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The sky this morning is the same grey of yesterday, of the day before yesterday, of the day before that. Fernando doesn't know how much time has passed since the day he last saw the sun. Time loses its meaning in a world where the ground is white and the sky is grey.

Fernando just knows that there are more wrinkles around his eyes now than before. Though he hardly remembers what he used to look like. He doesn't remember the shadows cast at midday, barely recalls the exact shade of green grass, isn't sure if the sun was really red in the sunset or if it just happens in books.

Sometimes he's plagued by the suspicion that the details he remembers about the life before the Cold aren't real - the sweet, homey smell of his mother, the grey temples of his father, the ringing laughter of his sister, the deep voice of his brother, the butterflies in his stomach when his girlfriend smiled. He's scared all those aren't real and he made them up just to have memories. He doesn't dwell on it too much. Faded memories are a small price to pay for his extreme luck, even though he's never asked for it.

Fernando wasn't particularly keen on surviving. When the Cold started, when it was clear that it was more serious than expected, that civilization wasn't likely to survive this unharmed, everyone went crazy, gathering supplies, buying winter clothes, running to the South, quoting Robert Frost on Facebook. Fernando didn't see the point. Many people were going to die, nothing was ever going to be the same again, life was going to turn into a fight for survival. So what was the point in living if it wasn't living at all? He kept his opinions to himself, though, and made peace with the thought that he wasn't going to live for long. But people kept dying all around him and he stayed alive. That's how lucky he was.

When he was left all alone, he joined a group headed to the South, because he had nothing better to do except freezing. When the snowstorm came, he thought he'd run out of luck, but even then he stayed alive while everyone else succumbed to the Cold. He was going to do it too, he'd accepted the idea, he'd accepted death. The cold was lulling him to sleep, it didn't hurt, he wasn't shivering anymore, didn't even feel cold. He felt peaceful. He closed his eyes in the snow and opened them in a bed under the concerned gaze of a hard-faced man.

Unlike him, the hunter was intent on staying alive. With steely determination he'd gathered up supplies for years, ever since he heard of the coming of the Cold. Batteries, warm clothes, furs, weapons, oil, petrol, he had everything. He'd thermo-insulated his house the best he could, had built fireplaces in the living room and in the bedroom, had stored his pantry with canned vegetables, salted meat and other long-term supplies. But despite all his precautions, he fell a victim to fate. He got into one of the traps he had set for catching animals. By the time Fernando had found him, he was already frozen to the point of no return.

Living alone in the middle of white and grey doesn't really bother Fernando. He has always been self-sufficient. He doesn't crave company. His own company is more than enough for him. He's had a few visitors during this time, people heading to the South. Few of them knock on his door themselves, he usually finds them lying in the snow, frozen and hallucinating like he was when the hunter found him.

Most of those he finds are dead and he buries them under the snow in the forest, just like the hunter used to do. The ones he saves never stay for long, driven by their feverish dream to reach the South. Fernando has given up on trying to convince them that it's useless.

He starts the morning like he always does. He makes fire in the fireplaces, puts large pots with water over them, exercises a bit, chews some dried fruit for breakfast, pulls on his coat and boots and goes out to start his morning routine, dragging the sled with him. Travelers are much more sparse now than before. In fact, since the last one Fernando has finished three shelves of the library, but he still checks every morning per tradition.

About fifty meters away from the house, he notices a black spot. Approaching quickly, he sees that it's not the only one. Another group, then. Fernando looks for survivors, but four of them are dead and the fifth one is dying. Fernando walks deeper into the forest to see if anyone has made it farther than the rest. There is another one, lying a few steps away from the graveyard.

"Good choice, won't have to drag you all the way here," Fernando tells the body, turning it around.

He's alive.

Fernando checks his pulse twice to be sure. His heartbeat is slow, but it's there. Fernando immediately puts him on the sled and drags him to the house, pours hot water into the bath, takes off the man's clothes, puts him in the water and waits. The cold didn't kill him, but the warmth still might. Fernando's had a few people die on him like that after he'd saved them from cold.

A couple of those he saved have tried to kill him. The hunter's house is a great treasure and sometimes it's dangerous, especially if you have mentally deranged people as guests. He hopes this one won't try to kill him, Fernando likes his handsome face.

He chuckles and shakes his head, amused at himself. The water is starting to get cold, so he takes the man out, wrapping him in towels, and somehow drags him to the couch in front of the burning fireplace. He dresses him in his spare pajamas and covers him with fluffy blankets and furs and pushes his hair away from his forehead.

The guy stirs, opens his eyes, tries to move, finds he isn't able to. Fernando's seen it so many times. His eyes close again and he falls into an exhausted slumber.

"Rest," Fernando says.

He still has some work to do, so he takes the shovel and the sled, puts on his coat and goes out.

The guy sleeps for the whole day and the next morning. Fernando's even scared he's not going to wake up, but in the afternoon of the next day, when Fernando is reading the Book Three of "War and Peace" out of boredom, he hears a soft murmur: "Mum?"

