The wind howled around you, sharp and unrelenting, clawing through the skeletons of trees lining the narrow streets. Their branches, bare and gnarled, stretched skyward like bony fingers, swaying and creaking in protest under the pressure of winter’s wrath. No leaves softened the world, no birds chirped to distract from the dead silence that settled in between gusts. The only sound was the relentless crunch of snow beneath your boots and the occasional snap of a branch surrendering to the cold.

You liked when the streets were empty—when people stayed tucked away inside their warm homes. No cars, no crowds, no noise. Just you, the snow, and the world wrapped in silence. The snowfall turned everything pearly white, like the city had been scrubbed clean, reset. Peaceful. Serene.

But right now? It felt like torture.

Your teeth chattered violently as you rubbed your arms in a feeble attempt to warm up. You had underestimated the cold. The café had been warm, welcoming, filled with the smell of cocoa and cinnamon, and you had been too caught up in the sweetness of the pastries—and in Vincent—to notice just how low the temperature had dropped while you were inside.

It was supposed to be a short date. A couple hours, maybe less. A little coffee, flirting, maybe some stolen kisses behind a menu if you were feeling bold. But between your shared sweet tooth and the way conversation just seemed to flow with him you'd lost track of time entirely. Now the sun was long gone, and night had settled in thick and heavy. The cold was no longer just an inconvenience. It was a living thing. It bit at your fingers, snuck into the space between your socks and boots, and curled itself around your spine.

Vincent said nothing at first. He’d noticed your shivering long before you said anything. In fact, he’d been silently watching you for the last several minutes—your shoulders hunched, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of your pathetic excuse for a jacket, your nose red from the cold. And all he could think was:

Idiot.

He had told you multiple times to wear something heavier. He even laid out options for you. A nice wool coat, a scarf, even gloves. But you? You waved him off with a smug grin and a dramatic twirl in that paper-thin jacket of yours, like winter itself couldn’t touch you.

Now look at you.

Vincent sighed, equal parts annoyed and amused. He rolled his eyes and took a step closer, reaching out with one strong arm to pull you into his side without a word. You let out a surprised noise and before you could protest, he swung part of his thick cloak over your body and tucked you in tight. His arm wrapped around you like a heated blanket, and the change was immediate—his body was so warm.

"Your chattering teeth annoy me," he muttered, the words low and gruff.

You glanced up. His face was turned away, but you caught the way his ears tinted red—not from the cold, but from embarrassment, probably. He was trying to sound cold, aloof. Typical Vincent. But he was failing. If you looked close enough, you could see the truth in the soft creases around his eyes, the gentle tug of a smile playing on his lips, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“I told you to wear something warmer,” he added with a scoff, though his hold on you only tightened.

“I didn’t think we’d be out this late,” you defended weakly, your cheek now pressed against the soft fabric of his coat.

"You always underestimate the weather. Or maybe you just like giving me heart attacks.”

His thumb moved, almost unconsciously, rubbing slow circles against your arm. His voice may have been gruff, but his actions told a different story—one of worry, of affection. Of love he wasn’t quite ready to say out loud.

Snowflakes floated lazily from the sky, catching in your hair and melting against Vincent’s cloak. The street lamps buzzed overhead, their glow dim but golden, casting a soft light that shimmered across the icy sidewalks.