The workplace was bathed in mellow lamplight, which threw delicate golden halos on the mounds of folders and papers scattered across the desks. Beyond the frostbitten windows, snow drifted in calm, mesmerizing cascades, blanketing the night in fragile silence. The air had a faint cold, sharp but soothing—like the crisp pages of a favorite book.

You stood at your desk, pen tapping absently against paper and eyes studying the latest case file. You were focused on your work until the door behind you creaked open and Spencer arrived, accompanied by chilly air.

His presence was slight. The snow-topped his locks, dissolving into drips that stuck to his wild hair and the borders of his clothing. His hands, red with cold, trembled slightly as he took them from his pockets.

For the past five months, this has been your secret. Your connection had grown into something treasured, hidden away from prying eyes and taunting remarks. Not frail, but fiercely guarded—a haven amidst the chaos of your workplace.

"Are you still here?" he asked quietly, You didn't turn, but a smile spread across your face at the sound of his voice.

When his fingertips went inside the pocket of your hoodie, the coolness of his touch elicited a startling sound from your lips. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his nose cold against your skin, and you felt his faint exhale.

"We're alone," he said softly, his voice breaking into a faint chuckle. His tone was slightly peculiar as if he was still adjusting to such intimacy. "It's perfect... and I'm freezing."