it is happening again

It snows the day after Christmas, and the day after that, and the day after that. 

“Do you think it will ever stop snowing?” You ask Bob as you slide his curtains closed. Outside the snow seems endless, blanketing everything in a layer of blinding white. 

“I don’t mind, it means we get to stay inside. Keep each other warm,” he responds as you lay on your stomach next to him and open up his Twitter. After spending the past three days pleading with you to just have a look at what people were saying, Bob had finally managed to get you to do it. He’s tweeted out a short clip and pinned it to his profile. 

@goldenboy: got a friend of mine to help with this year’s Christmas video :) something extra special to thank you all for getting me into the top 5% of creators. link in bio! Happy holidays everyone!

“You didn’t tell me you were in the top 5%!” you yell, hand stretching out to whack at him. “I would’ve got you cake or something.”

“I didn’t wanna brag. Why do you and Yelena hit so hard, you don’t even work out,” he complains rubbing at the spot on his chest where you hit him. 

“I work out,” you mumble, scrolling down into the comments. You ignore his scoff. “If you’re top 5% that must mean you’re making bank? Why on earth do you still want to have a roommate?”

“I don’t like being alone,” he says. “I’ve tried and it just… wasn’t good for me,” he shrugs. You don’t push it, just keep scrolling through comments.  

@jaytorres: god almighty… also congrats bro, you’re killing it out here. 

“God almighty is crazy,” you laugh. “Good to know he liked it though,” you nod. You don’t need to look at Bob to know he’s rolling his eyes like he’s done every time Joaquin has come up in casual conversation. 

“DM him, I’m sure he’d love to tell you in detail what he liked,” he says. You just give him a light shove, continue reading the comments out loud to him. 

@_luvrgirlsupreme: me next? 

@donotfollowplease: when are you gonna go live again? We miss your livestreams!

“You don’t go live anymore?” You ask. 

“Nah, not really. Friday used to be my livestream day, but obviously I’m busy on Fridays,” he shrugs, looking everywhere but at you. 

“Bob, you should’ve told me you were busy on Fridays we could’ve found a different day for movies,” you complain. 

“I’m telling you it’s fine. I’ll just find a different day to go live, or go live later. Don’t touch movie night, that’s like, sacred to me,” he says, almost sounding stern. “Go on, read some more.”

@softnsweet: what kind of friend is this?

@cutietron5000: my rose toy’s about to be sick of me!! thank you for the gift mr goldenboy!

@sportsbunny: congrats my friend :)!! Onwards and upwards!! and tell your friend she did really good too :)!! I hope you said thank you!

“Awww she’s so sweet, tell her I said thank you. And that you were a perfect gentleman who also said thank you.”

“I’ll tell her,” he smiles as you keep scrolling. 

@user6745098767: me and who?

        @bigdaddydon53876: @user6745098767 check dm, looking for someone to spoil, can send you proof I’m real. 

@terryrichardson99876546: do you have more videos with her? Can we see more? Does she have her own page????????????

@swagpilled101: my friend fucks me like this I’m asking them what we are btw. 

@goontastic: model’s name?

      @goldenboy: @goontastic she’s not a model, just my friend. 

      @goontastic: @goldenboy oh that’s sad… well I hope we get to see her again! 

@lovepilled: look at my Santa dawg, I need to disinfect my gifts before I open them. 

You laugh at that one while Bob defends himself. 

“We weren’t even in the workshop! We were in my office, that’s separate to my workshop,” he explains, hands thrown up in exasperation. “You know they do this under all my role-play videos? They pick them apart?”

“You have a heckler?” You laugh. He’s not amused, bottom lip pushed out in a pout as he watches you laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t laugh but you have to admit that it is a little hilarious. Just a little bit,” you giggle, imagining this same user under all the content he’s posted, pointing out the inaccuracies. “Did this person heckle you under the Creampie for Study Notes video too?”

