faeloria (jon snow x fem!reader)
synopsis: you didn't listen to him and you're regretting your mistake.
warnings: angst with comfort, near drowning, hypothermia, prolonged physical closeness, forced proximity, suggestive tension, partial nudity, restrained attraction, protective!jon snow, hurt/comfort, soft yearning, emotionally repressed idiots in love, canon-typical harsh weather, mention of parental death, possessive undertones, lots of yearning and tension.
The wind howled across the frozen lake hard enough to sting exposed skin. Snow chased itself over the ice in pale ribbons, skimming the surface like ghosts dancing in the dark. Beyond the trees, the Wall loomed.
Jon had warned you twice already.
“Stay near the shore,” he’d said while adjusting the strap across his chest. “The ice thins near the center.”
You’d laughed at him then, boots sliding carefully across the frozen surface while Ghost prowled along the bank. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.”
Now his words echoed in your skull as the ice beneath your feet cracked with a sound like splitting bone.
The world vanished beneath you.
The water swallowed you whole.
Cold hit like violence. It punched the breath from your lungs so fast you couldn’t even scream. Black water closed over your head as shards of ice scraped your arms and shoulders. Your body seized instantly, every muscle locking in terror.
Somewhere above, you heard Jon shout your name.
A hand caught your wrist.
You broke the surface choking, gasping so hard your chest burned. Jon was sprawled flat against the ice, one arm stretched toward you while the other clawed desperately at the frozen edge to keep himself from being dragged in with you.
Your teeth slammed together violently. You could barely see him through wet lashes and snow.
The ice groaned beneath his weight.
For one terrible moment, you saw fear in his face. Real fear. Not the grim caution he carried beyond the Wall or the quiet suspicion he wore among strangers. This was naked terror.
His gloves slipped against your soaked sleeve.
He cursed harshly under his breath and shifted lower, nearly throwing himself onto the breaking ice just to get a better grip on you.
His voice cracked through the storm like steel.
With a strained sound, Jon dragged you upward inch by inch. Ice bit into your stomach and ribs as he hauled you across the surface. Water poured from your clothes, instantly freezing in the wind.
The second your body cleared the hole completely; Jon grabbed you against him.
You’d never felt him shake before.
Not in battle. Not during storms. Not when men twice his size threatened him.
“Gods,” he breathed against your wet hair. “Gods…”
You couldn’t stop trembling. Your limbs jerked uncontrollably, violent enough to hurt. The cold had sunk deep into your bones already.
Jon moved fast after that.
He tore off his heavy fur cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders immediately, pulling it tight enough to trap what little warmth remained in your body. Snow caught in his dark curls as he gathered his discarded sword belt and half dragged, half carried you toward the trees.
Ghost ran beside him anxiously, whining low in his throat.
A rocky outcrop near the woods offered some shelter from the wind. Not much, but enough. He lowered you carefully against the stone before immediately dropping to his knees to build a fire.
His fingers moved quickly despite the cold, striking flint with growing frustration.
You curled deeper into the fur cloak, shaking so hard your vision blurred.
He glanced up instantly. “Stay awake.”
Warm light flickered across his face, throwing sharp shadows over the worry carved into it. His cheeks were red from the cold, snow melting slowly in his hair.
Then his eyes dropped to your soaked clothes.
“We need to get these off you.”
Even through the freezing haze crawling over your thoughts, heat rushed weakly into your face.
“This isn’t modesty anymore,” he said firmly, already reaching for the ties at your sleeves. “You’ll die wearing them.”
His hands were cold and rough, though careful as he peeled the soaked fabric from your body. Every movement made you shiver harder. Wet cloth clung stubbornly to your skin, and Jon’s expression darkened every time your body jerked violently from the cold.
“You stubborn girl,” he muttered, though there was no real anger in it. Only fear trying to disguise itself.
A weak smile pulled at your lips despite yourself. “You sound angry.”
He tugged your soaked dress away and threw it aside near the fire.
“I warned you because I knew this would happen.”
Another harsh shiver tore through you. Jon’s face changed instantly at the sight of it. Softer...frightened again.