Fernando cringes. He puts the book aside and leans over the guy.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

The man blinks a few times. "Who are you?"

"I'm... I live here, I found you lying in the snow and brought you here."

"I heard my mum singing," the guy says, "I heard her voice."

"You were hallucinating," Fernando says, "It happens."

The guy looks at him confused for a second, then makes a move to sit up. Fernando helps him, covering his shoulders with a blanket. The man looks around and back at Fernando again.

"There were others," he says, "People. We were going to the South. Have you found them?"

"They're dead," Fernando says.

Maybe it sounds too harsh, Fernando doesn't know, he's forgotten how to talk about these subjects tactfully or maybe he has never known, but the guy's eyes widen and he blinks quickly a few times to force back the tears.

"Were they family?" Fernando asks.

"Friends," the man answers hoarsely, "We were going to the South."

The South is death. He doesn't tell him that.

The guy spends the rest of the afternoon either asleep or staring at the ceiling, but closer to the evening he starts talking, asking Fernando questions and telling him about himself. Fernando learns that his name is Sergio, that he's from Seville, but was living in Madrid when the Cold started. A few months ago he was thrown out of his shelter by a large group of vagabonds and started his journey to the South with some people who dreamed of warmth like him. Pretty standard story, which Fernando stores in his memory to forget as soon as the guy leaves.

By midnight Fernando's head is already hurting. He doesn't think he's ever met someone so talkative and he's certainly not used to human interaction. The people he saves from the cold are usually put off by his obvious lack of interest in socializing. This guy doesn't seem to care for it. Thankfully he eventually talks himself to sleep and Fernando gets up and puts on his coat in order to go to the pantry to bring some food for tomorrow.

"What's that?" Sergio asks sleepily, raising his head from under the blankets.

"What? This?" Fernando says, looking at the flashlight in his hand, "A flashlight. I'm going down to bring some food."

"It-it's working?" Sergio whispers mesmerized.

"Yeah," Fernando says, turning on the light.

Sergio gasps, eyes widening. "Can I have a look?" he pleads.

Fernando shrugs, giving him the flashlight. Sergio takes it carefully, as if he's holding the greatest treasure in the world, switching it on and off, grinning like a child.

"Are you okay?" Fernando asks suspiciously.

"I was scared of darkness when I was a kid," Sergio says, "My mum gave me a flashlight, just like this one. I used to switch it on in the middle of the night to scare the monsters away." He laughs quietly. "I wanted one so much ever since the Cold started. It's so dark at nights, no moon, no stars." He turns on the flashlight again. "Never thought there were working ones left in the world."

"If you keep playing with it, there won't," Fernando says, taking it away, "I'm running out of batteries."

"Sorry," Sergio says sheepishly.

"I'll bring you honey, it will help you recover quickly," Fernando says to make up for his rudeness.

"Thank you," Sergio murmurs, lying back on the pillows, "You're a life-saver. Literally."

Fernando rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to smile.

Sergio feels better the next day and keeps following Fernando around, insisting that he wants to help. To get rid of him Fernando trusts him with the breakfast and goes out for his usual morning routine. There is nothing but blank whiteness this morning, interrupted by grey stumps of what used to be trees. He walks back to the house and is greeted by a wonderful smell.

"I added some spices to the rice, hope you don't mind," Sergio says.

Fernando shakes his head and takes out two plates. They start eating in silence and it's apparently something Sergio can't stand for long.

"Was there anything interesting outside?" he asks.

"No," Fernando says.

"No one going to the South?"

"No."

A moment of silence, then: "Was I really the only one who stayed alive?"

"Yes."

"Why me?" Sergio whispers more to himself than to Fernando.

Fernando groans. He's in no mood to deal with survivor's guilt now.

"You were lucky," he says.

Sergio bows his head over his rice and Fernando lets out a tiny breath of relief, but twenty seconds later the Sevillian starts talking again.

"Do you cut your hair yourself?"

Fernando stares at him. "No, I visit the hairdresser who lives a little farther in the forest."

"Really?"

"No."

"So you're all alone here?"

Fernando doesn't deign to answer.

"I'd have gone mad," Sergio murmurs.

To Fernando he already seems mad enough, but he doesn't tell Sergio that. He finishes eating, takes the plates, washes them, adds some wood in the fireplace, sits on the armchair next to it, wraps a blanket around himself and returns to "War and Peace."

Sergio sits on the couch and stares at the ceiling. Fernando enjoys five minutes of silence before the other man breaks it again.

"Is it an interesting book?"

"No."

"Then why are you reading it? Take another one. You have a lot of books there."

"I've already read them all."

"All of them? All those shelves?"

"Yes."

"How did you even do it?"

"Had nothing else to do."

"And what do you do when you run out of books to read?"

"Reread them."

"Sounds like fun."

"It is."

"I'd have gone mad," Sergio repeats.