He looks confused for a moment, brow furrowing as he thinks, and then he lights up after seemingly remembering. “First of all, yes you know they did, I’ll see if I can find the tweets. Second of all, you remember that video?”

“The premise is ridiculous. Of course I remember,” you say, holding up your free hand before he can say something sly and going back to reading comments. 

@user569886: real porn role-play is so back

@moonjunakgae: how do I get a job at Santa’s workshop???? Asking for a friend. 

@_luvrgirlsupreme: @moonjunakgae when you find out please tell me I also want this Christmas bonus. 

You scroll through more comments, most of the same; people asking if you had your own page, if you were going to do more with Bob. Some comments are very complimentary, and you don’t know what to do with the pride that swells in your chest. Others are just a simple “thanks!” Or “good stuff again, brother!” Which you think is quite possibly the weirdest thing to say under a video of Santa-elf role-play, but hey, who were you to judge?

“See? All good, no one’s gonna take you out back and shoot you or whatever you thought was going to happen to you, they love you,” Bob says, his fingers tracing little patterns on your back. You roll your eyes as you lock your phone, roll over so you’re on your back, your head resting on his arm. 

“I know. A lot of them wanna see me again,” you smile, eyes closed. 

“Do you want to be in another one?” He asks. 

“Maybe. This wasn’t too bad actually,” you say. 

“What kind of video would you wanna do?” He asks, his free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh. 

You close your eyes, try to focus on anything but the heat of his hand. He lets the question hang, waits for you to gather your thoughts as he continues moving his hand. 

“I can’t focus if you do that,” you sigh, but you’re disappointed when he stops, puts his hand on your knee instead. “Okay. Well most importantly no more role-play if you want me back on camera.” He seems to accept this, motions for you to continue. “I think maybe, I’d probably like to sit on your face if you wanted,” you mumble. It’s harder to get the words out than you think it should be. 

“Okay, sitting on my face. I can do that for you. Off-camera too if you wanted, whenever you want,” he shrugs, “anything else?”

“I don’t know, you can do pretty much anything to me, you look like you’re good at a lot,” you say, face hot. His hand is still on your knee but even that is making you squirm. 

“Aww thanks,” he flashes you a smile. “What about off-camera? We should probably talk about the off-camera stuff too,” he says as he moves so that he’s sitting up. You sit up too, cross your legs and face him. 

“Like what I want from you in bed or…” you trail off. You’re not sure you want to have this conversation, to have him remind you that you are strictly friends with benefits. It’s not really an issue, but for some reason you feel your heart tug. 

“What you want this to be. I already told you this but I probably couldn’t give you a real relationship,” he almost sounds sad, and just for a moment his eyes are downcast, the usual light confidence hidden beneath something else, but it comes back just as fast it went. “Not that I’m assuming you want more from me obviously, I’m your roommate and we’ve had great sex, I’m just you know… saying. If things change we have to talk to each other, because I really don’t wanna lose you as a friend if we stop doing this,” he mumbles, wringing his hands. 

You put your hands over his. “Bob, you are my friend. I also don’t wanna lose you as a friend. You’ve been upfront with me and that’s really all I can ask for so don’t worry about that okay?”

He nods. “Sorry, I’m really not trying to be an asshole, I just don’t want us to hate each other at the end of this.”

Hearing him casually mention your arrangement ending throws you for a bit of a loop but you snap out of it, just squeeze his hands. 

“Bob, you’re literally impossible to hate. I don’t think you’ve done a single mean thing while you’ve lived here,” you say, fixing him with a glare when he opens his mouth to argue, “I’m serious. You’re not being an asshole by setting boundaries. It’s okay I promise.” You squeeze his hands again and he visibly relaxes. 

“Okay so uh, what about what you want me to do to you. Let’s talk about that,” he asks. 

You groan. You were hoping he’d move on from that. He laughs as he pulls you into his lap while he leans against his headboard. 