“Hey.” His voice dropped low. Gentle. “Stay with me.”
His hands slowed as he worked the rest of the wet clothing away from your skin. Survival and necessity. Nothing more.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
But every glimpse of bare skin near the firelight seemed to affect him despite his efforts not to show it. His breathing grew uneven once or twice before he looked away sharply, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
The tension sat thick between you, alive and awkward and impossible to ignore.
Jon swallowed once before wrapping the heavy fur tighter around your shoulders again after the last wet layer was gone, leaving you completely bare beneath.
“There,” he said quietly.
You clutched the cloak closed while he fed more wood into the fire.
For a while, only the crackling flames and the storm answered the silence.
Then Jon spoke again without looking at you.
“When you fell…” His voice roughened. “I thought that was it.”
He sat close enough for the firelight to catch the pale scar beneath his eye. Snow melted slowly down the side of his face, though he seemed not to notice.
“My life beyond the Wall,” he continued quietly, staring into the flames, “the battles, the dead, all of it…” He shook his head once. “None of it frightened me the way that did.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Jon finally looked at you then, dark eyes heavy with something raw enough to make your pulse stumble despite the cold.
“My life flashed before my eyes,” he admitted softly. “And every part of it ended with losing you.”
The wind screamed through the trees outside your shelter, but suddenly it felt very far away.
You reached for him beneath the fur cloak with trembling fingers. Jon caught your hand immediately and held it against his chest.
Night settled heavy over the woods, dark and merciless.
The storm had eased somewhat, but the cold had only sharpened with the passing hours. Frost clung to the rocks around your shelter in pale silver veins, and every gust of wind sent snow swirling through the trees like ash.
The fire crackled stubbornly between you and the mouth of the outcrop, but it wasn’t enough.
Your clothes still hung nearby on stripped branches and broken sticks close to the flames, steaming faintly but freezing almost as quickly as they dried.
You still couldn’t stop shaking.
The fur cloak wrapped tightly around your bare body helped some, but not enough to reach the cold buried deep beneath your skin. It lived inside your bones now. Your teeth chattered painfully, shoulders trembling harder with every passing minute.
Jon watched all of it in silence.
He sat close beside you, elbows resting against his knees, dark eyes fixed on the fire though his attention never truly left you. Ghost lay's nearby with his head on his paws, eyes blinking slowly in the dark.
Another violent shiver hit you.
“I’ll be f-fine,” you shiver.
His tone carried that familiar rough edge again, but softer now. Worn thin by fear and exhaustion.
It faltered immediately when another tremor wracked through you.
Jon looked away briefly, thinking.
Then he made a quiet decision.
He shifted closer. The movement alone pulled heat toward you. Jon carried warmth like a furnace beneath all those layers and hard muscle. Even sitting beside him felt different from sitting near anyone else.
Still, it startled you when he moved closer again. And closer. Until his leg pressed firmly against yours beneath the heavy fur.
He reached carefully for the edges of the cloak. “Move closer to the fire.”
You obeyed numbly, scooting forward on the furs beneath you while Jon adjusted himself behind your side. His broad frame blocked some of the wind slipping into the shelter.
Then, slowly, he slipped beneath the fur cloak with you.
You gasped softly in surprise.
The sudden heat of him nearly stole your breath.
His face remained carefully turned away from yours, as though trying very hard to remain honorable despite the circumstances. Snow-dark curls fell loose across his forehead while he settled beside you beneath the heavy fur.
Your bare skin brushed the rough fabric of his shirt first.
Then the solid heat beneath it.
You became painfully aware of the fact that you were wearing absolutely nothing beneath the cloak.
“I’m not exactly modest right now,” you whispered.
In the firelight, his profile looked carved from stone. Tired eyes. Wind-burned skin. That scar beneath his eye catching gold in the flames.
His voice came low and soothing.
Something in your chest tightened painfully at the gentleness of it.
He pulled the fur tighter around both of you, careful to keep every inch of your body covered despite sharing the cloak now. Even here, half freezing in the middle of nowhere, Jon Snow behaved like too much of a gentleman for his own good.
You could feel the restraint in him.