Fernando goes back to reading. Another three minutes of silence is interrupted by Sergio's laugh. Fernando doesn't pay attention.

"It's weird," Sergio says.

He's clearly waiting for Fernando to ask what exactly is weird, but he clearly doesn't know Fernando.

"You have freckles even though there's been no sun for years," he says finally, tired of waiting.

Fernando feels his cheeks redden.

"They have faded," he mumbles.

To his surprise Sergio only smiles and doesn't say anything. Fernando keeps waiting for another stupid comment or question, but instead he soon hears Sergio's soft snoring. He adds another blanket over the pile already covering Sergio and picks up the book again.

Sergio sleeps through lunch. Fernando doesn't wake him up, because he's still weak and needs all the sleep he can get. The sooner he regains his strength, the sooner he'll leave and Fernando will finally be alone again.

In the afternoon Fernando goes outside to chop some wood before it's dark. He returns, frozen and shivering, to find Sergio awake, sitting on the couch and playing with the flashlight. He puts it away as soon as he sees Fernando, folding his hands in his lap and staring down like a kid caught misbehaving. Fernando snorts and goes to prepare dinner.

Sergio doesn't talk and the click of the flashlight being switched on and off tells Fernando why. He tolerates the sound and the light for a few minutes, then turns back and snatches the flashlight away.

"Stop playing with it, it's my last one," he snaps.

"Sorry," Sergio says.

He sounds offended, but Fernando doesn't pay attention and goes back to the dinner. He sets the table and glances at his guest.

"Are you going to eat?" he asks.

Sergio gets up and slowly approaches the table. He starts eating in silence, not even looking at the other man. Fernando should be happy, but he feels guilty.

"Look," he sighs, "It is really my last flashlight. It's not a toy. If you're upset about that..."

"It's not about that," Sergio interrupts grimly, "I'm trying to be polite, to be friendly, to make small talk, but you behave like I'm just a nuisance for you. If you didn't want me here, you could have left me to die. But I won't bother you anymore, don't worry. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"You can't leave tomorrow morning," Fernando says, "You're still weak. You need more time to recover."

"I'm fine," Sergio insists.

Fernando rubs the bridge of his nose. "You're not a nuisance. If you were, I wouldn't have brought you here. I'm just... not used to-to talking to people. Even before I wasn't great company and now it's even worse. It's not you, it's me. Don't leave, you're going to die and it'll be on my conscience."

Sergio snorts and takes a sip from his tea with honey. "That's the longest you've talked to me during these two days," he says.

"That's the longest I've said aloud for a very long time," Fernando says.

Sergio seems to be thinking, then looks up with a faint smile. "What are you doing here all day long, except reading, household chores and saving people?" he asks.

Fernando shrugs. "Nothing."

"I know a game," Sergio says tentatively.

Fernando's first instinct is to decline the offer, but then Sergio will leave while he's still weak and die in the snow.

"If it's 'Never Have I Ever', we can't. No booze," he says.

"Damn. Okay, I know another one. I think of a word and you try to guess it by asking me questions. I can answer only yes or no."

"It's a stupid game."

"Do you have a better one?"

"No."

"Then start asking questions."

"Aneurysm?" Fernando cries, "How the hell was I supposed to guess that?"

"By asking me questions," Sergio says calmly.

"There was no way I could guess it by asking questions."

"Yes, there was. You could ask 'are you trying to give it to me?' and I would say yes."

"You're so funny. I'll die laughing now."

"I know. Thank you," Sergio grins.

Fernando rolls his eyes and folds his arms on his chest, staring at the fireplace. The last flames of fire are licking up the remains of the wood.

"The fire is dying out," he notes.

"I can add more wood," Sergio suggests.

"No, it's late, we should sleep. It's getting colder."

"Okay," Sergio sighs, then smiles slyly, "In that case get out of my bed."

Fernando's eyes widen, then he realizes that they're sitting on the couch and jumps up, blushing.

"Oh," he says, "Sorry. I'll leave you to it now. 'Night."

He turns to go to the bedroom, but Sergio catches him by the arm. His touch burns like fire and Fernando snatches his hand away.

"It was fun," Sergio says, unperturbed, "Thanks."

Fernando shrugs with a half-smile.

"You're welcome," he says, rubbing his arm where Sergio touched him. It's still warm.

He slips under the covers in his bed, closes his eyes tightly, but doesn't manage to fall asleep for hours.

Fernando wakes up the next morning because of some noise coming from the kitchen. Evidently he overslept, because there is more light outside than usual, and Sergio seems to be already up. Fernando puts on his clothes, lights the fire, does his exercises, washes his hands and face with freezing water and goes out.

Sergio smiles at him and gestures to the table, where a breakfast of porridge is waiting for him.

"Thanks," he mumbles, "But I have to go and check the surroundings."

"Already taken care of," Sergio informs him, "No one out there."

"You shouldn't have gone out," Fernando says, "You must rest."

"I feel better," Sergio shrugs, "I think a few more days and I'll be able to leave."

