One stray flake drifted onto his cheek, dissolved there to the exact thickness of a tear.  It was the first snow Sam had seen in Washington, and he turned his face up to it, standing motionless and reverent until Josh barreled into his side and nearly knocked him into the street. "Hey!"

Josh wrapped an arm around a streetlight for steadiness, his face reflecting its unfiltered golden light.  "Looked for a second like you were having some kind of a fit or something."

Sam scuffed his shoe along the sidewalk.  "I was appreciating the snow."

"Appreciating?" Josh snorted. "You should get a tattoo.  Property of the State of California."  He reached around the lamppost and touched Sam's forehead.  "Right here."

Sam chuckled.  "And I think you've had enough to drink."

"For Chrissakes, quit talking to me like I'm twelve. I'm old enough to be your lousy father."

"I'm twenty-six."  He was patient; they'd had this conversation before. "You're thirty."

"Twenty-nine."

"You turned thirty two weeks ago."

"I think I would remember that.  Wouldn't I remember that?"

"Not if you spent the entire weekend lying under the coffee table. Either way, you're not old enough to be my father, lousy or otherwise."

"Is this the little boy I carried?"  Josh sang, in a frightening off-key warble.  "Is this the little girl at play?"

"You get gay when you get drunk," Sam observed, unable to stop smiling. His jacket was flimsy and unbuttoned.  He wondered why he wasn't cold.

"At least I'm not appreciating the snow."

It was probably the alcohol, not just tonight's beers but the cumulative effect of weeks of celebration: election night, Josh's birthday, and now the holidays.  He'd been drinking too much since he came to Washington. He didn't want to go to New York, or even home to California.  He wanted to stand perfectly still, so he did, and the snow danced down light as laughter.

"And there were in the same country shepherds," Josh said quietly. "Keeping watch over their flocks by night."

Sam turned his head so fast he was dizzy.  "You know Christmas specials?"

"I'm Jewish, Sam, I don't live in a bubble."  He snickered.  "Didja ever see that movie?"

"Charlie Brown?"

"The Boy In The Plastic Bubble."

Sam laughed.  "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know."  Josh swung out from the streetlight and pulled Sam into a one-armed hug.  "What are you talking about?"

"I was talking about how I appreciate the snow.  It's--"  He held his breath and let it out in a cloud.  "This city.  Is beautiful.  And in the snow, I wish I was going to stay here forever."

"Someday you gotta spend a winter in New England."  His mouth hovered close to Sam's ear; his breath was warm and whiskey-sweet.  "It'll cure you."

"I don't want to be cured."

Josh jerked his head toward the bar.  "Wanna go inside?"

"No."  So they didn't.  The snow kept falling, clean and perfect as a first kiss.