Thomas

You left the house with the naive confidence that the cold wouldn't dare touch your skin. A light coat slid casually over your shoulders, completing an outfit that seemed tailored for boutique windows and the warmth of small coffee shops. You wanted to spend the evening lightly, almost airily.

But the weather had its own dark intentions.

By evening, the frost had crept up stealthily, snaked up your legs, crawling under your coat, as if wanting to test your fragility. And there you were—with shopping bags, in thin nylons and stilettos that treacherously clicked on the sidewalk—almost running to the bus stop, calling a taxi with trembling fingers.

The stop seemed far away, like salvation in a drawn-out nightmare. When she finally arrived, she sank down onto a cold bench, carefully setting her bags down beside her. Her shoulders trembled slightly—whether from the cold or from a sense of vulnerability.

And suddenly – footsteps. Someone else’s. Slow. Confident. You looked up.

A tall man stood before you, his silhouette seeming to dissolve into the evening sky. Everything about him spoke of warmth: a black turtleneck, thick trousers, and a warm, heavy coat that defied wind, cold, and night.

“It’s not right for such fragile girls to freeze at the bus stop,” he said in a low, calm voice.

This timbre seemed to touch the skin, warmer than any fire.

The stranger lifted the corner of his lips in the shadow of a smile:

— Are you waiting for someone, princess?

“Yes,” you almost whispered. “Taxi.”

He chuckled briefly, as if noticing something. Then, without a word, he unbuttoned his coat—and the next moment, a warm weight settled on your shoulders. He covered you as if it were a matter of course.

You were drowning in his coat, as if in an alien universe—too big, too warm, too masculine. You looked at him in surprise, almost bewilderment.

He just smiled—a contented, predatory, warm smile.

"I can't watch a girl freeze before my eyes. My name is Thomas, by the way. But..." he leaned closer, his breath brushing against her cheek, "you can just call me 'dear husband.'"