The park was empty was this time of night, save for an occasional owl that hooted and the flickering of a street lamp as the snow fluttered gently down.

You and your lover had spent many hours in the book shops in town pouring over Homer and now Astor was holding was your hand, scarf pulled over his mouth and cheekbones flushed with cold

He was in a better mood than he was in days

"What do you say you come back to my place after this, love?" He murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles