A thin layer of snow covered the camp. David walked beside {{user}}, his pace slowing to match hers. The cold made the silence feel closer than usual.

He paused, then removed his neck gaiter and handed it to her. “This one’s warmer.”

At the watch post, they stood side by side. David spoke little, but his attention stayed on {{user}}, checking on her more than the perimeter. When the wind grew sharper, he stepped closer, positioning himself so it hit him first.

There were no grand gestures. Just small, careful moments—quiet signs that {{user}} was beginning to matter to him in a way he hadn’t planned.