Private Fateful Threads

[Veyran Solis]

Bastion
Xian Xiao​

Veyran Solis stood just beyond the edge of Xian's walkway where the snow had been packed down into a pale, uneven path, his boots sinking a fraction with each subtle shift of his weight. The world felt hushed in that particular way winter managed, like the whole landscape had agreed to hold its breath. Snow draped the low fence line and softened the corners of the home's exterior, clinging to the roof in thick, rounded swells. The air smelled clean and sharp, carrying the faintest hint of pine and cold stone, and every exhale he let out came back to him as a soft plume of fog.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes tracking movement above him.

Two birds, small, quick things with dark feathers that looked almost ink-black against the white, hopped along a branch that bowed under the weight of fresh snow. They moved with that restless, bright energy living creatures seemed to have even when the world was frozen: a hop, a pause, a flick of wings; one bird bobbing its head as if listening to the quiet, the other pecking delicately at something hidden beneath a dusting of white. Their claws clicked faintly on bark, a sound so small it almost felt imagined, but Veyran heard it anyway. Or maybe he felt it, like the winter itself had a heartbeat if you stood still long enough.

He smiled without thinking, the expression settling easily into place.

Not long ago, he would have watched those birds and counted threats without meaning to, how exposed the yard was, which angles could hide someone, where the nearest cover would be if things turned ugly. He would have stood here with his shoulders tight, mind already halfway down the road to disaster. Even on calm days, he'd worn his worry like armor, convinced that if he stopped bracing for impact, the galaxy would remember him again.

But now...

Now the quiet didn't feel like a trap.

It felt like a gift.

He drew in a slow breath and let it out, and with it went the last remnants of a tension he didn't need to carry today. He could feel the difference in himself the way you felt a shift in weather, subtle, undeniable. As if the air had changed its mind about him. As if the world had stopped waiting for him to break.

He glanced toward the front door, toward the windows that reflected pale winter light, and the warmth in his chest sharpened into something that made him want to laugh under his breath. Xian was inside, close enough that he could almost picture exactly what she might be doing. Maybe she'd been mid-task and stubborn about finishing it before indulging him. Maybe she'd looked out and seen him already and was pretending she hadn't, just to make him wait.

That thought alone drew a faint smirk to his mouth.

He lowered his gaze to the snow at his feet and crouched, gloved hands sweeping through the powder. The cold bit through the material anyway, sharp, immediate, real. He scooped up a mound, then another, packing it together with steady pressure. Snow shifted and sighed beneath his palms. It was dry enough to resist at first, then began to hold when he worked it, compressing into a clean, solid sphere.

He rolled it between his hands, turning it a few degrees at a time, pressing the edges into a smoother round. It wasn't perfect, but it was respectable, dense, a decent size, the kind that made a point without being cruel. He dusted off the loose powder with his thumb, inspecting his work with mock seriousness as if he were crafting something sacred rather than a winter projectile.

The birds above him fluttered again. One hopped further down the branch, the other followed, and a small drift of snow shook loose, sprinkling down in a shimmering curtain that broke apart midair and vanished into the yard. Veyran watched the little flurry fall and felt his smile deepen.

He straightened, snowball held loosely at his side, and turned his head toward the door. His voice carried easily in the cold, warm in a way the air itself was not.

"Xian," he called, the name leaving him with familiar ease, like it belonged on his tongue. "Come outside for a moment."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian heard him before she saw him.

Not his voice—not yet—but the quiet shift in the air that came with someone waiting rather than passing through. She paused where she was inside, hands resting against the edge of the table, dark eyes lifting toward the window as pale winter light spilled across the floor. Snow reflected softly there, bright enough to make the room feel hushed and clean, as if the world outside had pressed its palm gently against the glass.

She didn't rush. That was new.