His arm slid around your back only after a brief hesitation, drawing you against his chest with surprising tenderness. Heat immediately soaked into your frozen skin.
A shaky breath escaped you before you could stop it.
“There,” he murmured quietly. “Better?”
But there was affection hidden beneath the words now.
You rested carefully against him, aware of every detail despite your exhaustion. The roughness of wool beneath your fingertips. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The strength in the arm holding you securely against him.
Jon’s body radiated heat compared to yours. After so long trembling, the warmth almost hurt.
You flinched slightly when feeling finally began returning to your fingers.
“That’s good,” he reassured softly. “Means you’re warming.”
For a long while, neither of you spoke.
Outside, the woods groaned beneath the winter wind. Somewhere in the darkness, branches creaked under the weight of snow.
Inside the shelter, the fire painted gold across Jon’s face while shadows flickered along the stone walls.
You became aware of his heartbeat eventually.
Slow, heavy, and steady beneath your cheek.
Jon shifted slightly, probably trying to make you more comfortable, but the movement only pressed you closer against him beneath the cloak.
The tension between you returned instantly.
Something quieter and dangerous.
Your breath caught softly.
Jon went still and you felt him swallow.
“Sorry,” he muttered after a moment, voice roughened strangely.
His eyes stayed fixed stubbornly on the fire. “This.”
You frowned faintly. “You saved my life.”
“That doesn’t make this...easier.”
Heat rose weakly into your cheeks despite the cold. He was trying so hard not to look at you. You realized that suddenly. Even now, wrapped together beneath the same cloak with your body pressed against his for warmth, Jon kept his gaze firmly elsewhere.
As though one wrong glance might dishonor you somehow.
“You’re freezing yourself just trying to protect my dignity,” you whispered.
A faint huff of breath escaped him. Almost a laugh.
“You’ve still got dignity.”
Jon finally looked down at you then.
The firelight softened him in ways daylight never could.
“I stopped caring about mine the second you went through that ice.”
The shaking didn’t stop all at once. It came in waves.
Violent tremors at first, your body curling tighter against Jon every time another shiver tore through you. Each one made his hold tighten instinctively, his large hand spreading against your back beneath the fur cloak as though he could physically hold the cold away from you.
“You’re alright,” he murmured quietly near your hair.
The words repeated often enough that eventually they stopped sounding like reassurance for you alone.
Your frozen skin slowly began to soften beneath his warmth. Feeling returned in aching little bursts, painful and tingling. The fire helped, but it was Jon who truly pulled you back from the cold.
His broad chest pressed against your side. His rough hands steady against your skin. His body heat pouring from him like he’d stolen fire from the gods themselves.
At some point, your shivering eased enough for exhaustion to drag heavily at your limbs instead.
A weak breath left you as your body finally relaxed against him.
“There you are,” Jon whispered.
You barely had the strength to answer. “Warm now.”
Relief crossed his face so quickly it almost hurt to see. For the first time since the lake, the rigid tension in his shoulders loosened slightly. But not fully. He didn’t seem capable of fully relaxing anymore.
Only enough for him to lean back against the stone wall behind you with a tired exhale.
You remained tucked against him beneath the fur cloak, half draped across his chest. One of his arms stayed firmly around your waist while the other rested near the firewood beside him.
And still…he didn’t let go.
You could feel the conflict in him without even looking.
Jon was warm in every sense except the one that mattered most tonight. The heat of his body surrounded you now, steady and protective, but something deeper stirred beneath it. Something restless.
His heartbeat had changed.
It no longer beat slow and calm beneath your cheek. Now it thudded harder whenever you shifted against him.
Whenever your bare skin brushed his hand. Whenever your breath ghosted warm through the fabric at his throat. Jon stared stubbornly into the fire like it had personally insulted him.
But his arm never loosened. If anything, it drew you closer.
The fur cloak slipped slightly as you settled more comfortably against him, exposing the curve of your shoulder to the cold air for barely a second before Jon immediately pulled the cloak back into place.
Careful...his fingers brushed your skin in the process.
The touch lingered for a moment. You felt his breath catch almost silently above your head.
Then his hand flattened carefully against your arm again like nothing had happened.
