Boris crossed his arms over his chest. The days were usually burning hot, though that night seemed bitterly cold. Perhaps he was just too used to the heat by now. Perhaps he was too used to this town, this one he used to hate. He’d grown to tolerate it. That alone was upsetting.

He was quiet, looking through the little clouds his breath formed in the air. If not for seeing those, he might have forgotten that he was even breathing.

“New York?” he murmured, rather surprised. Mostly -- he was surprised they were inviting him. They wanted him to go. Wanted him around. That, that was new.