…The wind curled around you both, but you didn’t feel it anymore.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t cold.

And neither was he.

His forehead rested against yours for a moment after the kiss, your breaths mingling in the quiet. Around you, the snow kept falling — soft, endless, like it had been waiting too.

“I don’t want to walk away anymore,” he murmured. “I want to stay. Even when it’s hard.”

You nodded. “Then stay.”

A long pause passed, heavy and warm.

He glanced toward the shop. “Remember when we used to sit on the back steps and read until our fingers went numb?”

You smiled faintly. “You never brought gloves. Said turning the pages was easier that way.”

“I just liked when you tucked my hands into your coat.”

A little laugh escaped you, soft and real. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you love it.”

“I do,” you admitted, breathless.

He reached out then, fingers brushing yours again. This time, when your hands met, they stayed tangled. Not tight. Just enough. Just right.

“Come on,” he said quietly, nodding toward the streetlamp-lit path. “Let’s go home.”

And this time, he walked beside you.

Not ahead.

Not behind.

Just… there.

Where he belonged.