Every decent instinct in him screamed that he should move away. Give you space. Act honorable. Keep his thoughts clean and his hands steadier than this.
Instead, all he could think about was keeping you close and warm. Feeling the softness of your skin beneath his rough palms and knowing you were alive beneath them.
It frightened him a little. Because he cared for you more than he should.
Beyond the Wall, men died for less than love. At Winterfell, at Castle Black, in every corner of the North, caring too deeply for someone gave the world a blade to place against your throat.
Jon knew that better than most.
Still, when you shifted sleepily closer to him, he couldn’t stop his eyes from closing briefly at the feeling.
His hand flexed once against your back.
Possessive for half a heartbeat.
You tilted your head just enough to look up at him. Firelight danced across his face, softening the harsh lines carved there by cold and responsibility.
“You’re staring at the fire like you want to fight it,” you whispered weakly.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The smile faded as quickly as it came.
His gaze finally dropped to you then, and whatever you saw in his eyes made your chest tighten. It was too much feeling held back behind too much restraint.
Jon brushed a damp strand of hair carefully away from your face before he could seem to stop himself.
His knuckles lingered against your cheek.
“You scared me,” he admitted softly.
You looked at him quietly beneath the heavy fur wrapped around both of you.
Jon’s expression shifted slightly then, like he regretted saying even that much aloud. Vulnerability never sat comfortably on him.
So instead of saying more, he pulled you a little closer against his chest.
And this time he didn’t apologize for it.
The fire had burned down to pale, sleeping embers by the time the night finally gave up on you.
You didn’t remember falling asleep. Only the steady press of Jon’s arm around you beneath the fur, the rise and fall of his breathing, and the strange feeling of safety that made your exhaustion heavier than the cold ever had.
At some point, your body simply stopped shaking. And some point after that, you stopped thinking at all.
Morning came without ceremony. Gray light seeped through the trees like watered steel, dull and quiet. The wind had softened overnight, leaving the world hushed beneath a thin veil of snow.
You woke still wrapped in Jon’s cloak.
It took a moment for your mind to catch up with your body. The fire was gone, only blackened stones and ash remaining where it had burned. Your clothes—still stiff and half frozen—hung nearby.
Panic flickered for half a heartbeat before you heard it.
Water...slow movement near the river.
You pushed yourself upright carefully, the fur cloak slipping around your shoulders. The cold bit immediately at your exposed skin where it had been shielded all night.
“Jon?” you called softly.
You followed the sound instead.
The river had begun to thaw at the edges, black water threading through broken sheets of ice. Steam rose faintly in places where the cold and movement fought each other.
Jon stood at the edge of it, barefoot in the snow as though it didn’t exist. His boots were set neatly beside a flat stone, his sword leaned against a nearby tree.
He was washing ash from his hands and forearms in the freezing water, shoulders bare beneath the pale morning light.
Steam curled off his skin. He looked…unreal for a moment. Like something carved out of winter itself and set loose among the living.
You hesitated without meaning to. Because there was something strange about seeing him like that.
Jon was always armored in some way. Fur, leather, steel, duty. Even when he slept, he seemed half prepared for war.
But now he was just a man standing in cold water, rinsing away the remnants of fire and night...
Something you haven't seen.
He turned slightly as he felt your presence.
His eyes flicked over you quickly.
You were still wrapped tightly in his cloak, far too large for you, trailing nearly to the ground. It swallowed you whole.
A faint pause passed between you.
Then Jon’s mouth twitched like he was trying very hard not to make this more awkward than it already was.
You stepped closer slowly, snow crunching under your feet. “Jon, aren’t you freezing?”
He glanced down at the river like it was a normal thing to be doing at dawn.
“That’s not the answer I was looking for.”
You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if you weren’t still half asleep. “Take your coat back.”
At that, Jon finally looked at you properly.
The fur cloak was wrapped around your shoulders, fastened loosely, but it was still clearly all you had. The morning wind shifted slightly through the trees, and you instinctively pulled it tighter.
Jon noticed. He tilted his head slightly, water dripping from his fingers as he stepped back from the riverbank.
