The soft click, and the wooden door of your apartments unlocks.

The quiet peace of the room welcomes you, your feet pleasingly tired from skiing long in the high mountains. It was a long, long afternoon.

The sun rays stream down, bathing the room in bright, warm hue. The wooden floor is warm and welcoming. Mountain peaks furled with snow piercing the bright blue sky, the roofs of the village below sprawled with the slightest frost.

Nico closes the door behind you, sighing with content. His pale cheeks are rosy from the cold, frost in his tousled black hair, tiny white snowflakes stuck melting his dark eyelashes, the cape of his aviator jacket caked by snow running along the wool of it's fabric.

He places his shoes mext to yours, then blinks few crisps of icy, tiny snowflakes out of his eyes, a soft smile tugging on the curves of his upper lip as he notices how you look — not much different from him — the snowflakes in your hair, the rose tint on your cheeks and nose from the crisp air outside.

" We made it. Yippie. "

He chuckles softly, passing by you and taking off his gloves and scarf wrapped around his neck.