“Wait, so you’ll let me fuck you on camera, but you won’t tell me what you want off camera? C’mon, this has to be fun for you, tell me what you want,” he says. He slides his hands under your shirt, presses a kiss to your throat. “What dirty dirty things does this sweet girl want me to do to her?” he murmurs as he ghosts his lips over yours. He pulls away, leans back, but he doesn’t take his hands off of you. 

“I’m not that sweet,” you mumble, trying to ignore the dull ache starting in your core. It doesn’t help that he has you sitting right over him. Or that once again, he didn’t give you your underwear back last night so you were sitting there with nothing but his shorts separating you guys. 

He laughs again. “You need to focus. Tell me what you want besides sitting on my face, or do you need time to think about it?”

“I don’t need time to think about it, it’s just I haven’t done some of it before so I’m just shy about it,” you finally admit. 

“Fair enough. Nothing to be shy about though, I guarantee you, I’ve probably been asked to do much weirder shit. I used to kick my old dealer in the balls until he came so I wouldn’t have to pay for my shit. Among other things.”

You grimace. “Okay, well, there will be no ball kicking over here thank you,” you say to him. You let your hands slide round to the back of his head, play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s growing long, curling at the ends. “Your hair’s longer,” you note, as you coil some of it around your fingers, pulling lightly. 

“Yeah, too lazy to get it cut,” Bob sighs out. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it suits you like this.” You card your fingers through his hair, feel him twitch beneath you. 

“Stop stalling. Tell me what you want,” he says, tone firm.  He can probably feel the way you’re throbbing on top of him but you don’t care, you’re well past that now. 

“I guess, we could try the mirror sex at some point?”

You lean your forehead on his chest when his eyebrows shoot up, but he takes your chin in his fingers, tilts your head back up so you’re looking at him. 

“Stop, don’t hide from me. How are we supposed to have mirror sex if you won’t even look at me when asking?” 

You close your eyes, then open them when you hear him tsk. 

“Better,” he says. “What else?”

“Bob,” you squirm under his gaze, eyes almost an electric blue even in the low light of lamp. There’s something different about him. He’s never pushed you for an answer quite like this, not without apologising profusely about making you uncomfortable.  

“Quit wriggling around or you’re gonna get me hard again,” he says, trying to hold your hips in place. “Tell me what else you want. Just one more thing okay, and I’ll let you go.” One of his hands travels up your torso, cups your boob. “C’mon, one more for me and I’ll let you go,” he says as he kneads it, slow but strong. 

“I want you to spank me, just a little bit,” you finally admit. You’d seen him do it on video countless times, watched the way he drew his hand back, soothed the area after landing a hard smack. It had turned you on more than you wanted to admit, but asking him to do it felt like torture. Felt needy. 

“You’ve never…” he trails off, hand coming back out of your shirt to caress your cheek. 

“I tried, but he was a bit heavy handed. I think I’d like it if it was something softer, you know,” you shrug, leaning into his touch. 

He nods. “Okay, that’s good, see. Three things we can try together,” he smiles, soft again. You’re about to press him for his preferences when you hear a pathetic mewl come from the other side of the door. You check the time. 

“Shit, we should probably feed her,” you say, getting off him, pulling on your pair of pants. “Bob, do you think I could have my underwear back?”

He looks flabbergasted. “Are you running out?”

“No, but I have three incomplete sets of lingerie, and that’s pretty much all the lingerie I own,” you say to him, arms folded over your chest. 

“You got plans that require lingerie?” 

“No, I just like having complete sets.”

He rolls his eyes, throws a shirt on. “C’mon let’s feed her before she starts climbing the walls,” he says, effectively ending the conversation. 

“Bob,” you huff. 