His expression turned faintly teasing in a way you rarely saw from him. Small and controlled. Almost private.
“You want me to take it back,” he said quietly.
His eyes flicked once to the cloak again.
“Would you really take it off,” he asked, voice low, “if it was all you were wearing?”
The question landed between you like a stone dropped into still water.
Because the answer was obvious. And because you suddenly realized he already knew it.
Jon watched you for a long moment longer, the corner of his mouth barely lifting again as he straightened.
The teasing faded just as quickly as it came.
He picked up a cloth from the stone beside him and began drying his hands, like the question had never carried any weight at all.
But you saw it...the way his gaze lingered for half a second too long before he looked away.
The way his jaw tightened afterward, as if he’d reminded himself of something he shouldn’t be thinking.
The way he stayed in the freezing river longer than he needed to, just to put space between you and whatever that moment had almost become.
The moment his teasing settled into the air, something in you shifted.
Jon had turned back toward the river, already dismissing the exchange as if it were nothing more than another cold morning in the North. Ash clung faintly to his hands. Water dripped from his forearms. The world moved around him like he belonged to it more than he belonged to anything else.
And that—somehow—irritated you.
You straightened beneath his fur cloak.
Not angry...well, not really.
Just awake in a way you hadn’t been the night before.
“If you’re going to tease me,” you called out, voice steadier than you felt, “then I suppose I don’t need this.”
Then, before he could answer, you slipped the cloak off your shoulders and walked straight toward him.
The cold hit immediately, sharp and unforgiving, biting through every inch of you like the world itself was trying to correct your decision. Snow pressed against your feet. The air was brutal against your skin.
Jon turned at the sound of your steps.
And for the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely surprised.
You reached him at the riverbank and held the fur cloak out toward him like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
Jon didn’t move to take it immediately. His eyes stayed on yours.
Then slowly, his mouth tilted.
“Freezing?” he said quietly.
Then with the faintest edge of amusement threading through his voice—
He still didn’t look away from your face.
Not once. Not even as the wind moved through the trees and snow gathered at your feet.
Jon reached out at last and took the cloak from your hands, but instead of pulling it back toward himself, he stepped closer.
His tone dropped quieter now.
“You think stubbornness wins arguments in the North?”
Before you could answer, he swung the cloak around your shoulders in a single firm motion, wrapping it around you again. His hands were quick and warm even through the cold air between you.
“Because it doesn’t,” he added, voice low but steady. “It just gets you killed faster.”
The cloak settled heavily around you, stealing the wind’s bite away almost instantly.
Jon stepped back just enough to look at you again.
“I was born and bred in snow,” he said.
Then, softer—almost grudgingly honest beneath the teasing:
“And you don’t get to scare me twice in two days.”
He walked back to the now burnt-out fire, a smirk forming at his lips once more knowing you couldn't see him. Gods, you're beautiful...
And he feels conflicted even remembering what you had shown him.
Jon’s tunic came on in a slow, damp fabric pulling against his skin before settling against his chest. The cold air didn’t seem to bother him much at all. He tugged it into place, rolling his shoulders once like it was just another part of the morning.
You were still standing near the riverbank, wrapped in his fur cloak like it had decided you belonged to it now.
That familiar, faint edge of teasing returned to his voice.
“You take that coat off again,” Jon said, “I’ll have you walk the rest of the way naked.”
There was a flicker in his eyes that suggested it was meant as a joke, something dry and North-born and half-serious only in the way Jon Snow sometimes didn’t bother distinguishing between warning and humor.
Still…there was a sliver of truth in it too.
You could tell. Not because he wanted to embarrass you. Because he genuinely didn’t trust the cold not to kill you if you kept testing it.
You huffed softly under your breath, adjusting the fur tighter around your shoulders. “That’s not funny.”
Jon raised an eyebrow slightly.
Then, quieter, almost as if he was already moving on from the thought entirely, he stepped away toward your clothes where they’d been drying near the remnants of the fire.
The river lapped softly behind him. Wind threaded through the trees, carrying the last of the night’s chill out into the open.
He checked your dress, lifting it carefully between his hands, turning it once, assessing it with the same focus he used for everything else.
