Winter 1. Just like in the years previous, snow fell at dusk and managed to cake up the entire town with its startling white before I could jump from my bed and shake my ass twice. I may be a childish fool, but this shiny bright weather condition can't fool me with its perfectly fierce purity. Snow, feh! It'll become indistinct sludge when the dirt mixes in.

Come to think of it, it's quite messed-up how I like rain far more than snow, especially considering how the former helped flood away my hometown. But after spending numerous winters with the old carpenter who raised me, snowed into our icy cabin for weeks at a time—subsisting on the last bit of herb jam (shudder) while silently burning everything to keep warm—well, I can't remain so adorably oblivious to how much snow effing sucks.

But snow is quite beautiful, and beauty is truth when that's all that you know. I guess.

Tucking my pants legs into my boots and ensuring my overalls were sufficiently sealed off, I shield my face with my hat and then push outside, my bare hands instantly kissed by sprightly little puffs of deceptive snowflakes as I crunch towards the barnyard. So cold…

After feeding and warming my livestock with some crisp fodder and food, I march my horse out into the open and we stop and stand in the frozen grass field outside the barn, our senses inundated by the mere sounds of peppering snow and our labored breathing. Nothing else. Just the all-consuming white of the snow. And me. And a horse.

To escape this suffocating phenomenon—winter's blank room which devours everything—that's all I want right now.

Filling up my rucksack, I ride into town and visit everyone under the pretense of deliveries; fish to Hana and Kosaburo, apple tea to Yuri and Emma, and milk to Rebecca. I stay awhile at each place, guiltily melting all over their floors but filling with a nervous warmth as they speak at me. Yes, speak at me. These people have so much to say, I never have to say anything beyond "oh" and "I see". I prefer this.

By mid-day I haven't forced myself on everyone yet but some people are harder to track down and there's always later. Yes, there's all winter. But for now, I'm cold and hungry and I want to warm up again. Leaving my horse at the fountain in the center of town, under the cover of several house eaves, I slosh up to the restaurant and pull the door open. Heat and voices hit me, and before the door allows me in, a massive heap of snow falls from the overhanging roof and lands on my head, melting all over my shoulders and shocking me like an ice cold shower. Forgetting to breath or even shake the snow off me, I walk inside, order some pasta, and sit down in the only available seat—in the corner.

I dig in as soon as Felicity brings me my food, and I remain silent and blend into the background. All around me sits a bevy of tourists and strangers, each one watching excitedly as Michelle twirls her baton through the air and conjures up a spray of rainbow confetti—all of which falls into my food. My fork scratches at it and confirms it's paper.

Keeping my head low, I notice how all these people are radiating their voices, smell, and warmth—and how it repulses and draws me in all at the same time. Why do people need each other so badly at times, especially when we'd be better without? I wonder… Myself? I don't need to love them or hate them, or even look at them, I just need to be close to them; people. The draw for human contact… It's excessively unfair.

As I stab the paper confetti and curiously taste it (mindlessly wondering if it would actually taste like magic—or rainbows) the restaurant door slings open and more people flood in. I keep my face close to my plate and focus on the food, confetti, and warmth, but then I overhear Allen laugh in his flamboyant way and my muscles tighten with alarm. Perking my ears, I listen as he puts in a huge special order of five different pies and an even amount of tea.

Chairs scuffle and honk across the establishment. Looking up, I find that the whole farthest table has been evacuated for Allen and an all-girl entourage. "Honeys. It's my treat, so you don't have to hold back," he tells them, resting his elbows on the table and hiding his face behind his folded hands. Overjoyed by this, the four girls squeal and nearly faint from excitement.

Those familiar lines, this familiar scene. I may have been a hungover zombie at the time I first experienced it, but I still recall that event and the way his eyes grew cold after I failed to touch all the desserts he ordered for me without even asking.

"Eat, come on," he'd said. After a moment of resistance on my end, he had managed to force a pastry into my mouth. I remember how he scowled as I pulled insides that afternoon were completely ravaged from puking throughout the night so I couldn't stomach anything but tea. Since he had filled the table with treats and tried guilting me into finishing them, I became defensive.

Pulling away, I recall, I spat at him:

"I don't like being told what to do."