“Okay, fine.” He crosses his room, opens up the top drawer of the chest of drawers, and holds the lilac piece he’d taken off you when you filmed the test video in the air. He walks over and presses it into your hand. “Since you asked so nicely.” He doesn’t mention the rest, just opens the door and scoops Angie into his arms. “Let’s get you fed, we’ve kept you waiting for so long haven’t we?”he coos at her. She just mewls in response. You sigh. At least he’s washed them, you think as you pocket them. 

Once Angie’s been fed, the house is sufficiently clean, and you’ve showered you wrap yourself up and step outside so you can go water Yelena and Ava’s plants, and feed Yelena’s new guinea pig. They’d gone to Ohio to see Yelena’s parents and wouldn’t be back until way after New Year’s. Bob’s right behind you, beanie pulled down over his hears, Angie’s leash in a gloved hand. 

“Look at you, you’re a proper cat dad,” you say as you lock the door. 

“You know me, super responsible parent,” he mumbles through his scarf. 

When you get to Yelena and Ava’s, Bob waits outside, keeps Angie occupied in case she finds Yelena’s pet a little too interesting. He’s watching her roll around in the snow when you come back out, intensely focused as she shakes it off just to find a deeper patch that she can throw herself into.  He startles when he hears the click shut behind him, the mechanical whirring as you hit the lock button on the keypad. You hold your hand out for her leash, and he hesitates at first, but he gives it to you anyways, watching as you clip it back into her harness. The two of you walk your usual route to the park, then do a couple of laps around the park, stopping every now and then so Angie can cover herself in snow. 

“I swear I’ve never seen a cat like the snow this much,” Bob remarks, amused as she purrs, shakes herself off and does it all again. 

“She loves it so much it’s almost scary, if you let her out in the backyard she will come back sopping wet and complain at you until you dry her, even though the only reason she’s wet is because she thinks she’s a fucking husky or something,” you answer as you watch her. He snorts, then smiles and starts waving at someone behind you. When you turn, two little girls with their hair in pigtails are waddle-running towards you, excited grins on their faces while someone you presume is their mother tells them to slow down, wait for her. They don’t seem to hear, excited shouts of “HI MISTER BOB,” echoing through the cold. Angie’s ears perk up, and you’re surprised when they get there and she immediately offers herself to them, eyes wide as they look at Bob. 

“Can we pet her again mister Bob? Are we allowed? Our mom says we must always ask if we are allowed,” one of them says, proudly puffing out her chest as she explains her mother’s rules. They’re twins, dressed in identical red and white snowsuits. If not for the small scar in one of the girl’s eyebrows you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. 

Bob looks at you, and you nod. 

“Sure girls, go ahead,” he says as they kneel in the snow, small, mittened hands gently rubbing at Angie. She’s purring loud, writhing and moving herself around. Every time she stretches, you hear them giggle and whisper “biiiiiig stretch” to themselves. They’re engrossed in the act of playing with Angie by the time their mother catches up, slightly out of breath, and then a man comes up behind her pushing a stroller. 

“I’m so sorry, we tried telling them to calm down,” the mother pants, hands on her knees, her breath forming small clouds in front of her face. 

“It’s no problem, I’ve never seen Angie roll over like that for anyone if I’m being honest so as long as she’s happy, I’m happy,” you laugh. You introduce yourself to them, offering your gloved hand so they can shake. 

“I’m Marie, thank you so much for your patience,” she apologises again. 

“I’m Jordan,” the dad says, taking your hand in a firm grip. 

You’re about to introduce Bob when Marie says, “Oh we met, about two weeks back, before Christmas. He was here with her too. The girls have been obsessed ever since, keep asking us to ask him to let them come over and play with her for a little,” she explains.

“They almost gave me their address so I could bring her over,” he laughs, eyes bright. Jordan and Marie just shake their heads. 

“Kids,” they sigh, “do not take your eyes off them for even a second,” Jordan says. “If you do, they’re booking it to the nearest cat or giving out addresses,” he chuckles. 

“I’m surprised they saw us,” Bob squints. “Everyone looks like a vague human shape to me.”