After a moment, he nodded.
You approached slowly, when you reached him, he handed it over without hesitation and turned away just enough to give you space.
You dressed quickly, fingers still a little stiff from the cold, the fabric warm enough now to be bearable. The moment it was on, you let out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
Jon didn’t look back until you spoke.
When he did, his eyes flicked over you once—then away again toward the river.
“Better,” he said simply.
You stepped closer, fur cloak draped loosely in your hands.
“You still need this more than I do.”
Jon snorted under his breath like the idea was mildly insulting.
“You’ll keep it,” he said.
“I don’t need it anymore.”
That shut down the argument before it could even start.
He reached for the cloak anyway, but instead of taking it fully, he adjusted it back around your shoulders with that same gentleness. Like it had already become habit.
“You keep warm,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s the rule.”
You looked up at him, and for a moment the teasing was gone entirely.
A man who looked like he belonged to winter more than anything else in the world—yet still stood there making sure you didn’t have to.
He stepped back once the cloak was secure.
“Come on,” he added, turning toward the path. “We’ve got a long walk.”
The mountains rose ahead of you like dark teeth against a pale sky, their peaks still dusted with old snow that refused to leave even in summer. The path beneath your boots had begun to harden again as the air shifted, the North reminding you—softly but firmly—that warmth was never permanent.
Jon walked slightly ahead...like always.
Not enough to leave you behind, but enough that you could see the set of his shoulders as he moved, steady and unbothered by the cold that still worried you on instinct.
You kept thinking about the river. About the way he hadn’t looked at you. Not once. Not when you had been careless. Not when you had been standing there without anything between you and the cold but stubbornness and pride. Not even when you had offered him the cloak back like it meant nothing.
It should have felt like nothing.
It sat in your mind like a knot you couldn’t untangle.
Not desire or embarrassment.
Something more frustrating than both.
Because he had looked at you like you were alive, not like you were something to be seen. And that somehow made everything more complicated.
You caught up a little, boots crunching softly through frost as you spoke.
“When you said you were born in snow,” you asked, watching his back, “was it literal?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
Then Jon let out a quiet laugh.
It wasn’t loud. Just a short breath of amusement carried out into the cold air like it didn’t belong entirely to humor, but to memory.
He slowed slightly so you could walk beside him instead of behind.
“Aye,” he said at last. “As literal as anything gets up here.”
You glanced at him. “You make it sound like you were found in it.”
His mouth curved faintly at that.
That made you look at him properly now.
Jon’s gaze stayed forward as he walked, but there was something softer in his expression than before. Not less guarded—he rarely let anything fully drop—but less sharp around the edges.
“My mother died when I was born,” he said simply. No drama in it. Just fact. “There was snow on the ground. They say I cried louder than the storm.”
“That’s a strange thing to tell a child.”
“I wasn’t a child when I heard it.”
That made you quiet for a moment.
The wind shifted between the trees, brushing cold against your face. The mountains loomed closer now, their shadows stretching long over the path.
Jon continued walking, hands loose at his sides.
“I was raised in Winterfell,” he added after a moment. “Snow was just… part of things. Like stone walls or iron gates. You don’t think about it. You just learn to live in it.”
You watched him for a second longer.
Jon’s eyes flicked briefly toward the mountains ahead.
“Now I know it can kill you just as easily as anything else.”
Then, quieter, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud:
“Which is why I don’t like seeing you testing it.”
The words weren’t harsh. They weren’t even scolding anymore.
You looked away first this time, adjusting the cloak around your shoulders as you walked.
Behind the calm tone, you could still feel it—the same thing you had felt at the river. The way he didn’t look away from danger when it mattered.
The way he didn’t look at you like you were something to be consumed or examined.
Just something to keep alive. And somehow, that lingered longer than any glance ever could.
"Is that why you didn't like seeing me so," you think of a word, "exposed, or was it for another reason?"
The question landed between you and the cold air like something carefully placed, not thrown.
Jon didn’t answer right away.
He kept walking, boots pressing into the frozen path, shoulders steady as ever. The mountains ahead were closer now, their shadow swallowing more of the sky with each step.