The scene before me now is similar, I confess, but with an entirely different mood. Fidgety and attentive, Allen's four girl entourage gasp on cue when Felicity brings in three platters and two separate plates—all balanced precariously on her head, shoulders, and palms—and then again when she deftly slides everything onto the table without a drop or crumb spilt.

"Bravo," Allen says, smirking at himself. "Just like a trained seal."

The girls giggle and Felicity forces out a strained chortle. "Oh, no. Not at all! I was born with this talent, just like my fast metabolism," she says with an inappropriate kindness, turning her attention to the girls. "Now mind those pies, as I'm told they're very dangerous! Fat may taste worthwhile but don't let it go to your thighs." She smiles at Allen as she pulls the trays away. "Or between your ears."

Puffing out my cheeks to keep from spewing out laughter—or the confetti I just ate—I bow in reverence. Even if it were a mere flirtatious comeback, Felicity totally called Allen a fathead. Who would've ever expected such brass from docile Felicity?

The door swings open and I try minding my own business once again, but then my resolve fails twice as I hear Rod call out Allen's name. Lurching in my seat, I sit up straight, fully attentive.

"What is it, pal?" Allen asks, grinning reservedly and wrapping his arms around the nearest cooing girls. "Can't it wait? I'm entertaining."

"No worries, it won't take long," Rod says, his hands on his hips as he stares rather soberly at Allen. "I just talked to Niko. He said you sent them to Rio's hedge maze yesterday afternoon."

Allen laughs dismissively. "Ha. Right, so?"

"I was with Rio then!" Rod scowls and circles his hand through the air, instinctively demonstrating his furiousness. "Your timing was a little obvious!"

I drop my fork, since seeing Rod up-close and angry for the first time is so earth-shattering, my disconcertment loops around into admiration and then all I can think about is how cool he looks.

"Oh boy. Have a seat," Allen instructs, holding his head and inhaling sharply as his friend pulls up a chair and briefly says hi to all the twittery girls. "Alright. Yesterday was the Pumpkin Festival. Rio built that silly thing for the children, didn't she? Now tell me what's got you going off."

"It wasn't some 'silly thing'!" Rod explodes at him. "She worked VERY hard building it and she invited me over to see it days ahead of time!"

"Oh." Allen answers dully. "I'm sorry. I had no idea. Well. Considering how she forgot to give the kids any candy this year, I think my assumption was appropriate… That it was ALL for them, that is."

"G-geh," I sputter, swallowing food and confetti both. He's right. On account of forgetting the festival this year, I had failed to give Toni, Niko, and Hina their highly-anticipated annual festival treats.

Conceding to this point as well, Rod calms down and becomes listlessly pensive. "That's true… But still," he says. "You've always been like this!" He stands up and shakes his fist from all the injustice he's faced throughout the years. "Obstructing my love life while cultivating yours at the same time… It's honestly frustrating."

"Pardon me for being such an obstruction, little buddy. I believe that's the whole reason why I'm no good at dodging out of your way to begin with." Allen takes a sip of tea. "Because you've never had a love life. Why, I'm just not used to it."

"No thanks to you!" Rod wildly slings his hand around again—making it apparent how he REALLY talks with it when he's excited. "And that excuse doesn't even make any sense! Be reasonable here!"

Allen shakes his head pityingly. "Come now, I'm not the senseless one here. If you want action so badly, stop whining to me about it and go get some. Really, you're so silly. Think of all the fun you could be smuggling for yourself during my tea time. Act when my house is full and my orbit's in retrograde, I say."

Rod lets out a frustrated groan. "When will you realize that the world DOESN'T revolve around you?"

"Hmmm?" Allen leans forward to be fed a spoonful of pie by a breathy, wide-eyed girl. "Probably never."

Crossing his arms and glaring at his feet, Rod bounces his knees under the table. "I can't believe how stingy you are sometimes… And what is this about your tea time? You don't even like tea…"

"AHEM." Allen clears his throat to force Rod's silence. "Remember. I wasn't the one who tried hogging Rio all to himself during the children's special festival."

"What! That again? You don't even like children!"

"Huh. I like little Hina."

"You like all girls!"