“Angie’s harness got their attention,” Jordan explains, eyeing the bundle in the stroller nervously when it starts making fussy little sounds. Marie notices too, because she turns a little serious. 

“Girls, let’s go. Baby’s getting fussy and you don’t wanna catch a cold. You know, you guys should swing by the little bar a couple of blocks from here. On New Year’s Eve they show the ball drop on TV, do free fries until about 1am. We’ve gone practically every year for the past seven years and it’s never that noisy so you could bring Angie with you? They’ve never had a problem with pets in other years,” she says. You look at Bob. You guys hadn’t made plans for New Year’s, and free fries was always a win in your book. He smiles at you, and you have to tear your eyes away from him to respond to Marie. 

“That sounds great actually, we’ll see you there. We’ll bring some toys so the girls can play with her,” you say, and laugh when you hear high pitched squeals. 

They wave goodbye until you can no longer see them, and you and Bob continue your loop, stopping in at the café. You spend a good ten minutes defending yourself when the owners accuse you of being a workaholic and deadbeat mother to your cat. Bob is no help, just shakes his head pitifully as they level these accusations at you. You do get a free pastry out of it, and for that you are very thankful. Definitely worth the court case. 

You guys spend the rest of your day just lounging around, watching old movies and falling in and out of sleep on the couch, you nestled comfortably in Bob’s arms. 

When New Year’s Eve comes, the snow has stopped, and you’re so thankful. It was great to be able to see past your own hand while you were walking. You have Angie’s lead in one hand, and a bag of toys in the other. Bob keeps trying to take something from you, but you refuse to budge.

“You’re always carrying stuff for me, or taking my jacket or something, I promise you I will not die if my hands are occupied okay Bob?”

He sighs. “I guess. But only because it’s not that far.”

And he’s right, you guys are there in under twenty minutes. The bar isn’t too full; parents seated with their children, groups of friends playing pool. The music isn’t too loud and the lighting is a little dim. 

“You guys made it,” you hear Jordan say. He’s sitting at a table with Marie, the twins, and a couple of other people, couples maybe. He’s holding the baby from yesterday in his arms, gently swaying with him. 

“Yeah, we figured it would be nice… and we also love free food,” you say. You kneel down to take Angie off her lead and she beelines to the girls, hopping up and stretching herself across their laps. 

“That is incredible,” Bob whispers, “are they giving her catnip or something?” 

“They’re like five,” you elbow him, “Angie just loves attention, and there’s two very energetic sources of attention right there.”

Bob laughs, and then you guys shake the hands of the people around the table. Mostly people who lived near here, like you.

“How did I not know about this?” You ask an older lady to your left. Names are escaping you, and you’re not sure everyone here fully remembers who they’re talking to either. 

“It’s pretty small, and us talking about it tends to get lost in the chatter of announcements about other bigger things happening in the community this time of the year,” she explains. 

You flit through different conversations, talking about reality tv with one young couple and then moving onto a heated debate about whether the stock market is real or not with a pair of investment bankers. You don’t talk to Bob much, don’t even really see him much until you guy play a game of pool with Marie and Jordan while the twins brush out Angie’s fur. 

The game is slow, conversation dragging out the time between turns. Bob is surprisingly good, sinking ball after ball, redeeming your sloppy shots. 

“That’s going to go in the Bob files too you know,” you say when the turn ends and Marie goes to collect more fries. 

“Hm?”

“Pool savant. That’s going in the Bob files,” you say tapping the side of your head. 

“You give me too much credit you know. First extraordinaire, then savant. I’m really not that good,” he laughs. 

“You’re literally so much better than at me at pool, you got like three in one go!” you exclaim. 

“Yeah I am quite good at pool aren’t I?” he smiles. 

You just roll your eyes. At some point he stands behind you to give you pointers, immediately regrets it when you accidentally hit him in the stomach with your cue. Marie and Jordan don’t stop laughing, even while he’s doubled over in pain. 

