Our breaths crystallizing in front of us, our laughter hanging in the air, snowflakes resting delicately on his eyelashes. Me, helplessly in love, wishing I were allowed to be close enough to count how many are there. Each crystal clings on tightly. I wonder if it’s because they are as unwilling to part from him as I am. It wouldn’t surprise me; his presence is addicting.

He is a vision – eyes closed, face turned up towards the grey sky, tongue bright pink against the white backdrop of winter come early as he wills the snow to land on it – and I am in awe. The deep blue scarf I gifted him last year is draped around his neck, the beige jacket he loves to borrow from me protects him from the cold in an embrace that I wish I were giving him instead. Everything is still, except for the silent snowflakes settling into their places on the ground, in his dark hair, on his cheeks dusted with pink.

He opens his eyes, directs his bright gaze towards me. Brown, alight with mischief. I don’t know why it surprises me. Ten years, and I haven’t grown tired of having his eyes fixed on me, the corners crinkled as he sends me a smile, teeth whiter than the snow around us, his gaze so full of affection. Almost like I have a place in his heart as big as the place he has in mine. It’s enough to make the icy air slipping through the tiny holes of the woolen gloves he bought for me years ago feel warmer.

Isn’t it beautiful, he asks me. Don’t you love it? For a few breathless seconds, we’re fifteen again, and I am still as hopelessly enamored as I was then, the first time I saw him. I drink him in, my best friend – ice crystals decorating his blue beanie, the hair peeking out from under it, his eyelashes – smiling at me like nothing matters except the two of us existing in this moment.

The corners of my mouth pull upward naturally, unquestioningly, even before my mind decides I want to smile back. Yes, I tell him. I do.