"Now now, that's far from the truth," Allen says, turning his head and glaring at me from across the room. "Isn't that right, Rio?"

Choking on pasta, I latch onto my napkin and use it to suppress my astonished hacking. After swigging from the nearest water cup, and adapting to the fact that all the eyes in the room were now on me, I pull my plate up to my mouth, sweep its remaining contents inside, and spend a pressing moment of silence audibly chewing and gulping. "Mwa. What's wrong?" I answer at last, smacking my lips and deliberately rattling the ice in my cup.

Allen stares at me like I just ate an entire live kitten. "Why would anything be wrong, Rio?" he asks, secretly disgusted by my table manners. "Nothing wrong here. Nope, I was just wondering if you would properly join our conversation over here."

Standing up, I shove in my chair and stalk closer to get a good look at Rod, who's sweating and blanking out in an effort to recall if he said anything offensive in my unknown presence. "H-hello Rio," he chirps, contorting himself to face me and consequently ramming his knees into the table. "EE… You're looking well today!"

I peer into his sparkling blue eyes, which are slowly forming painful tears, and I'm overcome with such an urge to laugh that I find myself quivering and biting my knuckle to subsist. And I smile.

"This, kittens, is the gloomiest girl on earth," Allen announces, accepting another spoonful of pie. "If you're secretly after my best friend, speak up now. She's about to devour him in one bite."

"Allen!" Rod bursts, turning red up to his ears. It's great to see how he's still self-conscious about me, but the way he was just ADVERTISED to all the girls at the table melts my sudden smile into a scowl.

One of the girls, a what's-'er-face that I recognize as a regular festival contestant, laughs at Allen's suggestion. "And if one of us were after your best friend, would you be angry?" she asks, turning her eyes to him and strumming her thumb across her lips.

By now I get she's teasing Allen for the sake of standing out from the other applicants, but just the idea of her intercepting Rod from my determined grasp starts my heart pounding with bloodlust and sends my hand itching for the axe in my rucksack. So I recognize I might have anger issues, ok?

Allen, holding his forehead in a brooding manner, runs his hand through his red hair and miraculously sets the room alight with his blinding inanity. "My flower. It's impossible for one such as I to hold the mysteries of womankind against her," he says, materializing a backdrop of rose petals, hot air, and lens flare in his wake. The girls squeal and fawn over him, all while he arrogantly concedes 'what a way' he has with words, but my condition worsens from the fact that he's plagiarizing Charles while simultaneously demeaning everyone at the effing table.

Nauseated, I turn my back and shoot a sidelong glance at Rod, hoping he notices but half expecting him not to. When he jumps up after me, my heart starts thumping again.

"Rio, are you leaving now?" Rod gushes.

"Yes," I say, fervently clutching the brim of my hat. "I have plans."

"Plans?" Allen interrupts, basking in his devotees' attentions. "You mean work, correct? What a funny mentality you've got, calling it that. Plans! Ha."

"Ha," I repeat, monotone. "Well I'm off to smuggle some fun now." I lift my hat off, motioning to the whole table; "Anyone care to join me?"

The girls pause in thought—fascinated by this odd proposal for a millisecond—but then they giggle distractedly, in their own slightly-varying manners, and go back to competing for a man who simply finds it very entertaining. And I'm sure they do too.

Anyhow, as interesting as it would've been to have swept them all away from that guy, my invitation was meant for my sole obvious interest, Rod. Pardoning himself from the table, Rod follows me out the door and walks alongside me as we trudge through soft, quickly-piling snow—the both of us nervous like eager teenagers.

In this lasting moment, the only sounds I can focus on are me and him, breathing and walking uphill. Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said, as our steps and quickened breaths line up. Like this, we reveal our desires and accordingly intertwine, and like this, I begin to appreciate the blankness of winter's white room.

After some time, we stop at the top of the forest and overlook the town, which is veiled by drifting snow but no longer the lush treetops viewable from springtime till fall.

"I like it better the rest of the year," I say, failing to explain myself. "When you can't see the town."

It takes Rod only a moment to contemplate what I said. "I like looking at the town you worked hard to build," he explains himself, understanding me. "But it's quite nice when the trees are full of leaves and nothing can be seen from here. Then you can imagine anything exists beyond them, like strange creatures or another world."

