The cold had come down fiercely that year. Frost clung stubbornly to the ground, hugging each blade of grass. Snow had fallen in heavy blankets the week before, leaving behind mountains that melted away slowly. Sharp winds rattled the bare trees until they creaked like old doors.

Edward clasped his gloved hands together, rubbing them with a steady rhythm, watching his breath fog and disappear into the morning air. Winter months pleased him — the thrill of building snowmen, hurling snowballs at his brothers until their fingers stung, and sledging down hills at reckless speeds. His mother's homemade carrot soup would simmer away on the stove while everyone gathered by the coal fire. Winter's chill had always brought his family together.

The warmth had just been... a lot less in the past few years. A hole that George once filled left a permanent chill.

"Carrington, kick the bloody ball!"

He'd been tucked away in the library that morning, surrounded by organised piles of books, preparing for the upcoming exams. Harold had spotted him. A group of second-year lads were having a game of football and Edward shouldn't miss it. He'd protested, but Harold was convincing. Edward was simply fond of his happy and quirky personality. The library's plush chairs were replaced with a park bench that was wet and slippery. 

He wondered if agreeing to watch was the right choice...

The field was drenched. Each running sprint met a splash, muck caking each of the lad's bare legs. They chased after the ball, heavy breaths and red cheeks. It was far too cold for football — yet Samuel seemed unfazed.

He was different from the others. Slightly shorter than Harold, who barked shouts with each kick of the ball and moved with clumsy steps. In contrast, Samuel was fast and nimble, weaving between the lads with ease and precision. There was wholehearted joy in the way he played: a wide grin spread across his face, cheeks flushed scarlet from the cold, and wild blonde strands that bounced around. Samuel was bright like a burning flame. Edward knew he shouldn't stare, but he did.

Edward could always find him. In the woods after university, Samuel was easy to spot as he lingered behind the trees, even in the winter gloom. In crowded streets, Edward would find him first without thinking. It made his chest flutter, a small twinge he pretended not to feel.

A sudden gust startled him, flipping the pages of his open book. He slipped in a bookmark, only looking up as Harold's voice boomed across the field. A sharp and frustrated voice, but not quite clear. 

Everything unfolded rapidly before him. 

A tall lad had slammed against Samuel — looking accidental at first. Edward flinched, watching him stagger back, dropping with a heavy thud onto the wet ground. Words were exchanged that Edward couldn't hear. Samuel's jaw clenched, his hands smeared in mud as he lunged forwards, fists gripping the other's shirt. The other was yanked close, low words spilling from his mouth — quiet yet undoubtedly furious.

Harold rushed between them, arms prying them apart. His voice barked orders for them to calm down, to save this for another time. For a second, it seemed the tension had eased. All had calmed down.

Until the lad spoke, a hand pointed towards the bench. Laughter followed.

Edward froze at the familiar sound. He hadn't grown as close to the others in his year. Sitting alone in lectures, whispers in the hall, he was used to it. But Samuel wasn't. When Harold stiffened — he reacted differently. Clenched fists rose again, aimed with precision, but Harold intercepted, dragging him away with surprising strength. 

Samuel's breaths came short and hot, visible in sharp bursts of mist as he stomped towards the bench. He collapsed beside Edward, close enough that their knees touched. Mud was streaked down his shins; his chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his dirtied shirt. He didn't look at Edward — didn't look anywhere but the sky. His shorts had ridden up to his thighs, exposing pale skin that was blotchy from the cold. His body trembled, whether from anger or the wind.

"You okay?" Edward asked, quiet and cautious. He already knew the answer.

Samuel let out a harsh exhale, rubbing at his neck.

"Just grand."

His tone was sharp, face twitching with rage. Hands balled into tight fists on his lap, brows furrowed down. His eyes had looked fierce, rage still burning through him as he watched the game play on.

Edward wasn't certain what had been said to anger him so much. A wave of worry rushed through him — an old, familiar fear. Was his presence to blame? He dared not ask, preferring to stay quiet.

But when he unscrewed his flask of tea, the rising steam caught Samuel's attention. Those piercing blue eyes flicked towards him — much softer than before. His shoulders relaxed and his hands laid flat. Edward instinctively looked away.