Not long ago, she would have moved immediately, compelled by an urgency she didn't know how to set down. Now she finished what she was doing—slowly, deliberately—then tugged on her coat, fingers working the clasp by habit rather than thought. The fabric was still warm from inside, and she lingered in that small comfort for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

When she opened the door, cold air slipped in around her ankles like a curious thing, sharp and honest. Snow crunched faintly beneath her boots as she stepped out, the sound grounding, real. Her breath fogged in front of her, and she lifted her gaze to him instinctively, already knowing where he'd be.

The sight of him there—relaxed, unguarded, snow in his hands instead of tension in his shoulders—hit her quietly, but deeply. It settled somewhere just beneath her ribs, warm and steady.

She didn't miss the snowball.

Her mouth curved before she could stop it, not quite a smile yet, more like the beginning of one. She stopped a few steps away from him, arms folding loosely against the cold, posture easy in a way it rarely was around anyone else.

"For a moment?" she echoed, head tilting slightly as her eyes flicked from his face to his hands and back again. Amusement threaded her voice, soft and genuine. "That sounds suspiciously like a trap."

She took another step closer, snow crunching again, the quiet of winter wrapping around them like a held breath. The birds overhead fluttered, and she glanced up briefly, then back to him, dark eyes bright with something lighter than vigilance.

"What did you do," Xian asked, warmth unmistakable now, "or what are you about to do?"

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran saw her the instant the door opened, not because of the movement, but because something in him recognized her presence the way a compass recognized north.

Cold air spilled out around her like a curtain being pulled aside, and there she was in the doorway, framed by the warm interior light for half a heartbeat before winter claimed her silhouette. The pale glow caught the edges of her hair and softened the sharp lines the galaxy had taught her to wear. When she stepped down into the snow, the crunch beneath her boots sounded louder than it should have in the quiet, and it made him oddly aware of how still he'd been, how patient.

He didn't move at first. He just watched.

It wasn't dramatic, the way the realization hit him. It was quieter than that, deeper, like something settling into place where it had always belonged. Xian looked…peaceful. Not unarmed, not unready, she would always be herself, always have that alertness tucked beneath the surface, but her shoulders weren't braced for impact, and the set of her mouth wasn't carved from restraint. There was warmth there, and it made his chest tighten with a kind of gratitude he didn't know what to do with.

The beginning of her smile caught him more than it should have.

He felt it like he felt the shift of the wind: subtle, undeniable. She was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with perfection and everything to do with presence. The dark of her eyes against the bright day. The way her breath fogged in front of her, a soft, living thing in the cold. The way the snowlight made her seem carved out of winter itself, sharp and clean and unmistakably real.

But then he looked at her again. Really looked. And the smirk softened into something else.

It was an extremely rare thing, the way his face shifted, like watching a door open in a place most people never realized existed. His mouth curved into a smile that didn't come from mischief, or bravado, or practiced ease. It came from something unguarded. Something honest.

For the span of a breath, the red in his eyes dulled, not vanishing, not gone, but quieted, as if the color itself remembered how to rest. It made him look younger, in that fleeting second, and almost startlingly gentle. Then it returned, the familiar ember-brightness coming back like a tide. But the smile stayed, he took one step toward her, slow enough to be deliberately nonthreatening, as if offering her every chance to brace or retreat or call his bluff. The snow squeaked under his boots.

Then he cocked his arm back. His eyes stayed on hers the whole time, steady, playful, a silent warning and an invitation all at once.

And he threw.

The snowball sailed in a clean arc through the cold air, a bright white blur against the darker line of trees. It wasn't a cruel throw, no full force, no intent to hurt, just enough speed to make it impossible to ignore. It struck squarely against the front of her coat with a soft, satisfying thump, bursting apart in a spray of powder that blossomed outward and rained down across her sleeves.

Veyran's laugh came out before he could stop it, quiet, breathy, real. He lifted his hands slightly, palms open in feigned innocence, though his eyes betrayed him with that glitter of triumph.

