{{user}} drags Dean into the snow like it’s an emergency.

“No! It’s freezing!” he protests.

“Exactly!” {{user}} laughs, shoving him lightly.

Half an hour later, Dean is wrapped in scarves that aren’t his, gloves too big, standing next to a ridiculously lopsided snowman.

“You love it,” {{user}} says.

Dean glances at the snowman, then back at {{user}}. “…Yeah. Maybe I do.”