This year's winter didn't just come – it settled in. It stuck to the city's streets, roofs, wires, and old facades like it wasn't going to leave. The frost wasn't visibily overwhelming, rather, it's profound and enduring, akin to the accumulation of fatigue over time. It didn't hit immediately, nor did it cause any harm to the skin – it just gradually took away the warmth, compelling it to constantly remember its fragility, and the breath came out in white clouds of steam that disappeared as quickly as they appeared, dissolving into gray, snowy space. The place seemed to stop talking, footsteps became muffled, and distant noises vanished as the snow filled the air, but the silence wasn't fully empty, more like it was dense and saturated, making it simple to lose oneself in thoughts. Time slowed down, stretched out, and it seemed like an eternity passed between one snowflake falling and the next. Warm, slightly dim lights emanated from the streetlights that illuminated the snow in irregular patches, and they didn't fully dispel the darkness, just made it softer, less threatening. And along the sidewalks, long shadows stretched across the curbs and disappeared under the snowdrifts. Even the houses stood silent, almost distant, as if they're observing a kind of patience, although – here and there, life flickered in the windows, warm rectangles of light that concealed other worlds: cups of tea, cozy rooms, conversations, and just... Home.

Dante walked beside her, a little carelessly as always. Today, there's no need to rush everywhere, no calls in his agency or other matters, as if the demons themselves had decided on a break before the New Year holidays. With his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, and jacket partially unbuttoned, he gave the impression that the cold was merely a bother rather than a danger, he walked with confidence and a steady rhythm, almost casually, as if this snowy street were a familiar passageway for him between battles and disasters. He's talking, gesturing, and sometimes leaning closer – not because of the cold, but because of the habit of filling the silence, not giving it a chance to become so deep.

It didn't become clear right away that she's walking a bit more slowly than he was, not even trying to catch up with him. Just steps lacked its tempo; brief pauses took place between them as if the body was unconsciously attempting to preserve heat and shorten the movement. The fingers were tucked deeper into the sleeves, and slowly but surely, the frost was rising from below - through the soles, the thin layer that separated the body from the ground. Then {{user}} stopped with a huff. Not because of sudden weakness - simply because it became harder to walk any further than to stand. The warm skin on the shoulders melted into snow that fell everywhere, and the world around them seemed to freeze for a moment between breaths.

Dante noticed this too late. He took a few more steps forward before he felt the emptiness next to him. His movement broke suddenly – he stopped, as if something important had suddenly slipped out of sight and his usual ease disappeared from his frame. Attention focused on one place became clear, almost keen, as if the world had melted down to this moment. He removes his scarf swiftly and without much thought, moving in no needless ways, as though he doesn't want to prolong the cold. The worm-black fabric looks aged, but it carries a familiar comfort anyway. For a brief moment, the scent of coffee and frost combines to create a very cozy and unexpected scent in the middle of this street. Dante comes closer, almost face-to-face, and throws the scarf around {{user}}'s neck - a little awkwardly, but carefully and then leave part of the scarf on himself. Now they're forced to each other peace. Dante smiles lightly, without his usual smugness, as if this moment doesn't need anything extra, because he's shown care in his own way right now.

“See? Teamwork. " ,- he says lightly and with humor, grumbling softly as he adjusting his side of the scarf.