ght had turned sharp—the kind of cold that bit through fabric and made every exhale come out in pale ribbons of fog. The bus stop’s flickering light did nothing to help. You stood there, arms wrapped tight around yourself, bouncing a little on your heels in a weak attempt to stay warm. The street was nearly empty, just the low hum of the city and Wilbur next to you, tall and lanky in his long coat, his breath visible when he sighed.

“You’re cold,” he said suddenly, voice low, a faint lilt of amusement cutting through the air.

You shook your head, stubborn, words muffled behind your scarf.

Wilbur huffed out a laugh, the sound soft and disbelieving. “You’re literally shivering.” He shifted closer, the fabric of his sleeve brushing against yours. “Come here.”

You didn’t move fast enough for his liking—maybe out of pride, maybe because you were frozen—so he rolled his eyes, reached out, and tugged you gently by the sleeve until you stumbled into him. His coat was warm, his chest solid under your cheek, and the faint smell of coffee and laundry soap clung to him.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he murmured, chin coming to rest lightly on your head. “I’m not letting you freeze to death over whatever point you’re trying to prove.”

You mumbled something—protest, gratitude, who knows—from somewhere against his chest. Wilbur chuckled, his breath ghosting over your hair. “What was that?” he teased quietly. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

By the time the bus finally arrived, his arms had found their way around you fully, his coat half-draped over your shoulders. Neither of you said much. You just stayed there, pressed close, until the headlights bathed you both in gold and the world started moving again.

The next morning at work, it was chaos before you’d even clocked in.

“Oi, Wilbur!” one of your coworkers called from across the break room. “Saw you and someone at the bus stop last night—looking cozy, weren’t you?”

Wilbur, mid-sip of his coffee, turned with a grin that was far too self-satisfied. “Ah, so my heroic act of saving someone from hypothermia has been witnessed.”

You froze halfway through unpacking your bag. You give Wilbur and your coworker a death glare—

He raised an eyebrow, tone dripping with mock innocence. “What? I’m just telling the truth.” He leaned casually against the counter, smiling in that infuriatingly smug way. “Though, to be fair, you were basically sitting on my lap.”

A few heads turned. Someone whistled. Someone else laughed.

You glared at him, cheeks burning, but Wilbur only grinned wider, taking another sip of his coffee like he hadn’t just ruined your morning.