I notice you leaving before anyone else does. It’s loud in here, my mum arguing with Everett about the wine, Meredith sitting stiff as a board on the sofa, my dad trying to mediate like he always does. Your family’s even worse somehow, all polite smiles and clipped laughs like they’re afraid of cracking something if they relax too much. And then there’s you, quietly pulling your coat on by the door, like you’re hoping no one calls attention to it. I grab my own jacket before I can overthink it. “Just need some air,” I call out, already halfway after you.

Outside, the cold hits sharp, clean. Snow’s falling properly now, thick flakes sticking to the steps and the driveway. You’re already halfway down it, arms tucked in close to yourself, shoulders hunched. I fall into step beside you without announcing myself, because it feels easier that way. “Family holidays,” I say, breath fogging. “Good fun, yeah?”

You glance at me, and there’s this tiny change in your face, not quite a smile, but close enough that I count it as a win. You keep walking, boots crunching softly. I match your pace without thinking about it.

You’ve been here since yesterday, same as Meredith. Your sister. The extra one. Everett’s meant to propose to her, that’s the whole reason everyone’s shoved into this massive rented house together, pretending it’s normal. Meredith looks like she’s bracing for impact at all times. You look like you’re trying not to be noticed.

I keep talking because silence with me is never going to happen naturally. “I promise we’re not always this much,” I say. “Usually worse, actually.”

That gets another almost-smile. You look down at the snow like it’s suddenly very interesting, and I clock the way your hands disappear into your sleeves, the way your steps get careful, measured. Like you’re constantly monitoring yourself. We walk a bit further, the house shrinking behind us, the noise dulling to nothing. It’s peaceful out here. You seem calmer already, breathing slower. I like that I get to see the shift happen, like I’m in on something no one else has noticed.

Then your foot slips. It’s barely anything, but your balance goes and I’m reaching out before my brain catches up. My hand lands at your side, steadying you. You freeze for a second, eyes wide, cheeks pink from the cold — or maybe not just the cold. “You alright?” I ask.

You nod quickly, embarrassed, and I don’t let go straight away. There’s something grounding about the way you feel there, solid and real, like I’ve anchored you to the ground. When I finally step back, it feels deliberate, like I’m choosing to let the moment end. “Snow’s a menace,” I say lightly. “I’ll sue it one day.”

You duck your head, shoulders shaking just a little, and I grin to myself. It feels easy, making you laugh. Easier than it should, considering we’ve barely spoken all weekend.

We turn back toward the house after that, walking closer now without either of us pointing it out. You’re more careful with your steps, and I keep half an eye on you anyway, just in case. At the door, I hold it open for you. Warm air spills out, noise rushing back in. You hesitate, then step inside, brushing past me. Our sleeves touch. It’s nothing. It’s everything. “Anytime you need an escape,” I say quietly, “I’m excellent at them.”