It's winter. roads are covered in ice and Neville is walking towards the underground. the frosty air burns his cheeks a little, but he doesn’t care, just wants to get home as soon as possible. this seems to be the fifth unsuccessful date in a month. why is he even trying to find someone? to get laid? it's like he doesn't need to anymore. the ardour and desire for intimacy fades under the pressure of the same questions about what he does for a living, what his hobbies are, and the constant payments for two people to cafes and the cinema.

thoughts are interrupted by laughter and swearing behind him.

“that fucking winter..” he overhears someone muttering and almost slipping on ice. Another giggle. Seems like two girls are behind him and struggle with slippery weather.

he listens to strangers banter about it being shitty road. One girl asks her friend hold onto her hand, but other laughing refuses saying she doesn’t want to fall with her.

Neville listens to funny muttering “yeah, that what they call friendship, one breaking their ass while another laughs” and turns to them.

“Hold onto me.” he looks at girls amused.