For a moment, it almost seemed like he might ignore it entirely.
His jaw worked once, like he was choosing his words the way he chose everything else—carefully and deliberately, with the weight of consequences already attached to them.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.
The wind cut through the trees, sharp enough to sting your cheeks, but Jon didn’t seem to notice it at all.
“You weren’t thinking,” he added, more bluntly now. “That’s what I didn’t like.”
You frowned a little. “I was thinking.”
A faint exhale left him—almost a laugh, but not quite.
“No,” he said simply. “You were proving something.”
That made you go quiet because it was annoyingly accurate.
Jon finally glanced at you then, just briefly, enough to make sure you were still beside him on the path.
“Out here,” he continued, tone steadier now, “people think they can be brave by ignoring the cold. Or by testing it. It doesn’t care about pride. It doesn’t care about games.”
The words weren’t meant to shame you. But they settled heavy anyway.
A few steps passed in silence.
Then softer...almost like he didn’t like admitting there was more to it...
“And you matter more than a point you were trying to make.”
That stopped something in your chest. Jon didn’t look at you when he said it. He didn’t need to. As if it was dangerous enough already to say it out loud, even without witnessing your reaction.
The path curved slightly upward toward the lower slopes, wind pulling harder here. Jon adjusted his pace automatically, angling himself just enough so you were less exposed to it.
After a moment, he added, quieter again...
It wasn't about providing yourself against the cold...
You could feel it in the space he left unsaid, in the way his hand flexed once at his side before he made it still again, like he was reminding himself where the line was—and how carefully he was standing just on the right side of it.
The climb toward the mountains grew steeper, the wind sharper, as if the world itself was narrowing its focus down to just the two of you moving through it.
Jon walked a little ahead again, like he always did when the ground turned uncertain. Not far...just enough that you could see the line of his shoulders cutting through the cold, steady as iron.
You followed...quieter now. His words lingered behind you like heat that didn’t belong in the snow.
You matter more than a point you were trying to make.
It should have sounded like simple caution. Practical. Jon being what he had always been—careful, blunt, unromantic about survival.
And yet it didn’t sit like that.
Not in you. Because it wasn't about proving a point...
The memory of the river returned without permission. The way he hadn’t looked away when you had stood there bare and reckless in the cold. The way his hands had been steady when everything else had been slipping. The way his voice had gone quiet, almost too controlled, when he told you to keep warm.
None of it fit neatly into “just protection.”
That was the problem. Because protection didn’t usually feel like restraint.
It didn’t feel like someone holding themselves back from something they very deliberately refused to name.
Jon stopped at a bend in the path where the wind broke briefly between two jagged rocks.
He didn’t look at you at first. Just adjusted the strap of his gear, eyes on the mountain ahead like it had all the answers he needed.
Then after a pause that felt heavier than the cold, he spoke.
You hesitated. “I am close.”
Jon finally looked at you then. A long, steady look that made something in your chest tighten without warning.
“No,” he said quietly. “Closer.”
Something in the way he said it made arguing feel pointless. So you stepped in beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.
The wind hit less there. You noticed that immediately.
He noticed you noticing but said nothing. Just adjusted his pace so you stayed in that narrow strip of protection beside him as you walked.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Only the crunch of snow. The distant groan of wind through stone. The slow, steady ascent toward somewhere colder and higher and harder.
Then almost too quietly to catch, Jon spoke again.
“If I didn’t care whether you lived or died,” he said, eyes still forward, “you’d be walking wherever you liked.”
It wasn’t said cruelly. It was worse than that.
“And I wouldn’t be walking this slowly.” he added.
You turned your head slightly toward him.
His expression didn’t change. But his hand, hanging at his side, shifted just enough that his knuckles brushed yours as you walked.
Not holding but not pulling away Like he hadn’t decided yet what that meant.
Or worse...like he had, and refused to say it aloud.
Jon kept walking beside you like a man protecting something he would never admit belonged to him…even as he made sure the world couldn’t take it away.
MY WORK IS MY OWN AND I HAVE OWNERSHIP OF MY CREATIONS. DO NOT STEAL, COPY OR REPOST!