The noise in the venue is picking up as it gets closer to midnight, nothing unmanageable though, just groups of friends talking amongst themselves. At five minutes to midnight you feel the excitement rising, everyone turning to the TV as the ball gets ready to drop. 

“I have a question for you,” Bob says. You guys are standing a little way away from the main crowd, leaning against a wall near the back of the bar. 

“Shoot.”

“Do you… on New Year’s … do you like, do the kissing thing?” he stumbles. 

“The kissing thing? Yes I do the kissing thing,” you laugh lightly. “Who’s asking?”

You can feel the excitement in your bones as the bar gets ready to count down. 

“Ten, nine…” the bar yells in unison. 

“Is it okay if it’s me?” He asks, stepping closer. You see his hands twitch at his side, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down. 

“Eight.. Seven… six…”

“Of course it’s okay if it’s you,”you say, taking his hands in yours, pulling him closer until you’re practically in his arms. 

“Five… four…”

He doesn’t wait until the end of the countdown, just puts his hands on your waist and presses his lips to yours. You can feel his impatience in the way your noses bump together at first, the way he can’t quite seem to get the grip he wants to on you, but when he works it out you feel that familiar tug of wanting in you, stronger than you think it has any right to be. You faintly register the cheering of the crowd, the shout of “Happy New Year!” that rings out across the bar as he presses his tongue into yours, hungry. He’s pulling apart too soon, leaning in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. 

“We should go home. Let’s go home,” he says. 

He’s already looking at the exit, ready to pull his jacket on.  

You guys say your goodbyes, get Marie and Jordan’s details and promise the girls that you’ll let them play with Angie some time in the near future. You and Bob practically speed walk home, ignoring the tension between you, like if you imagine that you didn’t high tail it out of a bar over a kiss, then it didn’t actually happen.  You’re going to ignore how nervous he was when he was asking, the way his fingers wouldn’t stay still. You’re absolutely not thinking about how impatient he was when he kissed you, how he couldn’t even wait for the countdown to end before he was pressing you to him. 

When you get home you put some treats out for Angie, and he just waits, patient as ever while you check the back door, make sure everything’s okay. Then he leads you into his bed, and takes you apart so soft and slow you can’t believe this is the same man from less than thirty minutes ago. He undoes you with slow drags of his tongue against your core, doesn’t stop until your pulling at his hair, begging him for more, trying to clutch at his shirt so you can bring him up. 

“Please Bob more, I need you,” you whine, and he listens. 

Pushes into you with slow deliberate strokes, just sucks at your neck when you beg him to go faster. He drags your orgasm out of you, groaning at the way you squeeze around him, stopping briefly so he can look at you beneath him, hair a mess, fresh marks blossoming across your neck. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he’s sighing before he finally gives you what you want, fast and unrelenting. He doesn’t stop until you’re thoroughly fucked out and incoherent, a mess beneath him when he finally collapses next to you, spent. 

Two weeks after New Years you get your money from Bob, almost $2000.

“You’re joking,” you say to him when you see him at breakfast. “This can’t be half of what the video made, you promise me you’re not adding extra.”

“I promise,” he holds his hands up. “It’s a good video, people paid to see it, and some people tipped extra. Holiday themed stuff always goes over a treat, I swear. You can ask Joaquin the kind of money he makes around Valentine’s day,” he says. You just sigh, accept that you won’t get him to admit any different if he is lying.  “I know, it’s unbelievable right? It fluctuates like crazy though, just depends on what everyone’s feeling. The first time I made more than $1000 I blew it on an expensive new laptop and then had to scrounge like crazy for rent when the rest of the month’s earnings didn’t quite pan out,” he chuckles. 

“Shit, that’s a bit scary,” you say. 