"That," he said, the rare smile still there, "is what I was about to do."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian froze for exactly half a second.

Not because she was stunned—but because the impact registered before the meaning did. The soft thump against her coat, the burst of cold blooming outward, the powdery spill sliding down her sleeves and melting instantly against the warmth beneath. Her breath caught, then escaped in a sharp huff that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been surprised first.

She looked down at herself.

Snow clung to the dark fabric of her coat, stark and bright, already dissolving at the edges. A few flakes had caught in her hair, dusting the darker strands like careless stars. Slowly—very slowly—she lifted her head again and fixed him with a look that was all stillness and intent.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath with her. Then her mouth curved. Not a polite smile. Not the careful, measured expression she wore in unfamiliar places. This was something sharper and warmer all at once, a grin that tugged at one corner of her mouth first before settling in fully, dark eyes lighting with something unmistakably alive.

"Oh," she said softly, voice even, deceptively calm.

She brushed a bit of melting snow from her sleeve with two fingers, as if considering the evidence, then flicked the water away. Her gaze never left his. Not when she shifted her weight. Not when she bent just slightly at the knees.

"You're very brave," Xian continued, tone thoughtful in the way that usually preceded trouble, "for someone standing that close."

She crouched and scooped up snow, packing it with practiced efficiency—tightening it with her palms, rolling it smooth, shaping it into something solid and intent. When she stood again, she didn't throw it right away. She took one step toward him instead, boots crunching softly, closing the distance with unhurried confidence.

"For the record," she added, lifting the snowball to eye level, "you're lucky I didn't bring the wind into it." Her eyes flicked briefly to his hands—empty now—then back to his face, the grin deepening just a fraction.

"But since you started it…" She didn't wind up. She didn't telegraph. She flicked her wrist and let the snowball fly in a quick, direct arc, aimed squarely for his shoulder—fast enough to make him move, clean enough to make the point. "…fair's fair."

The quiet yard seemed to exhale as the snow sailed between them, and Xian straightened again, already gathering another handful just in case, laughter finally breaking through as she added, lighter now,

"You still sure you just wanted a moment?"

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

The snowball hit him high on the shoulder with a crisp, clean thwack, bursting into white powder that scattered across his collar and down the front of his coat. For half a breath, Veyran simply stood there and let it happen, felt the cold bloom against his skin, watched the flakes break apart and fall like a quick, bright shiver. His smile widened into something unmistakably pleased.

He tipped his head to the side as if assessing the strike the way one might assess a well-placed move in a sparring ring. Not offended. Not surprised. Just delighted that she'd answered him exactly the way she had, sharp, controlled, and then suddenly laughing, alive, unafraid to meet him where he'd invited her.

"Fair's fair," he echoed under his breath, tasting her words like he liked them.

His eyes flicked over her, snow still dusting he, the faintest melt clinging to her sleeve, those few flakes caught in her hair like little stars. The sight of it made something warm ease through his chest, quiet and steady, and for a moment the red in his eyes softened again, dimming at the edges as if the winter light had seeped into them.

He lifted his hand to brush the snow off his shoulder, then paused halfway through the motion as if he'd reconsidered. Instead of clearing it, he pinched a small clump between his fingers and rolled it thoughtfully, building it up with more care than necessary. His mouth tilted into a grin that promised mischief and meant tenderness. He stepped forward one pace, boots crunching softly, closing the space the way she had, unhurried, certain. His posture was relaxed, but there was a readiness in him too, the kind that didn't come from fear anymore. It came from play.

"And for the record," he added, mimicking her cadence with a gentle, amused precision, "I'm very grateful you didn't bring the wind into it. I like surviving my mornings."

His gaze dropped briefly to her hands, already gathering more snow, already prepared, and his grin turned bright with appreciation. Of course she was. Of course she wouldn't stop at one.