"Yeah, probably," Fernando mutters.

He pushes the porridge away after a few spoonfuls and doesn't even glance at the instant coffee. He checks that there is enough wood for the fireplace, washes the dishes, cleans up a bit, brushing off Sergio's attempts to help.

When there is nothing else left to do, he puts on his coat again.

"Where are you going?" Sergio asks surprised.

"Out," he grumbles and leaves.

He goes to check the traps he still sets in the hope to catch some lost rabbit or bird. It's a futile hope, because all the animals are either dead or gone, but it's still a reason to get away from Sergio. He can barely understand why he's avoiding him. Everyone has come and gone and he never got attached to them. The only one he got attached to after his family was the hunter and even he, who seemed invincible, who seemed prepared for every disaster, even he is gone. Sergio's going to leave too, he won't be there in a few days, he's going to leave for the South and most likely freeze to his death. Getting attached to him would be a mistake. And how can you even get attached to someone you've known for two days?

The traps are empty as Fernando expected, but his mind is clearer now. He returns to the house in time not to freeze his toes and finds Sergio asleep on the couch. The fire isn't burning in the fireplace, the flashlight is on and "War and Peace" is lying open on the floor.

Fernando switches the flashlight off, lights the fire and starts heating water. The cold has set deep in his bones and he wants to have a bath to drive it away. When he comes back, Sergio's sitting on the couch, looking like he's just woken up.

"Your book is so boring, I fell asleep," he mutters seeing Fernando.

The other man shrugs, takes the book and starts reading. Sergio tries to communicate, but his attempts are rebuffed until his shoulders slump and he curls up on the couch with his back to Fernando.

He manages to stay like that for whole two minutes, then his hand creeps to the flashlight and he sinks under the covers, switching it on and off in darkness. It's getting on Fernando's nerves, but he doesn't want to give in and yell at him, because he knows that's what Sergio is trying to achieve.

After five minutes Sergio gives up and turns to Fernando.

"Have I done something wrong?" he asks.

Fernando holds back a sigh. "No."

"Okay."

He plays with the flashlight some more, then puts it away.

"Have you ever thought about going to the South?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"No point."

"There is. It's warm there."

"I don't think so."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Explain," Sergio demands.

Fernando sighs. "I don't think the South is warm. I think there is as cold there as it is here. There is no point in going to the South. Even if it's a little warmer, you'll most likely die on the way."

"That's not true," Sergio says horrified, "You want to say that all those people going to the South didn't reach it? That my friends died in vain?"

"Yes."

Sergio seems at a loss for words and Fernando feels sorry for him, but there is no escape from the truth.

"I will reach it and I won't die," Sergio says, "You'll see."

Fernando shrugs and picks up the book.

"What are you going to do when your food is over?" Sergio says suddenly, "It won't last forever. What will you do then?"

"Die," Fernando says.

"You won't even try to go to the South?"

"What's the point? Either way I end up dead."

"You're just a coward," Sergio spits out.

"I'm just being realistic," Fernando says in a strained voice.

Sergio huffs and tries to reach for the flashlight, but Fernando is quicker and snatches it away. Sergio turns his back to him. They don't talk for the rest of the evening.

When Fernando gets up to go to sleep, Sergio grabs his hand again. It burns, but this time Fernando doesn't try to yank it away.

"I'm sorry I called you a coward," Sergio says, "You're not. You saved me and you've probably saved lots of people. It isn't exactly the definition of coward. I'm sorry."

Fernando only nods once. He goes to put out the fire in the fireplace, but Sergio stops him again.

"Can you leave the fire?" he asks, "It's too cold."

It's really colder than usual, but leaving the fire for the night may be dangerous. The hunter never allowed it. Fernando tells Sergio so, but the Sevillian isn't convinced.

"I'll be careful," he promises.

"Fine," Fernando says, "But if there is a fire, I'm not coming for you. I'm going to jump out of the bedroom window."

"You'll die from cold if you do," Sergio says.

"Yeah, but I won't be burned alive."

"Fire is better," Sergio murmurs, "It's warm."

"You're mad," Fernando says, "'Night."

"'Night," Sergio answers.

Fernando notices that he takes the flashlight again, but doesn't say a word. He goes to the bedroom and as it's really terribly cold, leaves his fireplace burning too.

There is some noise coming from the living-room. Fernando's hand creeps to the hunting knife he's hiding under the bed. The door creaks and the fire casts hideous shadows on the opposite wall. Fernando grips the knife handle tighter.

A bundle of furs comes forward slowly. "I'm cold," it says.

Fernando lets out a relieved breath. "I left the fire burning in the fireplace."

"I'm still cold," Sergio says.

"Well, it's the end of the world."

"Do you know what people do to keep warm?" Sergio asks.

Fernando sighs. "What?"

"They share body warmth." He waits, but Fernando doesn't speak. "I'm cold," he repeats.

