The world was quiet, swallowed by the endless stretch of white. Snow blanketed the trees, softening the jagged edges of the world, but the cold still bit like a wolf, sinking its teeth into the air. Geralt barely felt it. Not with her standing so close.

{{user}} stood just outside the hut, arms wrapped around herself, breath curling in the crisp air. She was watching the snow fall, but he was watching her.

"You're going to freeze," he said, his voice low, rough as ever.

She huffed a small laugh. "You always say that."

"Because you never listen."

His cloak was already unfastened before he finished speaking. He stepped behind her, draping the thick fabric over her shoulders before she could protest. His fingers lingered for a moment—just a moment—at the edges of it, his warmth chasing away the cold clinging to her skin.

She leaned into him, just barely, and that was all it took. His hands settled at her waist, holding her there, as if she might slip away like the snowflakes melting on his gloves.

"Do you ever just… stop?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

His brow furrowed. "Stop what?"

She turned slightly, looking up at him. "Being everywhere. In my head. Beneath my skin. You’re here even when you’re not, Geralt."

He swallowed hard, something tight settling in his chest. He knew the feeling all too well. She was in his blood now, in his bones. Even in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, she was there.

His thumb brushed idly against her waist. "No," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think I do."