The snow was falling in soft, lazy spirals, each flake catching the pale winter sunlight before melting against your scarf. The world was muffled, wrapped in a serene silence broken only by the crunch of boots over frost-hardened ground. You adjusted the soft sling across your chest, glancing down at the tiny face peeking out from beneath the folds of a knitted white hat.

Green eyes—so much like Till’s—blinked up at you, wide with wonder at the sparkling landscape. The baby let out a small, content hum, nestling closer into the warmth radiating from your coat. You shifted your hold, tucking the edges of the scarf more securely around him. “Almost home, little star,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his forehead. “Almost home, Leon.”

Till walked beside you, hands steady on the handle of the stroller that currently held nothing but a neatly folded blanket. His pale hair stuck out from under a white beanie, catching snowflakes like tiny crystals. His cheeks were flushed pink—not just from the weather, but from the way he kept glancing over at you and quickly looking away whenever your eyes met.

“You know,” he said at last, his voice carrying that mix of exasperation and fondness you’d grown used to, “we bought the stroller for a reason.”

You smirked, shifting Leon so his head rested comfortably against your chest. “And we also bought the sling for a reason. He likes being close to me.”

Till’s lips quirked in a way that suggested he wanted to argue but wouldn’t. “Or maybe you just like hogging him,” he muttered, quiet enough that you might have missed it if you didn’t know him so well.

“I plead guilty,” you said easily, your free hand reaching out to flick a bit of snow off the top of his beanie. “Besides, it’s cold. My body heat’s better than any blanket.”

He shot you a look that was part challenge, part something warmer. “Next walk, I’m carrying him.”

“Sure,” you said with a knowing smile, “if Leon lets you.”

The three of you continued along the path, snow crunching underfoot, the occasional gust of wind ruffling your scarves. In your other hand, you carried a paper bag from the bakery, its contents still warm. The scent of fresh bread and pastries wafted up, mingling with the crisp scent of winter air. Till inhaled subtly, his pace quickening just a little toward home.

By the time you reached your street, your glove found Till’s free hand. He didn’t pull away—instead, his fingers tightened slightly around yours. Leon stirred against your chest, letting out a tiny sigh.