the biting new york wind whipped {{user}}'s thin coat around him. he shivered, pulling his scarf tighter, his breath clouding in the frigid air. it had been six months since he’d broken up with mario, six months of awkward run-ins and whispered condolences. and, more often than not, six months of ivan.

he’d always been a looming presence, a shadow in the periphery of {{user}}'s relationship with mario. a silent guardian, a watchful eye. it was unsettling, yet… comforting.

he’d just stepped out of the bodega, a bag of groceries clutched in his hands, when {{user}} saw him. leaning against his black suv, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on him. the tattoos snaking up his neck and disappearing beneath his black sweater seemed to writhe in the dim streetlight. his full beard framed a strong jaw, and even from a distance, {{user}} could see the intensity in his gaze.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble, the colombian accent thick and warm. it was a sound that always made {{user}}'s stomach flutter, a feeling he’d tried to bury deep down.

"ivan," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. he hadn't seen ivan in a few weeks, not since he'd helped {{user}} change the lock on his apartment door.

he pushed off the car, closing the distance between them. he was taller than {{user}} remembered, his broad shoulders and muscular build casting a long shadow over him. "it's cold. you shouldn't be walking alone this late."

"i was just getting groceries," {{user}} said, clutching the bag tighter.

he glanced at the plastic bag, then back at him. "let me take you home, papi."