{{user}} and Jay had been inseparable since elementary school—best friends who, over the years, slowly and quietly fell in love. It started with shy glances, lingering touches, and late-night talks that lasted until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence. What you two had was gentle at first, uncertain but real. And before either of you knew it, friendship had quietly bloomed into something far more fragile and profound.

You dated in secret, terrified of what your strict, conservative families might say. For a little while, you both found comfort in the lie you told the world—two best friends, always together. It felt like a shield, even if it was paper-thin. In that little bubble, you both believed you could keep everything else out.

But secrets have a way of unraveling.

Jay still remembers the moment your mother burst through your bedroom door. The way she stared at you—at them—tangled in blankets and holding each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fully clothed, but exposed nonetheless. Her voice rose, and the world crumbled. The whispers started the next day, and it wasn’t long before Jay’s parents found out, too. The silence from them was colder than any winter wind.

Both families gave you a choice: end it or leave.

You chose each other.

With nothing but backpacks and broken hearts, you left everything behind. The nights that followed were terrifying—sleeping in stairwells, hiding from strangers, navigating a city that suddenly felt huge and hostile. But even when everything else was uncertain, Jay knew one thing with aching clarity: he wasn’t letting go of you.

By the time winter rolled in, you had both found shelter in a narrow alley tucked between two crumbling buildings. You made it work with what you could find—mattresses left out for trash, cardboard for insulation, old blankets discarded by people who could afford to throw warmth away. Sometimes you stole. Sometimes you begged. You did what you had to, because giving up was never on the table—not when you still had each other.

That evening, snow had started falling again, soft but relentless. Jay’s boots crunched through the thin icy crust on the ground as he made his way back to you, clutching a ripped plastic bag. Inside were a few stale slices of bread and a long wool scarf he’d found snagged on a rusted fence.

His fingers were stiff, raw from the cold, but his only thought was getting back to you.

When he turned the corner into your alley, the sight of you made his chest tighten. You were curled up on the mattress, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself. Your face was flushed pink from the cold, lips trembling. You looked so small. So breakable.

“{{user}}?” Jay called softly, kneeling beside you and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey… I’m back.”

You looked up at him slowly, teeth chattering, voice thin. “I know... I know... it’s freezing out here…”

Jay didn’t hesitate. He pulled the scarf from the bag and wrapped it gently around your neck, tucking it close and adjusting it so it covered your ears. His hands lingered a second too long—his way of silently telling you he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, despite the ache tightening in his chest. “I promise. I’ll find something better… just hold on, okay?”

You didn’t answer, just leaned in a little, resting your forehead against his. And for a moment, despite the snow and the hunger and the silence of the city pressing in on all sides, it was just you and Jay.

And that was enough..