Fernando isn't ready to share his body warmth, he's sleeping in socks, in woolen pajama bottoms and one sleeveless and another long-sleeved shirt, not to mention that he's forgotten what it's like to share a bed with another person. But Sergio is still waiting.

"Fine," Fernando says, pulling his socks off.

Sergio pads to the bed and slips under the covers. His teeth are clattering and Fernando feels guilty for making him wait for so long. He takes Sergio's hands in his and rubs them, tries to warm them with his breath. When Sergio stops shivering, he pulls Fernando closer, so that they are pressed chest to chest. Fernando barely holds back a surprised gasp and stiffens, but gradually relaxes and lets Sergio's warmth slowly lull him to sleep until he feels Sergio's lips sucking on his collarbone.

"What are you doing?" he says, suddenly wide awake.

"Do you know what else people do to keep warm?" Sergio asks.

Fernando knows.

In the morning he wakes up sprawled over Sergio. Still half-awake, he pulls him closer, overcome by a sudden possessive streak. He won't let Sergio go. Won't let him go to the South. The South is death. Leaving is death. Cold is death.

When that moment passes, awkwardness comes. He's forgotten what to say in the morning to the man you spent the night with. No, he's never known that. He moves away, deciding to get up and get dressed before the other man wakes up, but Sergio opens his eyes and smiles at him and everything falls into place.

"Hey," he says quietly, "Don't leave yet."

"I'm going to heat up some water for a bath," Fernando mumbles.

"Yeah," Sergio says, tracing a finger over Fernando's cheekbone, "We can have a bath together."

"The bathtub is too small for two," Fernando objects.

Sergio smiles. "Fine. But can I at least come with you to look for travelers?"

Fernando wants to refuse, but Sergio is looking at him with hopeful and shining eyes, and he nods defeated.

As much as Fernando tries to fall back into his usual attitude, he feels that he's unable to do so. Something has changed. That's ridiculous, because what happened that night was just a mutually beneficial deal. It's a common occurrence after the Cold and doesn't have other purpose except not freezing.

And still Fernando can't help but smile at Sergio's stupid jokes, can't evoke his previous rudeness to shut him up and dismiss his endless questions and attempts at communication. He's trying to fight it, he snaps at him a few times for playing with the flashlight, doesn't accept his help with chopping wood, tries to pretend he's too engrossed in "War and Peace" to talk to him. But Sergio doesn't seem to be upset, as though he can see that it's just a façade, that Fernando's just trying to rebuild the wall that was between them.

Fernando's relieved when Sergio falls asleep on the couch by midnight. He quietly puts the book away, adds more wood to the fireplace, so Sergio won't get cold, and tiptoes to his bedroom. He's putting out the fire when he hears footsteps. Grimacing, he turns back to be greeted by the sight of a sleepy Sergio.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

Sergio shrugs. "I'm cold."

He gets in Fernando's bed and looks at him expectantly. Fernando considers leaving him there and going to sleep on the couch, but decides that there is no point. He lies down next to Sergio, shivering, and the other man pulls him closer and starts rubbing his back and arms to warm him up. His hands are fire.

When he feels that Fernando's warm enough, he presses his cheek to his shoulder and mumbles goodnight. Fernando isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

In the morning Fernando wakes up sooner than Sergio and tries to get out of the bed, but the cold air that hits him turns his lungs to ice and makes him hide under the covers again. It's too cold, he doesn't remember the mornings being so freezing after the first days of the Cold. Or is it because he's got a personal heater in his bed now?

He presses to Sergio still trembling, tries to absorb his warmth, his fire.

"What's wrong?" Sergio asks, opening his eyes.

Fernando shakes his head, curling up on himself.

"Cold?" Sergio asks.

Fernando nods.

"Come here," Sergio smiles, wrapping his arms around the other man.

Immediately his warmth engulfs Fernando, melts his insides that have seemingly turned to ice, makes it easier to breathe. Sergio smiles, a little surprised, a little shy, and Fernando suddenly realizes that he's caressing Sergio's cheek, that their noses are almost bumping, that there is very little distance between their lips.

He's the first to close that distance.

They fall into an easy routine after that. They sleep together and wake up together and sometimes warm each other up. They go out in the mornings together to look for lost travelers, cook together, though Sergio seems to be infinitely better at it than Fernando, so he sometimes concedes the kitchen to him. They spend the evenings near the fireplace, talking, playing, reading, kissing, they go to the forest together to chop wood and sometimes they argue when Fernando thinks that Sergio's being particularly annoying and when Sergio thinks Fernando is being particularly boring.

A part of Fernando, his rational part, doesn't want their relationship to turn into this. That part doesn't even want to have a relationship with Sergio. But Fernando is unable to fight it as much as he knows he should. He's watching with increasing panic how Sergio becomes a part of his routine, inch by inch makes a place for himself next to Fernando, fuses himself with Fernando's life until he's such a huge part of it that to tear him off would mean to leave Fernando wounded and bleeding.

