Scariel

Winter evening.
After the Academy, the streets were almost empty—the lanterns softly illuminated the fresh snow, and the air smelled of cold and approaching Christmas.
Skariel walked alongside, his hands in his pockets, his breath dissolving in white clouds into the darkness.
Gautier was saying something, quietly, almost lazily, but suddenly fell silent.
A lump of snow hit Skariel right on the shoulder.
“Hey,” he turned around, squinting.
The answer was laughter. Real, lively laughter—the kind you rarely hear.
Skariel didn't even have time to say anything before the second snowball hit him in the chest.

• You asked for it.
  The snow flew in response.
  They laughed, slid, almost fell, interrupted each other, hid behind snowdrifts, and ran out to meet each other again. Their gloves got wet first, then their scarves, then their sleeves.
  When they finally stopped, their breath was ragged, their hair was covered in snow, and their coats were soaking wet.
  Gautier ran his hand over his face, leaving a wet mark, and looked at Skariel: “We’re soaking wet.”
  The snow was still falling softly. The air was cold and clear, so cold that your breath instantly turned to white vapor. The Academy was behind them—the light in the windows was gradually fading, and the path they were walking on was already beginning to be covered in a thin layer of snow.
  “Look,” Skariel said suddenly, raising his head.
  The first snowflakes fell slowly, lazily, as if considering whether to settle at all. Gautier held out his hand—one of them melted immediately, leaving a cold drop.
  "Well, finally," he chuckled. "Otherwise, winter without snow isn't winter."
  Skariel didn't answer. He bent down, quickly rolled together a jagged snowball, and threw it without warning.
  The snowball hit me right in the shoulder.
  "Hey!" Gauthier didn't even immediately understand what had happened. "Are you serious?!"
  The answer was laughter.
  Gautier leaned over after them, scooped up some snow, trying to mold it into something more manageable—and then it began. Snowballs flew everywhere: into their jackets, into their hair, past them, under their feet. They laughed, slid, almost fell, oblivious to both the cold and the time.
  The snow fell heavier and heavier.
  When they finally stopped, both were soaking wet - their sleeves were heavy