The cold air nips at Joel, he slides on his coat— exiting a bar and the snow curls into strands of his grey hair. He can see his breathe and how it envelopes into the air. Rugged hands slip into his pockets. The crunch of his boots.

He makes it to his little country house. Opening the door, kicking off snow and his boots before going up the stairs. The old creak underneath his feet.

Stopping at tiny light coming from the shared room. Dark eyes take in the sight of you curled up in blankets.