And that's what his rational part is scared of. Not simply scared, terrified that one day Sergio's going to leave, to pursue his dream of warmth, of sun, of the South, and he's going to be left behind, left in the middle of nothing. Alone. Wounded. Bleeding.

Sergio is all healthy and strong now. Logically he should have left many weeks ago, but he's still here. He hasn't brought up the subject of leaving yet and Fernando wants to accept that as a silent sign that he's not going to leave just like he intends his silence on the same subject to mean that Sergio's welcome to stay as long as he wants.

And so Sergio stays. He seems happy and he makes Fernando happy. His life is more normal than it's been since the beginning of the Cold. He starts believing, hoping that Sergio has abandoned his quest for the South for good, that he understood that there is no point in it, that he decided to settle down here with Fernando.

So he suspects nothing when one day, when he's sitting on the couch and reading a book, Sergio raises his head from his lap and asks, "Do you miss the sun?"

"Sure," Fernando says, "Who doesn't?"

"I wonder if it's still visible in some part of the world," Sergio says dreamily and all the alarm bells go ringing in Fernando's head.

"I don't think so," he says, a little harshly.

Sergio sighs and sits up.

"I want to say something, but please don't get all snappy and closed off again," he pleads.

Fernando shuts his eyes for a few seconds, then turns to him.

"You want to leave," he states. The guilty silence feels like a bucket of ice water on his head. "I knew it," he says quietly.

"I want to leave with you," Sergio hurries to assure him, "Think about it, Nando, how long are we going to live like this? Without the sun, without warmth. Why live like this if we can go to the South, see the sun again?"

"There is no sun, Sergio," Fernando says, "The whole planet is frozen. They said so before it started. They said the whole planet will be left without sun. The South is not warm, it's just something people made up to have a purpose in life."

"And what, is it better to live without a purpose?"

"I have a purpose. I try to help people as much as I can and I-I want to be happy with you. I don't want to die pointlessly, looking for something that doesn't exist."

"So you won't leave with me?"

Fernando's heart clenches painfully. "No."

Sergio looks heartbroken for a few minutes, then he lies back on Fernando's lap.

"Okay," he says quietly, "We won't go anywhere."

Fernando thinks he's misheard him. "You won't leave?" he asks.

"No," Sergio smiles, "I'll stay with you. If you still want to keep me."

"Shut up," Fernando says and leans down to kiss him.

Sergio doesn't bring up the idea of leaving for some time until Fernando pushes the nagging worry into the back of his mind, almost believing that Sergio really wants to stay. Everything is the same as before and he doesn't want to notice that Sergio seems a little withdrawn, as though something is eating him up from the inside. He refuses to think about it.

Then one morning over the breakfast Sergio casually asks, "How much food do we have left?"

"Enough," Fernando says warily.

"Enough for what? Days? Months? Years?"

"Why are you asking?" Fernando says.

Sergio sighs. "Your food will finish twice faster now that I'm here."

"Sergio, what the hell? If I didn't want you here, I'd have told you so."

"I know you want me here, Fer. It's just that... It doesn't feel fair to you."

"Sergio, this house isn't mine. I came across it by sheer luck, just like you. I have zero contribution in it, I didn't build it, didn't gather the supplies. The fact that I lived here longer than you doesn't give me more rights. It's as much yours as it is mine."

"Okay," Sergio smiles faintly, "But it still doesn't solve our problem. The supplies are going to be over one day and with me here that day will come much sooner."

"Well, we'll starve together then, right?" Fernando grins, but it falters when Sergio doesn't answer. "Right?" he repeats.

Sergio looks into his eyes. "I should leave, Nando," he says.

"If you want to leave just because you think you're consuming my supplies, don't," Fernando says, trying to hide the desperate note in his voice, "I swear there is enough for the two of us and when the time comes, we'll think of something. Don't leave because of that."

Sergio bows his head and Fernando realizes that he's already made up his mind. Probably months ago. He tries to keep his face neutral when Sergio gets up and comes to sit next to him.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Fernando doesn't react.

"I'm really sorry," Sergio murmurs, hiding his face in Fernando's neck, "I have to go. What if it's sunny there? What if it's warm?"

"You're going to die," Fernando whispers.

"You can't know," Sergio says, "I have to try. I can't give up."

"No one has ever come back from the South, Sergio," Fernando tries to reason with him.

"Maybe because it's warm there."

"Or maybe because they're dead."

Sergio sighs. "I'm sorry, Fer," he says, taking his face between his hands, "I have to go." He starts putting small kisses on his lips. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"When are you going to leave?" Fernando asks, moving away from Sergio's palms.

Sergio gulps audibly. "I-I think... tomorrow," he says, wincing when Fernando's head snaps to him, his eyes wide. "It's getting colder day by day, Fer," he says apologetically, "Delaying it will just make the journey more difficult."

Fernando nods, pretending he understands him, trying to behave rationally, while internally he's screaming and scratching the walls.

"I'm sorry," Sergio whispers again.

