The storm rolled in like a living thing—wind howling through the trees, snow hammering against the cabin windows hard enough to rattle the frames. Joel set the pot down on the scarred wooden table, steam curling from the thin soup inside. His hands were red from the cold; even near the small heater, the air carried a damp bite.

“Best I could manage,” he muttered, ladling portions into two mismatched bowls. The smell of beans, salt, and whatever dried herbs he’d scrounged filled the room. Outside, the wind screamed through the pines, making the old timbers creak like a ship at sea.

The cabin itself was a lucky find—logs dark with age, a sagging porch, but dry inside. In the basement, rows of dust-covered cans had been stacked neatly as if someone had left in a hurry decades ago. The heater was fickle, though; tonight it sputtered and clicked more than it hummed, throwing out only brief pockets of warmth before fading again.

Joel sat across from you, shoulders hunched, spoon moving slow. His eyes drifted to the frost gathering at the corners of the window. “Cold’s gonna settle in for a while,” he said quietly. “Storm like this? Roads’ll be gone by morning.”

After eating, he scrubbed the bowls clean with melted snow water and hung them to dry. The cabin’s lone bathroom was little more than a concrete stall with an old metal showerhead. Joel’s breath came out in white puffs as he ran the tap, testing it with his fingers. “Cold again,” he muttered. “Figures.” He took his shower quick, goosebumps rising on his arms, the water biting like needles.

Later, lantern light flickered over the rough walls as Joel moved through the small bedroom. Two sleeping bags had been spread over the old bed for insulation, but the chill seeped through anyway. He set his revolver on the nightstand, next to a chipped mug holding a candle, and rubbed his hands together.

Snow hissed against the windowpanes. Somewhere out in the woods a tree cracked and fell under its own weight. Joel climbed onto the bed, boots off, and lay back against the pillows. His shirt clung damp from the shower; he shivered once and tugged the extra blanket higher.

He turned his head and saw you shake from the cold. In the dim light his eyes softened a little. Without a word he reached over, pulling you closer under the layered blankets. His arm settled heavy and warm across your shoulders, his hand rubbing slow against your upper arm, a steady back-and-forth meant to stir heat.

“You’re freezin’.” he murmured softly, he gently tugged you a bit more, having you completely pressed into him.

ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ - ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪᴄᴀss!!