"Sorry," Samuel muttered, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. "Those lot get right under my skin."

Edward let out a gentle laugh, shaking his head and pouring out a small cup. Cruel words were often exchanged around him, but rarely to him. He was grateful for that. Harsh words thrown in his face about his looks, about his family — he hadn't dealt with it well in the past. It was easier to pretend not to notice.

He handed Samuel the cup and watched him sigh with relief as it warmed his chilled fingers. He leaned closer to the rising steam, letting the heat dance across his face. Without thinking, Edward placed his scarf on Samuel's lap, covering his shaking legs.

"Playing football in this lot — you'll catch your death," he joked with a low voice.

Edward could feel his own lips curling as his friend smiled, letting out a surprised laugh. A burst of wind came by just as Samuel spoke. Edward leaned closer to hear; their shoulders touched, their hands grazing each other.

"Baker!" 

The shout made him jump, startling him back into the bench. Harold barrelled towards them, mud smeared across his forehead. His boots squelching in the mud with each stride he took.

"Still up for the market tomorrow?" Harold asked, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. "My nephew is expecting another train set for Christmas."

Edward nodded, straightening himself. He reached for his flask to offer Harold a drink, but he swiped the cup from Samuel's hands. He flashed a smile before downing the tea in one.

"That's mine, you daft sod! Drink from the flask!" Samuel scolded, swatting at Harold. He rolled his eyes, muttering something rude under his breath, yet his toothy grin betrayed him.

When Harold turned away, cup still in hand, Samuel leaned closer. With the other's view blocked, he pushed away the firey curls that had fallen into Edward's eyes. His hand lingered for a second. Any longer, Edward was sure he'd misinterpret it.

...

Edward was the first to arrive at the market. Rushing out of the house after morning church, he'd forgotten his scarf. His neck was exposed, the wind whipping mercilessly against his skin — but he wasn't cold. Crowds were forming, everyone clumped closer together.

And his heart — it was pounding with nerves.

Lisa came next; he noticed her perfume first, cutting through the cold air — sweet and powdery. Gleefully, she greeted him as she clung to Samuel; Edward tried not to stare. He'd been dreading the moment they arrived. Her warm smile, her delicate way of speaking, her fluffy coat hugged her figure, looking far warmer than his... and far more expensive. The coat he'd worn for years suddenly made him feel inferior. The ache in his chest tightened.

It only calmed when Harold appeared, overjoyed to see him trailing behind — wild hair with a tired face. Harold let out a yawn, relentlessly rubbing at his eye while they walked behind the couple. When he slipped, jabbing himself, Edward burst into laughter. Moments with Harold were easy. Comfortable. No uncertain feelings, just familiarity.

"My niece has been off on one about ponies lately. Do you have any — nieces, I mean?"

Edward nodded, smiling. Christmas mornings had grown louder with Judith. When she'd learned to walk, she'd hurry to his room, babbling excitedly about Father Christmas and sugared treats. 

"Can't believe how big she's gotten." 

"And what's she wishing for this year?"

He bit the inside of his cheek as Harold continued chatting. A metallic taste bloomed on his tongue as new dolls and wooden cars were mentioned. Edward's answer was morbid in comparison. 

Judith wanted her father to return home.

George had written each Christmas but it never filled the void he left behind. As she grew older, Judith would stare before the wedding photograph, studying the man smiling beside her mother. Every birthday and Christmas, he was her only wish. A wish Edward knew too well.

But Edward had memories. Stories. Judith had none. 

The thought tightening around his ribs and he swallowed hard, shaking his head lightly. "She's taken to this bear — carries it everywhere. Mum's helping me knit something... a tie." His eyes drifted ahead to Samuel and Lisa. She tucked herself closer, and for a fleeting moment, Edward thought Samuel's gaze flicked back at him. 

"I just... can't find the right colour."

"Harold, mate. What day do we leave for yours?"

Samuel's interruption cut through before Harold could probe further. Edward was relieved. The sparse glance shared couldn't have been his imagination. Samuel's question felt intentional — steering Harold away from the topic.

The conversation shifted into winter break and Christmas plans. Samuel spoke Christmas morning, children excitedly unwrapping their presents. Harold joked about the chaos with his family, reiterating that it would be a noisy day for Samuel. 