Fernando doesn't say anything, he just gets up, takes the Book Four of "War and Peace" and retreats to his bedroom. He tries to read, but the voice in his head, repeating 'Sergio's leaving, Sergio's leaving, Sergio's leaving', doesn't let him understand even a word.

Sergio doesn't bother him. Fernando can hear him move around the house, wash the dishes, add wood to the fireplace, switch the flashlight on and off. They don't talk for almost the whole day and for the first time in years, maybe in his whole life, silence is more than Fernando can take.

He goes out of the bedroom quietly. Sergio quickly puts away the flashlight and sits up on the couch. Fernando comes to stand in front of him.

"Please don't leave," he says, looking into Sergio's eyes.

"Fer," Sergio says sadly.

"I'll give the flashlight to you if you stay," Fernando says.

Sergio smiles weakly and bows his head. Fernando turns to go, feeling ridiculously close to tears, but Sergio takes his hand and pulls him down on the couch.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, hugging Fernando awkwardly and curling up on the couch.

Fernando remains sitting, his hands folded in his lap, feeling Sergio's erratic breath on his neck, as though he too is fighting back tears.

"Everyone I knew is dead," Fernando says quietly, "I had parents and they're dead. I had siblings and they're dead. I had friends and they're dead. I had a girlfriend and she's dead. And now I have you and you're going to die too."

"I won't die," Sergio promises, "I'll reach the South and come back for you."

"No, don't," Fernando says, even though his heart flutters in his chest, "Don't risk your life once more coming back. I'm not going to leave this house. My place is here."

"Fer, it's not your duty to save all the travelers that wander around here."

"Maybe it's not, but that's what I've been doing for years and I can't just stop. Maybe some of those people are still alive now. I won't leave this place."

"I'll still come back even if just for telling you that the South is real," Sergio says determined.

"No," Fernando says, "Come back only when you realize that the South is a myth. But if it's real, stay there and enjoy it."

"Without you?" Sergio whispers.

"Yes," Fernando says, "Promise me that you won't come back. Please, Sergio, promise me that."

Sergio doesn't answer, but Fernando keeps staring at him pleadingly until he gives in and mumbles, "I promise."

"Thank you," Fernando says, "Now let's go to bed, shall we?"

"Isn't it a bit early?"

"It is," Fernando shrugs, "But I'm cold."

They wake up very early in the morning. It's colder than ever, but they get up, share one last breakfast together, then start preparing Sergio's baggage.

Despite his protests, Fernando puts at least a month's worth of food with him and warm clothes and furs. It'll slow him down, but at least it'll give him a chance to survive.

"I'll give you my biggest sled to carry this," he says.

Sergio manages just a grateful nod.

"Now look here," Fernando says when Sergio is ready to leave, "Follow the line of tree stumps. By nightfall you should reach a forestry building. You can spend the night there. If you continue walking along the edge of the forest, you'll reach an abandoned village in a few days if you're lucky. There are supposed to be miles of wilderness after the village. Just keep going south. Is it clear?"

"The forestry, the village and wilderness," Sergio says, "Yes."

"Good," Fernando says, "I've put a map of the region in your bag in any case. Oh, also take this." He puts the flashlight in Sergio's palm.

"You-you're giving it to me?" Sergio exclaims, incredulous.

"You'll need it more than me," Fernando says, "I put some batteries in the small pocket of your bag."

He falls silent and looks at Sergio. His baggage is already tied to the sled and waiting for him outside. They've checked everything twice. He's ready to go. But he keeps staring at Fernando for minutes, biting his lip and taking deep breaths. Fernando isn't able to take it anymore.

"What? Changed your mind?" he breaks the silence with an awkward joke.

Sergio squeezes his eyes shut and pulls Fernando into a hug.

"I love you," he whispers tearfully.

It's the first time he says that, but it doesn't come as a surprise for Fernando. It just breaks his heart a little more.

"I know," he says, "I love you too. Now leave."

Sergio reluctantly detangles himself from Fernando and goes out. He shoves the flashlight into his pocket and walks forward, dragging the sled after him. Fernando watches him leave, uncaring of the gusts of snow the strong wind carries inside the house. Sergio keeps going for some time, then stops and glances back, but he's too far for Fernando to make out his expression.

He keeps watching until Sergio becomes a tiny dot and dissolves into the horizon.

Fernando is sitting next to the fireplace, trembling and rubbing his pounding temples. He's been sitting there for a few hours, ever since Sergio left. He's trying to force himself to get up and go out to look for travelers as always, but he feels so weak, his head aches horribly and he's scared that doing something that he used to do with Sergio will just make him feel his absence more acutely.

But he has to. Has to fill the hollowness in his chest with something, anything, has to keep his mind occupied to stop thinking about how empty the house feels. He drags himself up and pulls on his coat.

The cold wind whips his face as soon as he goes out of the house. It's gotten even stronger since the morning. Fernando covers his eyes with his hand and starts walking, trying to see something amid the whirling snowflakes.

