We were young. I think. I must have been ten. Eleven? 

No, he was about to turn fourteen. 

That's when we were to receive our powers - on the midnight of our 14th birthday. He only had a few hours to go. So I must have been twelve...? 

Yes, twelve.

He woke up early that morning. I mean, he woke up early every morning, but he was up before the setting of the full moon. 

I don't remember what he was. A friend, I think. Maybe a brother, it doesn't matter. He was important all the same. The most important person in my life, in any life. He was the world, the sun I orbited around. 

And yet I can't remember his face. Can't remember anything. Only his smile. 

It was January. The 12th, maybe? Grambi, I can't even remember his birthday. Maybe it was December? Early winter, it was early winter. The part where it's still getting colder. Spring wasn't on the horizon yet.

Snow covered my windows and left me in a shadow of darkness. The sun had risen, but I couldn't tell. Grambi, I hated the cold. I hated living in a one-story house with no insulation, hated not knowing how to make a fire. 

I hated a lot of things.

But I never hated him. 

"Dimentio, the lake has frozen over!" his voice sang. Snow and thin glass made him sound distant, muffled, but I knew he was just two feet away from me. 

I curled up in my slightly damp blankets and shivered. There were 94 days of summer in a typical year, which leaves 270 days of suffering through the cold. Different levels of suffering, of course. Winter was the worst for obvious reasons, followed closely by fall. Not because fall was exactly colder than spring, but because there was no light at the end of the tunnel in fall. The nights don't get warmer. Spring wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the constant rain showers. Love poetry describes spring as a beautiful season of rebirth and renewal. They're inaccurate. True spring, early spring, is dark and cold. It's windy and harsh. The poets always seem to leave that key detail out. The world must die to be reborn.

The cycling of the seasons was dumb. It is dumb. Why must the world fall into a state of suffering every year? Why can't things just be good? Why can't life just be good and easy and not cold?

"Dimentio, I made a snow-you! It's got your eyes," he called out.

I let out a slightly strained breath. He was doing the thing. The thing where he manipulates me to going out and playing with him. He was a dummy, but the smart kind. After years of me saying "no" whenever he asked to play, he learned the value of asking without directly asking. His methods were cruel and should be illegal across all dimensions. What kind of monster weaponizes guilt?

I never hated him, but I hated the things he made me do.

I rolled out of bed and wrung some of the water out of my blanket. I hated our leaky ceilings. Why was a comfortable life so expensive? 

I pulled out my clothing from under my bed. 

First layer - a yellow long-sleeve with matching yellow pants. Don't call them pajamas, they're not pajamas. 

Second layer - orange legwarmers and armbands to keep my pant legs and sleeves from rolling up. And, more importantly, to keep the snow from contacting my skin. 

Third layer - light blue fleece jacket with matching thin gloves. This used to be the first layer, but the comfy fuzzy stuff would absorb any sweat and get all icky, which I hated, so now yellow is first.

Fourth layer - red wool socks and gloves. I also tagged on red leggings to put over my other pants, just for extra warmth. 

Fifth layer - dark blue waterproof jacket and pants. And my waterproof socks, of course. There are few things worse than cold, wet feet. 

Sixth layer - my green scarf and hat. This was usually the top layer, but I didn't want it to get caught in anything. Besides, it wasn't waterproof and was the only scarf I had. It needed to be protected.

Seventh and final layer -  the snowgear. Dark purple snow jacket, snow pants, snow boots, and skiing mittens. I liked to think of this as the sacrificial layer. If it does its job correctly, nothing should get past it. The rest are just for backup. 

I put my deep purple earmuffs over my hat, then pulled up my hood. 

My house was poorly made. It didn't keep the rain out, cold would constantly seep through the cracks, but it still protected me from the harshness of the outside world. 

There were remnants of snow on the floor in the entryway, likely from when he initially opened the door. I wondered how long it took him to clear the snow away. Yet another question I'd never ask him.

I shielded my eyes as I swung the door open and was met with blinding white. 

"Dimentio! What.... are you wearing?" he laughed. 

"I hate the cold." 

"You look like a marshmallow!" 

"Shut up."

He continued to laugh as he fell back into the snow with his arms out. His silhouette remained on the ground as he got up and pranced toward the lake.

"We live in the best place in all the worlds, Dimentio," he said.

"So you've told me," I sighed as I walked beside him and looked out at the water. It was deep blue, the ice. I had no idea how deep the lake was. I never swam in it, even in the summer. It was too cold, and it got too deep too fast. There was just too much too-ness about it. 

Still, even though I hated winter, I liked the stillness that had fallen over it. This was the only time of year it ever became completely still, completely safe. 

"Are you excited for your powers?" I started to ask when he quickly laughed, almost cutting me off. 

"That's in the future, Dimentio. We're in the now! Now come on!" 

He scrambled out to the ice and slid to a stop. As he turned back to me, his right hand reached out. 

He had to have been doing this to make me feel guilty. He knew very well that I wouldn't take his bare hand. 

Why did he never wear gloves? He might as well have been asking for frostbite. 

