I wake up to pale gold sunshine falling across my face.

A cold breeze is drifting in through the open window, but I’m toasty warm, just as cozy as I would be sitting by a nighttime bonfire. My every muscle is aching, which makes the soft blankets covering me feel even better. I could burrow beneath them and never come out.

I turn on my side and find Aiden still asleep, his head tipped towards mine on the pillow. He’s accumulating some serious scruff. It’s been three days without a shave for him, now.

I reach out and gently touch his face, savoring that combination of satin-soft skin and rough stubble that my fingertips know by heart.

These simple, ordinary joys - the sound of his slow, sleepy breathing, the feeling of my hand on his cheek, of waking up with his body close to mine - they’ve all come to mean so fucking much to me.

Aiden lets out a sigh, but doesn’t stir.

What time is it? I think it must be early. There’s a deep hush, a stillness to the air.

I crawl to the end of the bed, sit on my knees, and gaze out through the open window.

I blink a few times, rub my eyes, and look again.

The snow has slowed to a light, barely perceptible flutter, but it must have been falling nonstop while Aiden and I slept. The entire street - every house, branch, building, sidewalk - all of it is covered in a thick snowy blanket. Endless white slopes unfold before me, yet untouched. It really must be early, because no one has been out to shovel, and the road is unplowed.

It’s as if the entire town has pulled on a smooth, sparkling white coat. The snow refracts the sunshine, casting kaleidoscopic light on the brick buildings, the parked cars, the boles of the trees. I see everything filtered through its glittering lens.

I’ve always loved spring the best. Everything blossoming, the earth breathing out flowers and leaves and delicate green shoots, the lingering chill in the air.

But this… this is beautiful.

It dawns on me that Aiden is responsible for this. He caused a heatwave and an accidental snowstorm, within the span of about ten minutes.

I shake my head, dazed by the realization.

Yesterday feels distant in my mind. The elements are disconnected, scattered, slow to come together.

I slip out of bed and find a pair of boxers to pull on. Aiden has a spare sweater in his drawer, and I take that, too. It’s clean, but somehow it smells like vetiver.

Our discarded clothes from yesterday are piled on the floor. Mine soaked, Aiden’s damp.

Stepping out into the living room, I find my jacket on the ground. It dried out overnight, the crimson bloodstains turned a muddy, reddish brown. I drop to a crouch and run my fingers along the cleaner sections of fabric, the hood and the hem.

Piece by piece, my mind retraces the course of yesterday’s events.

I press a hand over my mouth, my heart fluttering anxiously.

Aiden did magic in front of another person, someone not in on the secret.

I was way too exhausted to think through the ramifications of that before I got some sleep. But now, with my head clear, I take a moment to do so. How much did Matt see? How much does he remember?

I think about what he said to his dad when we dropped him off.

I fell… the river was glowing. They pulled me out, saved me… those guys… one of them was glowing… they said to go to the hospital.

Matt was in shock, just grateful to be back with his dad, to be breathing. Everything he said was accurate, but it was gibberish to anyone outside of a very specific sphere of knowledge. It won’t make sense to anybody. It probably won’t even make sense to him. And my jacket - the only proof that things went down the way he thinks they did - we took it back.

He told us that he can’t see clearly without his glasses, and even if he could, he was so befuddled and frozen and stunned - I really doubt that his mind absorbed all that much.

We never told him our names. My hair, a noticeable and memorable color, turns dark when it’s wet, which is the only way Matt saw it.

I let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. I don't know how it's possible, but I think that we’re in the clear. If anything, Matt is probably going to think that he imagined us and got himself out, or…

Or he’ll think that he has a guardian angel.

In a way, he kind of does. The angel in question is still passed out in my bed.

I hope that Matt’s dad goes easy on him when he can’t provide a clear explanation. The guy seemed like a bit of a hard-ass, but Aiden was right. Seeing his kid like that shocked him into softening up, at least temporarily.

I'm hoping that the effect sticks around beyond Matt’s recovery. He’s been through enough already. Freezing water, freezing winds. He doesn’t need coldness from his dad, too. I don't even know Matt, but I want there to be warmth in his future.

Actually - Matt wasn't wearing a coat yesterday, despite the temperature. Does he not have one? Suddenly I wish that I had left my jacket with him.

I get up and pad to the closet by the front door, run my eyes over the coats hanging there. There’s an old winter jacket of mine in the very back of the closet, one I’d forgotten about. It’s too small on me, but nice and warm, no rips or tears.