He leaned down, scooped up a fresh handful from the powder near his boots, and began packing it quickly. He didn't make it perfect. He didn't need to. He pressed it together with practiced confidence, shaping it into a tight, solid sphere while keeping his eyes on her the whole time. He straightened with the snowball in hand and held it loosely at his side, letting the pause stretch just enough to make the anticipation part of the game.

Then his voice came soft, playful, and undeniably fond.

"I wanted you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. His smile softened at the edges. "The moment was just the excuse."

He lifted his free hand, palm up, as if presenting a proposition.

"We can call it even," he offered, eyes bright, tone almost absurdly reasonable. "We can both walk back inside, pretend this never happened, and I'll even..."

He stopped mid-sentence, because the look on her face told him she wasn't going to accept that peace offering even if he delivered it wrapped in silk.

"....Yeah," he finished, laughing quietly. "No, we can't."

He didn't wind up. He didn't telegraph. He flicked his wrist the same way she had, quick, direct, efficient, sending the snowball toward her in a clean, fast arc aimed for her upper arm, not her face. Close enough to make her move. Accurate enough to make his point.

The snowball struck with a soft thump and burst into powder, white spray blooming across her sleeve and scattering down like a sudden flurry.

Veyran lifted both hands again in mock surrender, too late to be convincing, but committed anyway. "There," he said, voice light and sweet, red eyes gleaming with mischief. "Now we're even."

He already had his hands dropping toward the snow again, fingers flexing with quiet readiness, laughter still in his throat as he watched her out of the corner of his eyes. And then he retreated behind a tree, which was nowhere close to hiding him.

"You should surrender."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian let the second impact land before she reacted.

The snow burst against her sleeve and shoulder in a cold, blooming spray, the shock of it sharp enough to draw a breath from her chest that turned into a laugh she didn't bother holding back. Powder slid down her arm and dotted the front of her coat, melting fast against the warmth beneath. She looked down at it for a moment, then back up at him—really looked—and the laugh softened into something brighter, almost disbelieving.

"Even," she repeated, arching a brow in apparent disagreement.

She brushed at her sleeve once, not to clean it, to flick loose the worst of it, and then she was already moving, not charging, not retreating, just shifting sideways through the snow with an ease that came from a body that trusted itself. The crunch beneath her boots was light, controlled, her balance steady as she bent to scoop another handful.

"You know," she said casually, packing the snow with deliberate care, "for someone negotiating surrender, you're doing a terrible job of selling it."

Her dark eyes stayed on him as she shaped the snowball—compact, dense, no wasted motion. When he ducked behind the tree, she didn't throw. Instead, she tilted her head, studying the very obvious outline of his shoulder and coat visible on one side, the telltale movement of someone pretending cover was better than it was.

A slow grin spread across her face.

"You picked the worst tree," she informed him, warmth threading her voice. "It doesn't even try to help you."

She took a step closer, then another, boots crunching softly, the snowball resting loosely in her hand like a promise she hadn't decided how to keep yet. When she was close enough that he could hear the shift of her breath in the cold air, she paused.

"Surrender," Xian echoed, thoughtful. Then she leaned just enough around the tree to meet his gaze, snow still dusting her hair, eyes bright with something playful and very real. "Alright," she said lightly. "I'll surrender."

She flicked her wrist. The snowball sailed past the edge of the tree in a sharp, clean arc aimed squarely for his ribs—close enough that he'd have to move, fast enough that he'd have to try.

"But only," she added, already scooping up more snow, laughter threading through the words, "if you admit you started this knowing exactly how it would end."

She straightened, snow in her hands, posture relaxed but ready, the winter light catching her grin as she waited to see if he'd dodge—or double down.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

He pointed at the trunk beside him. “This tree betrayed me. I trusted it. That’s on it, not me.”

