The snow had finally stopped by the time Andrew reached the town square. The cobblestones still glistened beneath his boots, reflecting gaslight and sky like a fractured mirror. He hadn't meant to come here — not truly. But his feet had a strange way of knowing where Emma might be.
The small bookshop on the corner stood like a pocket of warmth in the gray chill. Its windows were fogged from the inside, golden light humming behind them. Familiar. Safe. Emma had loved it here even before Andrew ever noticed her heart. It was where she went to breathe.
He stood outside, one hand resting on the iron lamppost, eyes drawn to the silhouettes moving behind the glass.
Emma.
And Jason.
She stood by the poetry shelf, fingers dancing over the cracked spines. Jason leaned against the wood like he owned the moment, body language loose, voice low and effortless. Whatever he said made her laugh — a tilt of the head, a grin half-hidden behind her scarf.
Andrew's breath caught.
He didn't move.
It wasn't jealousy, not quite. It was something smaller. A tightness, a splinter — the feeling of watching a dream become someone else's memory.
Inside, Jason plucked a book from the shelf and opened it theatrically.
"'If I should meet thee after long years…'" he read aloud, tone too serious to be mocking, too ironic to be sincere. "'How shall I greet thee? With silence and tears.'"
Emma laughed again, gently this time. "That's awfully dramatic."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that the point of love? Drama?"
"No," she said, biting her lip. "I think it's the quiet moments that last."
Jason smiled, almost surprised. "You're dangerous when you're thoughtful."
She blushed, and Andrew saw it — the color that touched her cheeks when she didn't realize she was being studied.
He turned away.
He almost left.
But Emma glanced up and spotted him.
"Andrew!" she called, waving him in. "Come in — you'll freeze."
He stepped inside the shop slowly, the scent of parchment and woodsmoke wrapping around him like a too-tight coat. Jason didn't turn. He stayed beside her, flipping absently through a second book now. Something about how easily he belonged in the space twisted in Andrew's stomach.
Emma looked genuinely happy to see him. That was the worst part.
"You remember Jason," she said. "He's been quoting poetry at me for ten minutes."
Jason offered a lazy smile. "Only the tragic ones. They match the weather."
Andrew forced a polite chuckle. "That so?"
Emma turned to him, eyes soft. "We were just talking about Byron and the way he twists love into something that always hurts."
Andrew nodded, scanning the titles on the shelf instead of her face. "He would."
Jason's voice dipped just enough to be heard: "You look like you know all about tragic love."
Andrew looked at him then — just for a second. "Everyone knows something about it. Some of us just don't talk as much."
Jason shrugged, unfazed. "Fair."
Emma frowned lightly, sensing the edge, though neither of them sharpened it further. She picked up a thin blue volume and handed it to Andrew.
"This one's for you," she said. "It's quiet. Beautiful. A little sad."
He took it, letting their fingers touch for a second longer than they should. His throat tightened.
Jason stepped away, giving them space, but not far enough that Andrew didn't feel the weight of him still in the room.
"He's just interesting," Emma said quietly.
Andrew looked down at the book, its cover soft and faded.
"Yeah," he said. "Interesting."
He tried to smile.
It didn't reach his eyes.
Outside, the snow began again.
Inside, the bookstore no longer felt like shelter.
---
The three of them walked out together a few minutes later, Emma tucked between them with her coat buttoned to the top and her book clutched like a charm. Jason lit another cigarette, shielding it from the wind with one hand.
"I'll see you both around," he said, and disappeared into the falling snow with the casual confidence of someone who never asked for permission.
Andrew and Emma stood alone beneath the awning.
She didn't speak for a moment. Then: "You're quiet tonight."
Andrew looked at her. "You're glowing."
Emma blinked, taken aback. "Is that a bad thing?"
He shook his head. "No. Just… new."
She smiled gently, the way she used to. "It's the snowlight. Makes everything soft."
He almost believed her.
They walked together down the street, but something had shifted. Not broken — not yet. Just misaligned. The steps they once took in perfect rhythm now echoed slightly out of sync.
And somewhere behind them, Jason's laughter still hung in the cold air.