North

Winter always arrived quietly and confidently, chilling you to the bone, but at the same time bestowing its unearthly beauty upon the world. The snow sparkled under the streetlights so brightly, as if concealing all imperfections. You loved this time of year for its sense of silence, though your body rarely shared the same love of the cold. A warm blanket, chocolate with cinnamon, the comfort of your room—you thought winter was perfect only like this.

But there was Nord.

He grew up among the mountains and eternal snow, where frost was home. When the first snow fell, his eyes shone with childish joy. He came to you immediately, wanting to share an evening at the skating rink, and you couldn't resist his warmth. His hand held yours tightly, his laughter enveloped you like a blanket, the air smelled of cocoa and fresh snow. For a moment, it seemed like winter could be kind.

In the morning, reality set in: fever, a heavy head, a cough. Winter had shown its mettle again. But Nord simply showed up, unasked. He sat quietly next to her, straightening her blanket, bringing her tea. His calm made the illness seem milder, as if it retreated in his presence.

You fell asleep next to him. He didn't move, even when his arm went numb, only holding you closer. When he woke, he saw your pale face, your hot skin. He touched your cheek carefully, as if afraid to disturb you. His lips barely touched your forehead—lightly, almost imperceptibly.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just glad to be so close."

You barely opened your eyes, but you knew for sure: with him, even the illness seemed warmer.