“Nah, it’s fine now. I’ve been doing this for so long I kind of have a pretty steady subscriber base. And I try do something special each month to boost revenue, get new subscribers in the door. Also helps to sell individual videos I’ve found, sometimes people want something really specific but they don’t wanna come to your channel. I’ve done sex toy partnerships too, those are so much fun it’s unreal,” he explains, “sorry, none of this matters to you,” he stops abruptly.

“No, no it’s fine. I don’t know all this stuff. I don’t really research,” you cringe when you say this but he just laughs. 

“Well I’m your personal encyclopaedia if you ever have questions,” he responds. 

“Did you ever have a manager? Or sign to an agency?” You ask immediately. 

“Tried. Two guys I knew when I was doing more camboy shit said they were starting an agency, that they’d manage me for a fraction of what they charge other people, but then asked for almost 25% of my earnings before tax. Bullshit that only works on people who are brand new, and it sucks, you know. There’s a lot to do between planning, organising and pushing out content and to have absolute assholes drain your pocket before you even pay the tax on it?” He shakes his head, and you see the way he clenches his jaw, angry. “The last I heard of them, they were on reddit trying to get new models to sign with them, but it’s not going too well for them,” he smiles. 

“Oh so you’re pretty much self-made,” you say, “Mr. Entrepreneur over here. High value male.”

“Please don’t call me that oh my god,” he groans, putting his hands over his face. He just cringes as you laugh. 

“ Do you have any plans for today? Let me take you out, since I’m practically rolling in it now,” you say, miming making it rain. 

He just shakes his head, rolls his eyes as he takes your plate from in front of you. 

“You know you can just ask me to hang out like a normal person, I’m not letting you pay for anything because as luck would have it, I also just got paid,” he says as he washes dishes. 

“You’re so annoying.”

“Sure. I’m sure you just find me sooo annoying,” he says, washing his hands, wiping them on a dish rag. “But no,  I don’t have plans for today, and I would like to hang with you, thanks for asking,” he says. 

“Okay well, be ready to go in an hour,” you say hopping off the stool and making your way upstairs before he can ask you what you’re going to be doing. 

You put on your most comfortable outfit, just jeans and a cute top, and make sure to put in your best earrings. You’d be underneath a big old coat and wrapped up in a scarf and a beanie, so you weren’t sure any effort was truly needed but you thought it would be nice anyway. He’s downstairs waiting for you when you finally finish getting ready. He’s also got a nice top and nice jeans on, hands in his pockets while he rocks back and forth on his heels. 

“Ready?” You ask, slipping your coat on, wrapping your scarf around your neck. You bring an umbrella just in case it rains, but the weather app had said today was supposed to be cold but clear. 

It’s icy cold when you step outside, the sunlight outside too weak to do anything against the bite of winter. 

“God, I can’t wait for it to get warmer,” you say. Despite the scarf you can feel your lips freezing, you can feel your fingers and toes turning to ice in your gloves and thick socks. 

“Hard agree,” he says, “getting sick of all these layers all the time,” he mutters, muffled by the thick wool of his scarf. You can’t see but you know his ears and nose are tipped red. The ground beneath you is icy in parts, sludgy in others where the snow has been trampled, mixed with the soil from people’s lawns. Not so pretty when the snow was no longer falling, but you enjoyed being able to go outside like this, biting cold or not. You link arms with Bob, lean into him as you guys walk to the subway station, silent the whole way besides a few remarks about the leftover Christmas decorations still in shop windows. 

 “Okay where are you taking me?” He asks when he sits next to you. He’s looking at you, curious. 

“Guess.”

“I can’t guess. I don’t know what happens in that pretty little head of yours,” he smiles. 

You ignore the way your stomach turns when he says that. “I’ll give you a hint, you’ve mentioned it to me when we were Christmas shopping,” you say. You’re not sure if he’ll even remember, Christmas feels like that long ago. He thinks for a couple of seconds, eyes grave before his face clears up. 

“Winter Village?”