"Hm. That's right." I nod, astonished by how easily he put my strange thoughts into words. "But I guess they're already there, huh."

"Strange creatures? …I guess they are!"

I chortle a little and stare at Rod's side profile, thinking about how one of the strangest creatures of all, his old-chum Allen, has continued causing problems for us to this day (even if they're piddly in comparison to the outright sabotage he attempted before). It's still difficult—and I feel like he's turning my courtship efforts into a twisted game for his sole amusement—but I'm glad we became friendly-enemies. It may sound abnormal to admit, but have faith he has enough dignity to not stab me or Rod in the back twice.

I guess I've never formed the healthiest of relationships. That's another thing I want to change.

"Are you cold?" Rod asks me, detecting my knotted-up state but oblivious to what could be fueling it.

"Yeah," I say, bumping my shoulder up against his for warmth. "Now I'm alright."

Lies. From foreplay to kissing to handholding to simply standing next to each other. It feels like we're going out of sequence, and it's making me crazy. Why can't he just be mine? I want to know but I already do. It's the fear itself of going out of sequence—the last-minute fear of social norms. The ring in my rucksack might go against the program, but I want to confirm it before dissolving into further paranoia.

"That girl back there was really brazen," I begin, working this into a starting point for us. "If a girl asked you out… what would you do?"

Rod starts to scratch his cheek but then jerks his hand away, making me think he might be upset. This thought is dispelled, however, when he rubs his hands together to warm them up. His fingers were too cold against his face, it seems. "It, it depends on the girl, I think," he says quickly. "Like who it is."

This answer does not satisfy me. In fact, it leaves even more questions. "Who should it be, then?"

"Someone I already really like! I mean, somebody I already have a connection with…"

His proclamation gives me just enough courage to reach into my rucksack in search of something to give him. As my hand brushes against the ring, though, I recoil and grab a tucked-away mystic stone instead. "Here," I say, presenting him the blood-red gem. "You can have this."

As I drop the stone into his hands, he clutches it tightly and lets out a triumphant exclamation of joy and thanks—brimming with as much excitement as a child. "I love it!" he lets out.

His unrestrained response, combined with his sheer pleasure, embarrasses me by how much it stirs me up. "L-look at you," I sputter, patting him on the head awkwardly. "You're just like a little boy."

He glares at me, clueing me in that I've just said something TERRIBLY wrong. "I'm… I'm not," he says sharply.

"Hm? You're not what?"

"I'm not like a little boy!"

"Ah. So you're one of THOSE who hates being called a child, huh?" I scoff to keep myself from grinning at this adorable, newly-discovered complex of his; "What a baby."

Crouching down, Rod scoops up a snowball and lugs it at me, splatting crumbling ice down my overalls and causing me to yelp in surprise.

"S…so cold," I gasp, brushing it off. "I'll get you for that!" As I crouch down and mechanically scoop up an armload of snowballs, he cries out in surprise and (rightfully) runs off. Chasing after him—while laughing maniacally—I pelt them all at his back, watching intently as he struggles to gather up snow in-between shots for return fire. Laughing freely at this, I slow down just enough for him to do so and our little game continues, with him on the run and me in pursuit.

At the far end of the forest, gasping and wheezing, Rod falls to his knees and I dive after him, winding my arms around his and squeezing his back up against my chest. "I got you," I say, nearly out of breath. "And now you're my hostage."

"Y-you did," he admits. "And now I can't escape."

And strangely enough, this submission only stirs me up more.

"Then… I'll have to torture you now." With no one else around and my rationality neatly displaced by the situation—and my dangerous feelings—my left arm unwinds and my hand travels up his shirt.

"That's really cold!" he cries out immediately, shivering as I caress past his navel and upwards.

"Of course," I murmur into his ear. "I'm stealing your warmth."

"Uah!"

"Do you hate it?"

"It's cold!"

"But do you hate it?" Despite his passive complaints thus far, I want to coerce total consent from him.

"I…" His pause coincides with the moment my fingers travel across his chest and straight to his left areola. "W…what are you doing!" He gasps and his ears turn red.

"I'm torturing you."

"Then, then—" He wriggles around and pushes me down; "—then I want to do it, too!"

