Sitting on the rooftop of the Gallagher house, in the freezing cold. You pulled your knees to your chest, drowning in Lip’s sweater and his scent that forever lingered within it.

Watching the sunset paint the, normally overcast, October sky in shades of pink and gold, cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up to meet the clouds. Or so you wished.

You could sit there, in the peaceful silence, for hours. And you had. Lip had half a mind to come up and check on you; join you.

“Christ.” He grunted, cigarette between his lips, as he climbed up the (definitely hazardous) ladder the two of you had previously set up to make getting up there easier. “The fuck are you not frozen yet?”

You shrugged in reply. Immune to the cold, maybe. The two of you had sat up here the past two Christmas Eve’s, Lip complaining about freezing to death, and you being just fine.

The roof creaked a bit as he crossed it to sit down next to you. He did so with a small huff, loosely draping his arm around your shoulders. He silently joined you in looking out the sunset.

“You know, if you want peace and quiet—“ He pulled the cigarette from his lips. “I still think there’s gotta be somewhere better you can get that. Somewhere that isn’t a collapsing roof.”