winter that they’re together.

Oh, 1620, 1888, 1977 and plenty of times in between. But his memory isn’t what it used to be — at least it’s not as bad as Ichabod’s. Although, he considers Ichabod’s long-term memory loss more of a blessing.

Watching his only friend, his best friend, he remembers that first summer that they had met.

August 1620, two teenagers were stretching their legs as the other worked on repairing the Speedwell.

Ichabod turns to this new boy he’s met and asks.

“I'm about ready to get going, how about you?”

Atticus narrowed his eyes a bit. Who is this strange person and why must he bother him with his chitchat?

“Yes, I, too.”

Ichabod didn’t seem to get the hint.

“So, what brings you here then?”

“Same as you, I presume. Religious freedom.”

“Technically,” Ichabod draws out with a smile he doesn’t bother to contain. “that's the official reason why I'm not back home marrying and working in the family business.”

“And unofficially?”

“Adventure.”

Atticus would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.

“You can't get that in England?”

Bradford scoffed.

“Have you seen the 1600s?”

“Fair point. What makes you think 1600s America won't be just as embarrassing?”

“Well, for one, I've already met you.”

Atticus hummed.

“A pity, truly.”

“And, two, look at the sky next time we're on the water. I've never seen it quite like this before.”

“So, just like that? You leave the only home you've ever known for a stranger and blue sky?”

“Yes, and I haven't regretted it yet.”

They were inseparable after that, for the most part.

They had their moments of both minor and major disagreement.

Being on opposing sides of a major war which shaped America as we know it, traveling back and forth to their home country of England as a coincidence (Atticus is certain that Ichabod tracked him down and followed him there anyway). 

He remembers when they truly became close again. It was 1983.

In the early 70s an English family with a young daughter took him and his rebellious streak and rainbow mohawk without a problem. They were just that caring. They even met Ichabod a few times.

A decade later his little sister was growing up and creating a life for herself when the diagnosis came.

She had AIDS.

It wasn’t long after that when she passed. Of all the people Atticus had outlived, had ever loved, her loss ripped a hole through him. He lost his will to live. 

Ichabod heard the heartbreaking news and came to pick up the broken pieces. Atticus moved out of the family’s home to live with his friend for the next several years, until he reinlisted and the next war was to be fought. 

Maybe that’s why his combat strategy is much more well-rounded than Ichabod’s, who only served in three wars opposed to his five.

They've been outside ever since being woken in the first place.

They had a snowball fight with mass casualties if you counted every time one of them was hit. Including Ichatticus who was made minutes prior before all war broke out.

Trying to skillfully repair their snowchild, the great debate of a snow’stache came about.

 "We are not putting a mustache on it."

 Ichabod ignored Atticus’ protests and retaliated by scooping up some snow and skillfully sculpting it into a handlebar 'stache and hollowing out the head where it would go so it would fit and stay. 

He relented without much of a fight.

 "Okay fine it can stay."

 Ichabod hummed in agreement and stealthily turned his attention to Atticus. 

 "Alright I think we've done all that we can here unless you want to do snowange-? AH!" Ichabod tackled him down into the plush earth. Wow, snow is really soft. 

 Ichabod scrambled up as fast as he could and ran like the police were after him as Atticus chased him around the yard. Finally they resorted to more snowball flinging and Ichabod deciding it was time to go in when Atticus got his revenge and tackled Ichabod facedown into the snow, pinning him down. It's weird; the snow isn't actually that cold. Like Ichabod has had ice cream colder than this. Showers colder. It's probably because they've been out here so long. He can tell because his fingers are stinging and Atticus' cheeks were red.

 Once Atticus let him up Ichabod rolled over and began his snow angel, later being joined by Atticus himself.

 Ichabod layed there for a few minutes watching the snow drift down from the grey opaque sky, landing on his face and tongue, getting caught in his lashes.

 After they were up Atticus decided they needed halos, which Ichabod was pretty sure was bull because what angel actually has an angel? Did the Bible even say that? He didn't even read the Bible or believe in angels. Or, well, hm. Maybe he did. Sometimes he thinks he has one, a guardian angel watching over him or something. His thoughts were interrupted by Atticus placing his foot in just the wrong place. 

 "Hey! You're stepping on my head!!"

 Atticus looked up and back down. "That's your head? Oops." He began laughing manically leaving Ichabod to sigh.

-

  Building a snowman in the front yard, Ichabod wiping out on the driveway, they decided there was only one more thing they could actually do out in the snow.

They were going to go sledding. 

They haven’t gone in years. With the years they’ve been apart, and global warming combined. 

It’s easy to say they are a bit rusty. 

The first attempt they flipped before they could get two feet down.

The second time they made it further but Ichabod leaned to far over and fall off, taking Atticus with him. 

The third time, the charm, they successfully made down the hill without a hitch. As long as sore butts doesn’t count. 

It became routine after that. They’re unaware of how many hours they spent like that, panting with faces red in the frigid air.  

Six hours later, but who’s counting, they were here drinking hot chocolate and eating plain toast with potato chips. 

 "Try dipping your toast in your hot chocolate. It tastes good." 

 Atticus wrinkled his nose, "Gross!" But he tried it without any other persuasion. 

 After Ichabod continued to dip his, Atticus spoke up saying he didn't care for it too much to which Ichabod replied. "You gotta let it soak. It tastes better that way." Ichabod tried to explain the taste but he couldn't remember what the taste actually reminds him of, just that it's chocolatey goodness.

 They continued eating their lunch with talk and promises saying that this was the most fun they've ever had, and trying to figure out which state has the most snow so they could move there. Their lunch would become a tradition, too.

If only life wouldn’t be so cruel as to give Atticus another person in his life that he had outlived.

They never understood what made them live so long, without aging. But they never were sure if they could be killed. He guesses that now that age-old mystery is solved.

Next winter he stands over the thin ice.

Watching his only friend, his best friend, and God-forbid his soulmate, he remembers that first summer that they had met.