Gazing at Rod, face-up from where I lie in the snow, I watch his blushing, nervous face and meet his determined eyes—his two shaky hands pinning my shoulders down gently though abounding with intent. It seems I finally corrupted him into thinking more like a man. Or maybe, he already was.

"Then will you?" I ask, sliding my jean straps off-shoulder to tease him.

Retreating, he spins around and sits a little bit away. "No, I-I won't!" he answers in a raised voice. "Because you shouldn't let a guy touch you like that!"

But didn't I already touch him like that? It's already too late for this sort of a conclusion. Sitting up, I crawl close to him and lean against his back. "Well," I say. "Then what if he's my boyfriend?"

"That level… is for marriage!"

"Pfft!" I snort into my hand. That's so adorable. Seeing as how he almost gave in, his cute way of thinking won't last for long.

"Hey! Are you laughing at me?"

"Yeah. Because you're really funny." I pull my knees close to keep warm. "I like that about you." I press my ear to his shoulder.

"Rio," he quavers, his warm back against me. "Do you lo… do you like m—"

Listening intensely, and readying myself for this moment, voices cry out in the distance and cut Rod off. We freeze.

"W-what's that?" he asks, the both of us jumping to our feet as the shouts continue.

"Down by the river," I say, looking at him. "Someone's in trouble." Together, without another word spoken, we run and chase the shouts across the forest slope and down towards the lower bank, where an overturned cart and a crowd of people have gathered.

"What happened?! Is everyone alright?" Rod asks, folding into the crowd naturally and asking the very questions I was wondering but am far too removed to ask.

"That woman collapsed," an older man answers. "She's right over there, the doctor's with her."

Circling around the crowd, I come upon a smaller group—Charles, Emma, Hossan, and Klaus—and find them bundling a lady in blankets while discussing the best way to carry her to the clinic.

"I understand your worries, Emma and Charles, but it will be by stretcher," Klaus says, poking at his spectacles in deep concern. "After all, we don't yet know the extent of her injuries so we must move her with minimal strain. You two will retrieve it from the clinic's supply closet. Hossan and I will stay here in case she wakes up again."

Charles, pushing his nose into his forever-equipped red rose, gazes sensitively at Klaus and somehow sparkles. "Sounds like a plan," he says.

"You can rely on us, we'll be right!" Emma says, brandishing one of her soft white arms—an arm which holds the strength of an entire shipping fleet.

Approaching as the two leave, I stare curiously at the bundled woman being held in Hossan's big warm arms—and then at Klaus, who's pulling his lab coat close and shivering against the drifting snowflakes. "Do you need any other help?" I ask, suddenly feeling quite useless as I stand there and rubberneck.

"Thank you for the offer, but we've got it under control," Klaus says, looking out at the crowd. "If we need anything more we can get these gawkers to do it."

Hossan, pressing his eyes shut even tighter, frowns in a troubled manner. "But Klaus, aren't you going to tell her? What this woman was…" He ceases and gulps when the man shoots him an icy glare.

What should the doctor tell me? Did this woman have something to do with me? But she looks so unfamiliar, I don't think I've ever seen her before. But even if I had, I don't think I'd remember. She looks like one of those what's-er-face people. One of those people with level eyes, slender noses, and small shaped features. One of those people with no perceivable defects or characteristics to be remembered by. I wonder if that's what perfection is.

The woman bundled up before me now is a brown-haired woman no younger than thirty but easy on the eyes; plainly attractive. "Who is this?" I ask, my tension building from their silence. What was Hossan going to say?

"Rio!" Rod yells, running up to me with a newspaper crumpled his hand. "This article has you in it, they say that lady had it. Look, it's folded to your picture!" He thrusts the paper into my hands and I'm greeted by my own cold eyes staring back at me in black and white. It was the candid photo Tina snapped of me that one morning. It was a full page spread.

"R…Rio," the woman sputters and coughs, pitifully clutching her blankets close but lifting herself up to smile weakly at me. "I've… finally found you. I've searched so long for you… My daughter."

Trembling from the weight of the white around me, I stare down at the article in my hand—at it's title—and its incriminating title shakes away my breath. Those Who Run Away.