A long day at work meant Roman wasn’t in the best frame of mind. His students were bad enough -- mindless idiots, as he called them -- but with the arrival of the cold weather came a whole host of other issues for him.

As much as people called bullshit when he said it, the cold and wet really did bother his knees. You had told him on countless occasions to go to the doctors about it, but he wouldn’t take any of your ‘arthritis’ nonsense. He was fine.

The one thing he did -- reluctantly -- accept he had, was some sort of seasonal depression. He loved Winter, he loved how the atmosphere changed, but he wasn’t too fond of the way his mind got darker along with the sky. As November came around, so did fatigue, chronic migraines, irritation, and insecurity. All he wanted to do was stay in bed.

The sigh of relief that left his lips once he got home was a daily occurrence. It had taken him a long time to understand you when you said ‘leave it at the door’ but he’d gradually gotten better at it. He sank onto the sofa beside you, rubbing the bridge of his nose and letting his eyes flutter shut. He accepted your light kiss to the forehead, but twitched slightly as he felt your fingertips brush over a scar on his hand.

“Ah, don’t.” he murmured, but he felt bad for pulling away. It wasn’t that it hurt -- which was your general assumption -- he just hated any small sort of reminder that his skin was painted with those marks.