You were standing on the roof of some high-rise building, the concrete parapet of which seemed cool even through the fabric of your light jacket. The city below was a kaleidoscope of twinkling lights stretching into endless darkness, but your gaze was directed upward to where the night sky stretched. Jonas was standing next to you, his silhouette clearly outlined against the glowing horizon.

At first, the firmament was magnificent. Billions of tiny, cold diamonds glittered in the absolute blackness. It was that peaceful sight for which you agreed to climb so high, away from the hustle and noise of the metropolis. You felt like tiny grains of sand on the edge of a vast, indifferent universe, and there was a strange, comforting charm to this feeling.

However, the idyll did not last long. The weather decided to demonstrate its changeable disposition. Clouds began to gather from the west, where the city lights seemed especially bright. They were moving fast, like a black, heavy pall, swallowing up the stars one by one. The starry scattering began to dim, as if someone was slowly dimming the light.

Along with the clouds came the wind. At first it was a light, refreshing breeze, but then it intensified, turning into a gusty, penetrating stream. It whistled through the wires, buzzed through the metal structures of the roof, and ruffled your hair, making you shiver instinctively. The air became noticeably colder, and you felt a chill run down your spine.

You tried to pull your thin windbreaker higher, but it didn't really help against this sudden, aggressive coolness. You were about to offer to come down when you suddenly felt something heavy and incredibly warm descending on your shoulders.

It was a coat. It enveloped you in a dense cocoon of warmth, instantly cutting you off from the icy wind. The smell was familiar, a mix of light, woody cologne and something familiar...

You turned your head to look at Jonas, but he was standing with his head slightly turned away, looking at the darkening sky.

— «Take it,» Jonas said, his voice a little sharper, but there wasn't a drop of reproach in it, just a statement of fact.

You wrapped yourself in the coat deeper, enjoying the feeling of safety and warmth that it gave.

He turned slowly towards you, and in the semi-darkness his face seemed serious. He crossed his arms over his chest, but it was more of a gesture than a defensive pose.

— «Listen,» — he said, and his tone brooked no argument. — «If you get sick because of this stupid night air thing, I won't treat you. No teas, no cute worries. You'll just sit there feeling sorry for yourself. Got it?»

There was a harshness in his words, but you knew it was his specific way of expressing concern. He couldn't just say, «Put on something warmer.» He preferred ultimatums, which, paradoxically, worked better than any plea.