This is a sequel to 'Winter', which multiple people asked for.


After maybe ten minutes in the car, they both realise 'before the weather gets too bad' has come and gone – the snow is getting heavier, and it's getting hard to see anything past the front bumper. He grits his teeth and carries on, easing the car down the street and around the corner, and then the snow is blowing directly into the windscreen. Emily looks at him sideways, sees the determined concentration on his face. "I don't live too far from here," she says, fixing her eyes back on the darkness outside, the flurries of snow stark against the black. "We can walk."

He hears her but doesn't process it at first, too busy concentrating on keeping them on the road. It's a couple of minutes before he responds. "No – I'll -"

"You can't drive in this." As if on cue, they lose traction and the car slides painfully slowly sideways. When it stops with a soft bump she turns to him, eyebrows raised. "Seriously. Stay at my place."

He nods, because no matter how bad an idea this seems, she's right. He grabs his ready bag from the back of the car and they trudge through calf-high snow, the wind blowing flurries into their faces, sending them stumbling backwards. She hooks her hand into his elbow and he pulls her in close, feeling something protective sweep over him.

By the time they get to her building, they're both shivering violently, crowding the doorway as she fumbles for her keys with stiff, uncooperative fingers. She grumbles continuously until she's got the door unlocked and they get inside, and he follows her in silence all the way into her apartment, pretty sure his jaw has frozen shut.

He dries off and gets changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt in the bathroom, and returns to find her sitting on the sofa in pyjama bottoms and a thick wool sweater, her legs pulled up in front of her and her arms wrapped around them. Still shivering, she rests her chin on her knees. "Thanks for the ride," she says softly.

"Thanks for letting me stay here." She nods, and he comes to sit beside her on the sofa. He looks her over – her body language couldn't be any more closed off, but she's finally making eye contact, looking straight back at him with an unreadable expression. He desperately wants to be able to say the right thing to her, but he's no good at saying the right thing, and she's too smart for any platitudes he can offer. "I'm sorry about Matthew," he says eventually.

"Me too," she replies, barely above a whisper.

He reaches for her hand before he can talk himself out of it – it's ice cold, and he holds it between both of his. "You're freezing." And before he knows what's going on she's curled into him, her head against his shoulder and his arms all the way around her. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore everything in his head telling him he shouldn't be doing this, and just holds onto her. There's a tremble in her muscles, because she's cold or sad or afraid, and he doesn't ask because he's not sure it matters – she just wants to be held. He can understand that.