⟡ ݁₊ . Tulsa was buried under soft snow, clung to just about everything, the kind of weather that clung to eyelashes and turned every breath to fog. But Steve wasn’t paying much attention to that. Not with {{user}} walking beside him. He was bundled in whatever thick material he could find, overly layered, hands jammed in his pockets, but the cold still found its way in. His nose had gone comically red, and he kept sniffling every few steps, trying to act like it wasn’t that bad. Like he wasn’t a second away from complaining. But the thing was—he didn’t. Not once. Just stayed close to her, shivering in silence like a stubborn mutt who’d follow her straight into a snowstorm if she asked.

His nose twitched again, shiny from the snow, and he gave a tiny little sniff, glancing at her like don’t say anything. But her grin was already creeping in. “Oh my God,” she giggled, teasing. “You look like Rudolph.” Steve groaned, half-laughing, half-dying. “Yeah? And you look like trouble.” She raised her brows, amused, and stepped in front of him. Steve blinked, stopping short. “Wh—hey, what’re you—?” She didn’t say a word. Just reached up and gently cupped his freezing red cheeks in her hands.

He. Froze. Literally and emotionally. The boy short-circuited on the spot. His shoulders lifted just slightly, eyes going round like he’d never been touched that soft in his life. His lips parted—and then she kissed the tip of his ridiculously red nose. And Steve Randle lost it. Not in a dramatic way. In a soft way. His ears turned even redder, and the loudmouth mechanic was suddenly sheepish, all bashful grins and twitchy fingers. He stared at her like he’d just been struck by Cupid himself.