“Yup, got it in one!” You clap, for him as he mock bows. “You said you’d never been, and I did say I’d take you after New Year’s,” you explain, watching the stops to make sure you don’t miss yours. The train is quiet, people minding their business, eyes glued to their phones or closed as they listen to music. You lean your head on his shoulder, letting yourself just watch as you speed through the tunnels. You pull him up when it’s your stop, practically dragging him out the doors in your excitement. 

“Wow you might be more excited for this than I am,” he laughs, as you guys emerge from the subway station. 

“It’s nice being in the city when it’s not so full,” you explain. You link your arm through his again, drag him through the crowd of people. 

“I thought you said it wasn’t that full,” he says to you when the people have thinned a little bit. 

“Trust me, it can be so much worse,” you say to him. You drag him to a hot chocolate stand that claims to have the best hot chocolate in the city. Order two larges and pay for them before he can even think about pulling out his card. You stick your tongue out at him when he sighs. 

“Not so fun when the shoes on the other foot, huh?” You say as you wait in the collection line. Your order is ready sooner than you expected, two regular hot chocolates, no frills no nonsense so you guys could really judge whether they had the best hot chocolate in the city or not. It’s delicious,  not too sweet, and not too rich. It goes down smooth too, doesn’t taste watered down or too milky. You guys sip your hot chocolates as you peek into the various stores. There’s one having a sale on old Christmas stock, prices slashed so far down that you simply can’t resist buying yourself a beautiful pair of gloves from them. They’re soft, thick and you immediately swap from the pair you’re wearing to the new pair. The difference is unbelievable. You should’ve known your old gloves would do very little to actually keep you warm, but you’d held onto them anyway. Bob gets himself another scarf, some soft cream cashmere thing that looks super comfortable even before he’s put it on. You guys wander to the some of the craft stores, and Bob makes a point of buying you a crocheted two-headed calf throw. 

“Stop, you like it I know you like it, you have the poem pinned to the wall in the hobby room. Just take the throw. Please?” He asks. You give in, watch as the lady wraps it up real tight and packs it away in the cutest little bag, slips her card into the bag in case you want to buy from her store again. You probably would, she had some great stuff. When you’ve had a look in basically all the stores, you guys look for some food, opting to keep it easy with sandwiches  from a store that has a line going so far back you pray that they’re worth it. You eat them in front of the fountain, frozen over because of the cold, sunlight scattered by the frozen bursts of water. 

“God, this really was worth it,” Bob says through a mouthful of his sandwich. You nod, absolutely tearing into yours. When you guys are done, you just sit on your seats, watch the throngs of people lining up to take a picture with the frozen fountain. 

“Do you want one?” You ask him, holding your hand out for his phone. 

“Sorry?”

“A picture with the fountain. Do you want one?”

He hesitates, then nods. “If that’s not too much?”

“Of course it’s not too much,” you say, pushing yourself up. You guys wait for a family of what seems like ten people to finish taking their individual selfies, then watch as they make their way through various combinations of people until they finally take they group photo together and leave, scrolling through the pictures as they go. Bob stands in front of the statue, slightly to the side, and you have to motion for him to move a little closer to the centre multiple times before he actually does it. You snap a few, make him pose (“Get silly with it Bob, come on. Show me that goofy side!”) and only let him come back to get his phone when you’re satisfied with the pictures you have. 

“Your turn,” he says, pushing you towards the spot where he was just standing. You give him a few good poses — some cheeky over the shoulder looks, the classic peace sign — and then you’re telling him to come stand next to you. 

“Let’s get a selfie together it will be fun,” you say as you watch him drag his feet. An old man walking with a dog offers to take the picture instead when he sees the two of you struggling, trying to adjust the phone so it gets both of your in the frame and as much of the frozen fountain as possible. 

“There we go, come in a little closer,” he says to you and you do, stepping towards Bob cautiously, leaning in when he puts his arm around you. The old man takes a few, sticks around while the two of you make sure you’re happy with them.