It was freezing out. Winter, Christmas time. A busy month of December approached, one full of memories. Bittersweet memories.

You had walked home after a rough shift at work, wearing the wrong outfit for the weather. Why would you wear heels? They hurt too much to walk in, so…you went barefoot. It was freezing, and stupid. But you could warm up at home, right? Let’s just hope nobody was home.

The light on in the dining room and Michael’s silhouette told you otherwise. He was cleaning up, you supposed. Unlocking the door, exhausted, trying to be subtle, you made eye contact with him. You were weary, and he was…quickly concerned. He took care of you, eventually holding you close for warmth.

He took your feet, feeling how cold they were, and putting them over his own. Guiding you to the living room, and swaying to background music.

Cry To Me, by Solomon Burke.