Jack flung open the curtains of his and Ianto’s bedroom and stared out the window. Everywhere was a fairyland of winter white, with big, fat, fluffy flakes drifting endlessly down. It was quite hypnotic.
Smiling, he stood watching the snow. Even after all this time it amazed him. He’d grown up in an arid, desert climate; never saw snow until he left Boeshane.
Ianto stirred in the bed behind him, drawing Jack’s attention away from the window.
“Rise and shine, gorgeous! Better bundle up, looks like sweater weather today!”
Ianto groaned and burrowed deeper beneath the covers.
“I hate winter.”