I slip the jacket down from the hanger, start to close the door, and stop again. There’s another old jacket in here, a hand-me-down from my dad that looks ridiculous on me, way too big.

My eyes linger on it, something scratching at the back of my brain.

Matt’s dad didn’t have a winter coat, either, did he? Not when he was standing out on the porch, and not when he was driving Matt to the hospital.

I use my hip to shut the closet door, then go back to my bedroom, both jackets bundled in my arms.

Aiden is sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. I pause in the doorway, looking at him. His messy chestnut hair, the sunlight rippling across his broad chest, falling down his shoulders. He looks up when he hears me, his blue eyes warm and inviting.

“Morning, Linden,” he rumbles, his voice still rough with sleep.

My heart trips over itself, and I match his smile. “Morning, Sugar Maple.”

“Did you let me keep a drawer of clothes here just so that you can steal them more easily? I see right through you, dude.”

I glance down and remember that I’m wearing his sweater. It’s so nice and warm, so big on me that I almost forgot I was wearing anything. The sleeves come halfway down my hands, even though I’ve pushed them up.

“Oh. Um. No?”

“Sure, right, of course not,” Aiden laughs, and then, his gaze drifting to the jackets in my hands - “What are you up to so early in the morning, Energizer Bunny?”

“Something I could use your help with.” I set down the jackets, pull off Aiden's sweater, and toss it to him. “Hurry up and get dressed. We’ve got a delivery to make.”

~~~~

Aiden settles back into the car, then offers me one of the to-go cups in his hands.

“Oh, thank god.” I accept my coffee gratefully, take a life-giving sip, and start the car again. “Okay, I’m awake. You ready to go?”

“I guess?” Aiden looks over at me, frowning. “I don’t really understand what we’re doing. You honestly want to go back to Matt’s house? That strikes you as a good idea?”

I pull us out of the Mugshot parking lot, tapping my fingers on the wheel. I’m trying to figure out how to explain.

I’ve been thinking about Aiden’s Guardian responsibilities, how they reach beyond rescues. He’s supposed to help people, make their lives better or easier, even in little ways. He does it naturally, without thinking about it - but he could do it with more intention, too.

Aiden is uniquely equipped for things like this. And I can help him, just like I help him with the rescues.

He’s still waiting for me to tell him what we’re doing.

“We’re, um. Finishing up your Guardian tasks before we go apologize to everyone for blowing them off yesterday.”

“Guardian t-?” Aiden’s eyebrows furrow. “No one’s in trouble.”

“Right, but - okay, in the dream that you showed me, the Fate who started the line of Guardians wasn’t always doing life-saving stuff, was she? She returned a lost doll to a little kid, put out a fire that wouldn’t have hurt anyone…”

“Yeah, I know.” Aiden is watching me, confused. “So what?”

“So… I understand that it doesn’t exactly make you happy, being a Guardian-”

Aiden lets out a snort of mirthless laughter. “Not exactly, no.”

“But,” I forge on, “You only ever use your powers in high-stress, high-pressure situations. I’m just saying, there are other Guardian things you can do, without all that. Maybe doing them would help you hate it a little less?”

Aiden thinks it over, smoothing his thumbs along the rim of his coffee cup.

“Alright,” he says, though he sounds doubtful.

“Let’s just try it, okay? See how it makes you feel.”

“Fuck it, why not.” Aiden breathes out a little sigh, lifting his coffee to his lips. “I know better than to try arguing with you when you’ve got your mind set on something.”

I cast him a hopeful smile, and take the exit for the forest road.

~~~~

I park my car behind the same grove of trees that kept us hidden the last time we came to Matt’s house.

“Okay, Guardian.” I unstrap myself, twist in my seat to face Aiden. “You picked out Brian’s energy from a crowded room in the middle of City Hall, so do you think you can pick out Matt and his dad? We’re out in the middle of nowhere. I think this is the only house around for like, miles.”

“I… no, I can’t.” Aiden adjusts his snapback, faintly embarrassed. “You know how badly I suck at this. Brian’s note was loud because he was in trouble. Not fatal trouble, but - I mean. He was headed for an EpiPen injection. Matt and his dad are safe, probably asleep.”

“Well - can you tell for sure that they’re sleeping?” I ask. “Because that’s all we really need to know, anyways. We don’t want to get spotted, right?”

Again, Aiden looks doubtful. But he closes his eyes, and listens.

Several minutes pass in silence before he comes back with the verdict.

“It’s… it’s hard to say for sure, but most of the nearby energy isn’t changing much. That’s usually how people sound when they’re resting. The note stays at one tone, one volume. It’s hard to describe, but - I think we’re probably good. I think.”

