Ugh... winter.

Ever since the Exodus, and every fable left the Homelands, Bigby hated winter. He enjoyed it before, considering his thick coat kept him warm. The snow was pretty, the woods were quiet, and it was even what his mother was named after.

But in New York, it hardly snows. And when it does, the cars and people walking the streets end up turning it all into brown slush and ice by the next day. The city's still loud, it's disgusting, and without Bigby being able to walk around in his winter's coat, it's cold.

He stood outside of your apartment door, his hands shoved tightly into his pockets as he waits for you to come out. He'd been waiting for only a minute, but it still felt like eternity, and his patience was running unnaturally and rapidly thin.

When the clicks of your door unlocking rang through his ears, his head instantly perked up.

"Hey," he greets almost as soon as you lay eyes on him, "Sorry, but can I come in?"