The snow fell softer now, like feathers from a broken sky, and the silence between Emma and Andrew echoed with everything they weren't saying.
They walked side by side, boots crunching along the narrow cobblestone path that led toward the edge of town. Emma had wrapped herself tighter in her coat, one gloved hand tucked in her pocket, the other holding the small poetry book she'd bought. Andrew carried nothing, not even warmth. Not anymore.
"You didn't have to come," Emma said finally.
Andrew glanced at her. "I know."
She didn't elaborate. He didn't ask. The air between them was heavy with the memory of Jason — of his laughter, his daring, the way he took up space without trying. Andrew couldn't fill that space. He never tried to. That wasn't who he was.
They turned down a quieter street where gaslamps glowed in pools of amber. The snow here was undisturbed, blanketing the world like a secret. Emma's steps slowed.
"I like nights like this," she said. "It feels like the world is holding its breath."
Andrew smiled faintly. "Or waiting for something to break."
She looked at him, eyes soft, unreadable. "You think it will?"
He shrugged. "It already has."
Emma said nothing. They walked on.
They passed the bakery, shuttered for the night, and the post office, its door dusted in frost. Then the bookstore again, closed now, its light extinguished. Everything felt muted. Even their thoughts.
When they reached the split in the path — her house to the right, his to the left — she hesitated.
"Goodnight, Andrew," she said.
He nodded. "Goodnight, Em."
She turned, then stopped. "He's not what you think."
"I know."
She waited, as if expecting more. But he gave her none.
She left.
---
Andrew's home was dim and still. The fire had gone out while he was gone, and the cold had crept in like a quiet thief. He didn't light a lamp. He just sat — coat still on, boots still wet — staring at nothing.
There was a knock on the door.
Soft. Hesitant.
He blinked, stood slowly, and opened it.
"Kate."
She stood there, bundled in a red wool coat, snowflakes tangled in her brown curls. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, or maybe something else. She looked startled to see him, though she'd clearly come for him.
"I—sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have…"
He opened the door wider. "Come in. It's freezing."
She stepped inside cautiously, brushing snow from her coat. She smelled like peppermint and pine. Like the holidays. Like comfort.
"I saw you walking back," she said. "With Emma. And then… alone."
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You followed me?"
"No," she said quickly. "Not exactly. I mean, yes. But not like that. I just—"
He gestured to the armchair. "Sit. It's warmer in here than it looks."
She smiled nervously and sat.
He poured water into the kettle and set it over the fire to heat. The silence returned, but this time, it felt different. Not heavy. Just waiting.
"You've been friends for a long time," Kate said quietly. "You and Emma."
Andrew nodded.
"She means a lot to you."
Another nod.
Kate looked down at her gloves. "I always thought you two would end up together."
Andrew looked at her. "You're not the only one."
She smiled faintly. "But she doesn't see you."
He looked away. "Not like that."
Kate's voice dropped to a whisper. "I do."
Silence.
Andrew didn't move. The kettle began to hiss gently, not yet boiling.
Kate stood and stepped closer, her hands clasped. "I'm not trying to make things complicated. I know I'm not… her. But I've watched you. Not just tonight. For years. The way you carry everything in silence. The way you walk her to class. The way you love her even when she breaks you without knowing."
He looked at her then. Really looked. Her eyes shimmered in the low light, not with tears, but with something steadier — courage, perhaps, drawn from snow and night.
"I used to envy her," Kate admitted. "But then I realized — she never saw what she had. And maybe I never said anything because I didn't want to be the shadow."
Andrew stepped forward. Just once. "You're not a shadow."
Kate laughed softly, a single sound that cracked the stillness. "Feels like I am. Or maybe was."
The kettle whistled.
Andrew turned away, pouring hot water into two chipped mugs and dropping in tea leaves. He handed her one.
They stood in silence, sipping slowly, the warmth seeping into their fingers.
"I'm not trying to make you forget her," Kate said. "I just wanted you to know you're not invisible."
Andrew stared into his cup.
"That's the kindest thing anyone's said to me tonight."
Kate smiled, then gathered her coat. "I should go."
He followed her to the door, opening it to the hush of snowfall again. She stepped into the night, then turned.
"If she never sees it… I hope someday you'll let someone else love you the way you deserve."
He didn't reply.
She walked away.
The door closed.
And for the first time that evening, Andrew let himself feel something other than silence.
---
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Somewhere down the street, Emma slept.
And across the town, Jason lit another cigarette.
All of them, connected by something unspoken.
Something that would soon break.