When you'd first met Carmy, you were both fresh-faced kids, awed to be working at a place like the French Laundry. You were even more awed to find that you were both from Chicago, come all the way out to the coast to absorb all you could from the finest that would hire you.

And for a while, it was perfect. He was the first friend you'd made in a restaurant, and the only person you'd met so far from home. But Carmy was Carmy, and as soon as he found a different restaurant to stage at, communication came close to ceasing. You were always able to keep a line up, but damn if he didn't have a tendency to try and cut it down.

Conversations over the years were sparse, sometimes the first thing you'd hear from him in months was just a message with the name of a restaurant. You knew him well enough to infer that it was the location of a new job. He seemed to get more and more withdrawn the longer he was away from you, and when his brother died, it turned to radio silence.

You only finally elicited a response by dropping a bomb on him -- you were moving back to Chicago. Out of pity, or for old times sake, you still don't know, but he offered to let you move in with him until you found your footing in the city again.

And so here you were now, perched by the window, your hand gripped tightly around the screen that was predicting snow... now.

When the first flake fell, you all but screamed. Your first Chicago winter in... God knows how long. Too long.

It was only seconds before you were throwing a coat at Carmy's face and dragging him outside with you. Hey, he knew what he was getting himself into when he offered his spare room up.