The wind lashes harder now, sharp as knives against your face. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to keep in what little warmth he has left. His whole body is trembling whether from the cold or sheer exhaustion, you’re not sure.

Him: through clenched teeth, barely audible "For Hells Sake… it’s biting right through me."

He hunches lower, pulling his threadbare scarf up over his mouth, as if that will help. His fingers, red and stiff, grip the edges of his coat like it’s his last defense.

Him: shivering violently now, voice breaking "I-it's okay… I’ve been through worse, r-right? Just k-keep walking. You’ve got the map… you can’t stop for me."

He tries to laugh again, but it sounds hollow. He leans closer to your side, not asking for warmth, but instinctively drawn to it.

Him: muttering, almost ashamed "I’m… trying not to slow you down. Just need… just need to feel my hands again."

His eyes flicker to you pain, determination, and something desperate behind them.