Veyran’s expression softened, just a fraction, in that way that happened when he wasn’t armoring himself behind sarcasm. The red in his eyes held steady, but the intensity shifted, less edge, more warmth. Green were seen for a brief moment, the soft eyes that he had before he went down the dark path. Veyran smiled as he looked at her hands, already gathering more snow, and the delighted readiness in her posture, and something sweet curled through his chest.

He took a step closer, slow, unhurried, like he wasn’t afraid of the next hit.

“Admit it?” he echoed, and the rare smile returned, easy, open, almost boyish in its sincerity before it slid back into mischief. “My love....I counted on it ending like this.”

He bent and scooped snow with both hands, letting it spill through his fingers once before packing it tight. The motion was practiced now, press, turn, compress, building something solid while never taking his eyes off her.

“You think I stood out here watching birds and pretending I’m some innocent man calling his love outside for a ‘moment’…” He rolled the snowball once more, smoothing it with his thumbs. “...without knowing you’d absolutely hit me back?”

His grin widened as he straightened. He didn’t throw immediately. He held the snowball at his hip like a secret, then lifted his other hand, palm over his chest in an exaggerated gesture of honesty.

“I started it,” he said solemnly, as if confessing to a tribunal, “knowing exactly how it would end.”

He paused, just long enough for the words to land.

“Which is to say...” His tone warmed, playful and sweet at once. “With you smiling like that. I could watch the smile all day.”

And then he doubled down.

He stepped to the side, drawing her attention with the movement, and flicked his wrist, quick, clean, no wind-up, sending the snowball toward her midsection in a direct arc. Just fast enough to make her react, just accurate enough to make his point.

It struck with a satisfying thump and burst into a bright spray across the front of her coat, powder drifting down in a soft cascade.

Veyran let out a quiet laugh, breath fogging in front of him. He lifted both hands again, palms out, surrender performed far too late to mean anything, eyes gleaming with delighted trouble.

“There,” he said, voice fond, “consider that my signed admission.” His gaze dropped to the snow at his feet, already reaching for more as if this were the easiest decision he’d made in months.

“And if you’re surrendering,” he added, looking back up at her with that same warm mischief, “you’re doing an even worse job of selling it than I am.”

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian barely flinched when the snow hit her.

It burst across the front of her coat in a bright spray, cold blooming and then fading as it slid down the fabric. She looked down at it for half a second, then back up at him—and the laugh that escaped her was unrestrained, warm, carrying easily through the winter air.

"Surrender?" she echoed, breathless with amusement. "Nah."

She brushed at the snow once, more a gesture than an attempt to clean herself off, and then she straightened fully, shoulders rolling back as if she were settling into a stance rather than backing down. There was no Force in it, no wind gathering, just her—balanced, alive, and unmistakably enjoying herself.

"I'm just getting started in this," she said, eyes bright, voice threaded with laughter. "…war."

She scooped up snow with both hands this time, packing it quickly, efficiently, her movements smooth and confident. As she did, her gaze flicked over him again—caught the shift she hadn't expected. The softening. The fleeting green beneath the red. It registered, quiet and sharp, a detail tucked away rather than questioned. Whatever that was, it wasn't for this moment.

Right now, this was play.

She stepped sideways through the snow, circling just enough to keep him turning, boots crunching lightly. "And for the record," she added, tone playful, almost conspiratorial, "if you're confessing this easily, I think you planned to lose."

She didn't throw immediately. Instead, she feinted—lifting her arm as if to send the snowball straight at him—then snapped her wrist at the last second, sending it low and fast toward his thigh, precise enough to make him move.

The snowball struck and exploded in a clean burst of white.

Xian laughed again, already dropping to scoop more snow, cheeks flushed from cold and joy alike. She glanced up at him through the falling flakes, grin wide, eyes dark and alight.

"Signed admissions are nice," she said, mock-serious. "But actions speak louder."

She straightened, snow in hand, posture relaxed but ready, the winter light catching her smile as she squared up again.

"Your move."

Veyran Solis