“Cool,” I say brightly, opening my door. “Let’s go.”

I pull out the jackets, along with the paper bag from our stop at the drugstore. In the bag are some hand warmers, a box of teabags, two pairs of mittens, and a few cans of soup. Backup, in case the old jackets fail to keep Matt and his dad warm.

Aiden carries the jackets, I take the bag, and we set off up the driveway, towards the house.

We don’t get far before I come to an abrupt stop, realizing that we have a problem.

“We’re leaving footprints,” I tell Aiden.

He glances at them, then turns his snapback to face forward, pulling it low.

There’s a flash of white-blue light in his eyes, and a wave of heat begins to emanate from him. It surrounds me, too, pushing back the cold of the early morning air.

Aiden starts walking again, leaving a path of melting snow in his wake. Pavement reveals itself beneath his feet, the white winter blanket dissolving. I fall into step after him, watching with wide eyes.

“Guess we’ll save them some shoveling, too,” Aiden says, over his shoulder.

I smile at him, unsure if the warmth in my chest is from his magic heat, or from that deep current of love I’m so completely plugged into.

By the time we reach the porch, the driveway is clear, steam rising gently and blowing away on the wind.

Aiden pulls out the paper and pen we brought with us.

“What should I say?” he asks.

We look at each other, pondering.

Aiden props the pad on the railing and writes something down. He holds up the pad to show me, his shoulders lifting in an uncertain shrug. I lean closer to read it.

Heard about what happened at the river. Hope this helps you warm up. - A friend

I break into another wide smile, and squeeze Aiden’s arm. “Perfect.”

I set the jackets and the bag on the small round porch table, then slip the note into the bag.

“Oh-” Aiden tips his head to the side, listening. “I think someone just woke up.”

I seize his hand, and we make a swift exit from the porch. The driveway is actually dry by the time we set foot on it. No slush, no water. As always, Aiden is putting off more heat than he realizes.

We make it back to the car before there’s any movement from the house. Aiden reaches for the passenger’s side door, but I grab his hand again.

“Wait a sec,” I whisper, leading him back behind the cluster of trees.

“What - you want to wait for them to find it?” Aiden murmurs.

“Mhm. I don't normally condone spying on people, but you never get a thank you for what you do as a Guardian. You deserve to feel good about what you did, for once.”

We stand there together, shielded from view, watching between the branches.

The door opens, and Matt’s dad steps outside. Shuts the door after himself, leans against the porch railing. He looks almost exactly as he did yesterday: wearing a lot of layers, a cup of coffee clasped in his hands. The only difference is that his eyes are bruised with exhaustion, and his shoulders are drooping.

He stands in silent contemplation, gazing absently out at the trees, and then - he blinks, suddenly noticing the driveway.

By my side, Aiden bites his lip nervously.

Matt’s dad sets his coffee on the railing and goes down the porch steps, confusion written all over his face. He stares at the pavement, baffled, then turns back to the house. His eyes catch on the table, and he returns to the porch, stopping before the little arrangement we left.

He touches a hand to the jackets, then opens the bag from the store. I left the note on top, and it’s the first thing he finds.

Aiden and I watch from the cover of the trees as Matt’s dad reads the note, then reads it again. When he’s done, he puts it back in the bag and unfolds both of the jackets.

He stares at them for a long time. He has his back turned to us, so we can’t see what’s happening on his face.

Eventually, Matt’s dad picks up the bigger jacket, unzips it, and pulls it on. To my relief, it fits.

He zips it up, then picks up the smaller one. He turns to face the house, cupping his free hand around his mouth.

“Mattie!” he yells. “Come see this! Someone came by this morning and did the driveway! Did a hell of a job, too, Jesus… honestly, how…?”

Matt opens the door, wearing pajamas and what must be a backup pair of glasses. There’s a white bandage on his broken nose, along with some dark purple bruises, but - otherwise, he actually looks okay.

“Hey!” his dad says, tossing him the jacket. “Surprise for you.”

Matt catches it, blinking in confusion. “From who?”

“No idea. Maybe someone from your school? I did tell them what happened, when I called you out of class… does it fit you?”

Matt pulls the jacket on, and it hangs loosely on his scrawny frame. His dad sweeps a critical eye over him, then breaks into a smile.

“It’s a little big,” he says, mussing up Matt’s hair, “But you’re still growing.”

I glance at Aiden. His blue eyes are bright, warm - happy.

Matching his smile, I give his hand a tug and lead the way back to my car.