After a moment, he lowered his hand and turned away. I sat down and focused on the dampness that was starting to consume my toes. I clearly needed new waterproof socks. 

He'd trip and fall and slide around, but his smile never faded. His smile was always the same, yet it seemed different every day. Maybe it was just the way I was looking at it. Sometimes I'd wish it was mine. Other days, I'd judge him - I mean, what kind of idiot smiles at such stupid and insignificant things?

On this day, though, I just thought it looked nice. 

A gust of wind brushed by, and I shivered. My arms latched around my body. There was nothing good about the cold. Breathing starts to hurt, water becomes painful to drink, there are no good qualities. It would be nice if it just ceased to exist. I wouldn't miss it. Not even a little. 

"Hey," he said.

I looked up. He was grasping my hands. Funny, I couldn't even feel him. Too many layers, I suppose. But not enough layers at the same time, since I was still cold. 

He grunted as he pulled me to my feet, though I could tell it wasn't genuine. 

"Grambi, have you tripled in weight?" he laughed. 

"Stop talking, or it'll be fourteen layers tomorrow," I replied. 

"You have more clothes?! I thought this was your whole wardrobe."

I rolled my eyes as he led me out onto the ice. This was another thing he did. Sometimes instead of manipulating me into doing something, he'd just force me.

"Why do you make me do things?" I huffed.

"If I don't, you'll just sit back and do nothing," he replied. "And that's no way to live."

"I think it sounds like a nice way to live, actually."

He turned around and steadied me, then let go and slid back. I wished I knew he'd force me onto the ice, otherwise I would have chosen different boots with better traction. (Not that I had other snow boots. I'd probably just steal one of his pairs. His feet were quite a bit bigger than mine, but with all the additional layers I could have easily made them work.)

"Do you ever wonder how many families live in the lake?" he asked as he spun around.

"No," I admitted. 

"Why?"

"I don't need to."

He clicked his tongue and dropped to his knees, then forward onto his stomach. "The ice is too thick right here, I can't see anything."

"That's too bad."

He quietly chuckled and looked up at me. Snow covered part of his face. He looked older.

He was almost fourteen. 

Almost fourteen, yet still an immature child who could be excited by even the dumbest of things. 

"Think about it, we're on top of someone's entire world. There are things down there who have never even been to the surface. Things we're standing on top of, but have never seen before!" he gushed. "Do you think they wonder about us?"

"No."

"I'm serious! We're standing above so much." he continued. "It's very... I don't know how to describe it. I always feel so big when I'm out here. Like, in the grand scheme of things, we're huge! There could be teeny tiny creatures down there, creatures we can't even see."

"Or there could just be water."

"I don't understand how you can't wonder about things like that," he said.

"I don't understand how you can't wonder about the future," I retorted. 

He raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "Touche." 

He took my arm again and tilted his chin down slightly. 

"Just look and think, though. Think of all we're flying over. This lake could stretch thousands of meters down, and we're standing overtop it."

"I don't see why that matters," I breathed, but I looked down anyway. 

The ice was too thick for me to see anything. Not that it made a difference. The water was so dark and murky that I couldn't even see the bottom on a midsummer day.

"You're too easily impressed." 

"Well, at least I'm able to be impressed," he joked. "Nothing makes you smile."

That wasn't true, though. 

He let go and looked behind himself.

"Maybe it'll be clearer out by the north side," he shrugged.

"Maybe. Let me know if you see anything," I said.

"Why? So you can be apathetic about it?"

"Exactly." 

He grinned his silly grin, then turned and scrambled away from me. He never walked steadily. It was like he was always on the verge of tripping, always fighting to catch himself. It was charming, though. 

I smiled slightly, but my face was hidden beneath my green scarf. I'd never let him see my smile. I had a character to portray, after all. He was the happy one, I was the bored one. This was the way of life. 

I had to be the bored one so he could be the happy one. If I was the happy one too, he'd stop trying so hard to make me happy, and I didn't want that. I couldn't have that.

He never did see my smile. 

I laid back and looked up at the grey sky. Winter skies were never clear like they were in poetry. They were the same thing every day; grey and bleak. Forgettable, basic. 

Were his eyes grey? Maybe that's why I forgot them.

What a horrifying thought...

The thick clouds covered the sun. Clouds were water, right? Why could water block the sun's warm rays from me? Who gave it the right?

I shivered and allowed my eyes to close. If it wasn't so cold, I could have fallen back asleep, and let my mind drift someplace warmer. His laughter was my lullaby, his smile was my blanket.

Someday, I was going to tell him how much he meant to me. 

Then, and only then will I have truly earned the smile he so often shared with me. 

But I couldn't do it yet. It was something to hold onto, something to look forward to, and I wasn't quite ready to let that go. 

I'd be ready soon, though. The time was coming. I just needed to wait a few more hours so I could tell him right before he could get his powers. I needed to tell him then so he'd know that I cared for him, not his magic. 

Because I did. Care for him, I mean. I never cared for much, but he was different. 

He was my world. 

Our life, though small and dull, was one I wouldn't have traded for everything. It was a world I hated, but a perfect one nonetheless. A perfect world that couldn't be broken.

Until the ice cracked.