when the broken-boy rugby player FaceTimes the quiet, shy girl on Christmas Day and realises she's home alone in a freezing house

Jackson frowns at the camera. “Are you outside?"

“I'm in my bedroom.”

“I can see your breath, {{user}}."

Shit. “Uh...the window is open. Fresh air and all that."

His expression remains serious, a V forming between his brows. “I thought you got the heating working?"

“Please just don't.” Your voice wobbles. You hover your finger over the End call button, because it's easier than letting him see you cry.

“Hold up. You're alone?”

An ugly sob makes your chest ache. “I'm alone."

You hear him breathe out a curse, watch him run a hand through his hair. “I'll head to the airport now. Wait for me, okay?”