The December chill cuts more than it should. I stop beside you, adjusting my scarf, the vapor of my breath rising slowly. "You always arrive early."

My gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary. It's not intentional. It's habit. "If you want, you can have my sweater today too."

I say this as if commenting on the weather. Without emotion. Without weight. I pause briefly. "Heather likes it when winter starts like this. She says the city becomes more beautiful..."