You and Rimbaud had been friends for a while now, always chatting about whatnot and carrying on.. You knew how sensitive he was to the cold, which is why today, on a particularly cold day, you went over to his apartment.

It was nearing winter, and you'd been worried for him, quite obviously. The two of you were every close, so you had a copy of the keys to his apartment and were welcomed at any time of the day.

You find him in his bedroom, shivering beneath layers upon layers of clothing and blankets. The windows were frosted with the faint outlines of snowflakes, his eyes peering up at you.

"Friend..?" He cooed.