"That reminds me — some lads are heading to the pub for New Years," Harold added. "You'll come, won't you, Ed?"

Edward fell quiet. Hearing them talk of Christmas Day left him wondering why Samuel wasn't heading home. He'd missed his chance to ask. 

A heavy arm draped across his shoulders and pulled him close. The loose, rough affection was familiar. It was nice having a close friend who wasn't family; even drinks in the pub were enjoyable. Friendly chatter made the ale palatable. When Harold looked at him with a smirk, Edward went to nod.

"I don't see the point, to be honest," Samuel cut in, halting his steps. He turned back to face them, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

His expression had hardened. Stern and serious. The same look as yesterday. Harold threw his head back with an exasperated sigh. Lisa offered Edward a shy smile before drifting towards a stall of ribbons and dried flowers.

"Don't be like that, Sam." Harold kicked at the ground as he muttered.

"No, I don't fancy joking with men who joke like that. I'd rather spend my time with—" He paused, frustration coiled tight in his voice. He looked over to Edward, fierce eyes softening, before returning to Harold. "With you two and Lisa."

Such a small moment sent Edward's heart racing.

"Edward?"

It was a quiet yet familiar voice. He turned to see his mother approaching, cheeks flushed from the cold. Judith was a few steps behind, holding her grandmother's hand.

"My lad, where's your scarf?" His mother scolded gently, blowing into her palms before cupping his face. Bags from the vegetable stalls and the butchers hung from her arm. Florence's father was always too generous.

"I forget..."

The words came out smaller than intended.

His mother shook her head, muttering about the cold before noticing Harold and Samuel. She startled slightly, then hurried into introductions, her hands fumbling with the bags. Polite conversation followed about the changing weather and the market's chaos. 

As his mother beamed, Edward recognised the light in her eyes. She was happy to meet the people who had welcomed her son. It was nice to see her smile.

Lisa returned with a collection of flowers. She gasped softly when she spotted Judith bundled in layers of knitted goods. "And who is this adorable one?"

Bows were pinned carefully into her hair.

She crouched, offering the bundle. Edward watched as Judith's face lit up, picking out drier pinks and whites. They suited her coat beautifully.

"You look very warm today," Lisa added.

Judith giggled, whispering a polite 'thank you'. Her hazel eyes darted between the flowers and Lisa smiling face.

"Goodness — look at the time," his mother gasped, checking her watch. She took hold of Judith's hand. "You all ought to come for supper one day. You're all welcome."

She hurried off, only pausing to call back, "Eddie, don't dawdle back — bangers and mash will be waiting!"

He watched them disappear into the crowd. Judith waved enthusiastically and Lisa returned the gesture just as brightly.

Harold laughed. He placed a hand on his stomach, mumbling about his need for a homecooked meal. But Samuel said nothing. He stepped closer, unlooping his scarf. Edward's stomach tightened, expecting the scarf to be wrapped around Lisa's bare neck.

Instead, it settled around his own.

"You'll catch your death," Samuel muttered — the very words Edward had spoken before. They paused for a moment, eyes locked on each other. Neither looked away. Edward noticed his own reflection in Samuel's eyes.

He smiled shyly. The wool was still warm, carrying a faint scent that was unmistakably Samuel's. "Won't you?"

Samuel huffed a quiet breath, a puff of air escaping him as he shook his head. As they resumed walking, he slipped into place between Harold and Edward. Lisa drifted to Edward's other side. 

"I run warm," Samuel added, almost as an afterthought.

...

Days before the winter break, Edward lay stretched along the family sofa. Andrew flicked through the paper while their father dozed in his chair. From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and his mother's soft humming.

But Edward's attention never left the scarf resting in his hands.

It was still toasty, heavy with a comforting scent. Sometimes, he wore it to bed — purely for warmth, he told himself. It was an expensive item. His thumb traced along the stitching as though memorising it.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by his mother's voice. Sharper and more hastily than usual, "Edward — come here, love."

He rose quickly. When he reached the kitchen, his breathing hitched at the sight. Harold was easing Samuel into a chair. His body slack, hair sticking to his forehead, lashes resting against his flushed cheeks.