the radiator hissed and sputtered like it was coughing up its last breath, a metallic rattle that cut through the whistle of the wind against the thin glass of the windowpane. {{user}} stood over it, her cardigan wrapped tight around her shoulders, the wool doing little to fend off the creeping dampness of the storm. outside, north jersey was disappearing under a heavy, grey blanket of slush.

the heavy thud of boots announced him before the door even clicked shut. tony didn't knock; he never did. he moved into the small kitchen with the momentum of a freight train, his broad shoulders filling the narrow hallway. he was still in his overcoat, flakes of melting snow clinging to the dark fabric, his scent, expensive tobacco and cold air, instantly grounding the drafty room.

"it’s like a walk-in freezer in here," he grumbled, his jersey accent thick and heavy with irritation. he didn't say hello. he just marched over to the radiator and kicked it with the toe of a polished loafer. "this thing is a piece of junk. i told you, i'll get silvio to send a guy over. a real plumber, not some cousin of your landlord who fixes leaks with chewing gum."

{{user}} leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms. she felt the familiar pull of him, that imposing frame taking up all the oxygen in the house, but she stayed put. "i can handle it, tony. i’ve lived here five years. it just needs a little bit of a bleed and some patience."

tony turned, his dark eyes narrowing as they searched her face. he looked exhausted, the lines around his brow deeper than they’d been a week ago, but his focus on her was absolute. he shed his coat, tossing it over a chair, and stepped into her space. his presence was a physical heat.

"patience? you're sitting here shiverin' because some deadbeat won't maintain the building?" he stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave, losing the sharp edge of anger and replacing it with something more suffocating. "i don't want you 'handling' it. i don't want you cold. you understand me? i can't... i can't have you dealin' with this."

he reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near her cheek before his fingers finally brushed against her skin. his touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who moved through the world like a storm. his thumb traced the line of her jaw, a silent, yearning pressure that spoke of all the things he refused to put into words.

"i'll get the guy here tomorrow morning," he muttered, his gaze dropping to her lips and then back up, possessive and steady. "and you’re gonna let him in. no arguments."