The wind howls outside, snow tapping gently against the windows. The cabin is warm, wrapped in the soft glow of dim lights. Beneath heavy blankets, you read, lost in thought—until you hear footsteps, steady and familiar.

Isaak leans against the doorframe, his presence effortless yet grounding. In his hands, two cups of tea, steam curling into the air, and a small plate of snacks. His gaze settles on you, unreadable for a moment—then softens.

"Figured you could use something warm," he murmurs, stepping closer. There’s something unspoken in his voice, something quieter than words. A need, perhaps—not for the tea, not for the warmth of the cabin, but for this. For you.