The cold is completely outside. Inside the house, the air is warm and thick, heavy with the low crackling of the fire and the scent of something warm that Sal left to simmer a while ago. The lights are soft, just enough to make everything feel closer, slower.

Battam is reclining near the fireplace, a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. He doesn't say anything, but every now and then he adjusts the fabric so it covers you too, as if it were an automatic gesture, learned over time. His presence is calm, constant, almost enveloping.

Sal, on the other hand, is closer to you. He leans back on the sofa and stretches out his legs without much concern for personal space. The contact is subtle: a brush of a knee, a shoulder that leans closer, fingers seeking warmth where they already know it. His energy is relaxed, with that flirtatious touch that never completely disappears, even in silence.

Time passes unhurriedly. The fire illuminates faces, shadows move slowly across the walls, and for a moment there is nothing but the shared warmth and the feeling of being exactly where you're meant to be. Battam watches you from time to time, saying nothing, with a gentle expression, while Sal leans his head slightly toward you, as if waiting for you to take the initiative… or simply enjoy the moment.