When he looks north, he gasps and stumbles, almost falling down. The dark clouds that usually cover the sky are now pale grey and they're quickly approaching. A snowstorm. There's going to be a snowstorm. Sergio couldn't have chosen a worse day to leave.

Without thinking, he rushes back to the house, throws what little food there is on the table into a bag, takes another pair of gloves, one more hat and some furs and runs out of the house. He has to find Sergio before it's too late, before he's caught in the snowstorm. He drags a sled with him, because maybe he'll find Sergio unconscious, without his sled, maybe he'll have to drag him back home.

The wind is getting stronger, the temperature is dropping, but Fernando is moving so quickly that he feels sweat trickling down his back. His rational part is screaming at him to slow down, because he's wasting too much energy and is going to bear the brunt of it later. But he doesn't need his rational part now. Now he needs to go forward. Only forward. He needs to find Sergio before it's too late.

He isn't able to keep his pace for more than an hour. The wind is roaring, the snow is doing a mad dance around him and step by step Fernando slows down. He feels the cold now. He's trembling and his fingers have lost feeling, but he's walking forward. The silhouettes of the trees are barely visible through the storm and he keeps checking for them every minute or so. The cold brings horrifying thoughts to his head and he can't do anything to push them away.

What if Sergio's lost the way? What if he's somewhere deep in the forest, lying unconscious and freezing? If he has changed his way, Fernando will never find him. And if he doesn't find him, he isn't sure he'll find the strength to go back. He's barely got any strength left. The wind is unforgiving and it's colder than ever. His mind flies back to his fireplace. He could have been there now, drinking tea and reading a book, relishing the warmth, while the wind howled outside. He doesn't remember if he put out the fire before leaving. Maybe the house is in flames now? What is he going to do if it is burnt down?

He suddenly realizes that he's been standing in his place for at least two minutes, just staring into the distance. He slaps himself in the face. Even his mind is numbing from the cold and it's the last thing he needs right now.

He forces himself to move. It's getting darker and the snowstorm has no intention of stopping. He has to find Sergio and take him to the forestry. If he doesn't find him by the nightfall, both of them are as good as dead.

He stops to take a breath after half an hour. His muscles are twitching, his legs are weak and he's cold. He takes a fur from the sled to wrap it around himself, but the wind steals it away. Fernando runs after it and the next thing he knows is that he's rolling down in the snow. He closes his face with his arm. It takes him a minute to realize that he's stopped moving. His arm hurts, he rolls on his back, spitting out some ice. The snow is soft and he doesn't want to get up. The thoughts of Sergio are far away and he lets his eyes fall shut.

He opens them a second later. His rational part, which he's been ignoring for the whole day, doesn't approve of lying in the snow. Fernando still feels rather detached, but he forces himself up, keeping his hurting arm close to his chest. He lost the sled. He's got half a mind to go looking for it, but remembers in time that he was looking for something else, for someone else, and he doesn't have time for the sled.

He drags his feet forward in the knee-high snow. The wind seems determined to bring him down and it almost succeeds in it, but Fernando keeps fighting, even though he knows that the battles he might win, but the Cold always wins the war.

The darkness takes Fernando by surprise in his hazed state. He suddenly realizes that he can't see anything, there is no source of light. He prays deliriously for at least a star, but the clouds unmercifully ignore his plea to move. He shouldn't have given the flashlight to Sergio. He doesn't know where he's going, but he still walks, slowly, every step draining another bit from his remaining energy.

Another shaky step and the wind finally achieves its goal. Fernando falls face down, tries to get up, but falls down again. He tries to drag himself up a few more times, but he can't feel his legs, he can't feel anything. He crawls forward for a few minutes until he doesn't have the strength even for that.

He curls up on the snow. He's not even cold, but it's hardly a reason for happiness, because Fernando knows that this is the end. He's going to die. His luck has abandoned him. Just when he found a reason to live, just when he needs his luck the most, just when he wants to survive, he's going to die. It's so ironic that Fernando can't help laughing. He laughs and laughs and laughs until his tears freeze on his cheeks.

He's already started hallucinating. He sees a light. It doesn't surprise him, almost everyone hallucinates of light and fire while freezing to death. The thought sends him into another fit of laughter, which turns into a violent cough. The illusion is approaching and it feels comforting, even though Fernando knows it's not real. He wants to keep looking at the light, but his eyelids are so heavy. He knows it's a lost battle to fight against the lullaby of death. So he surrenders.

Something warm against his cheeks. Hands like fire. His eyes flutter open. It's still dark but for this phantom light close to him. He's most likely still alive and he groans in displeasure.

Something shifts next to him and an invasion of light makes him squeeze his eyes shut.

"Fer?" he hears a voice. Another hallucination. "Fer, thank god, I thought..."

He sees Sergio's worried face over his. He tries to smile. Dying with these illusions isn't so bad.

"What the hell are you doing here, stupid?" hallucination Sergio says, "You could have died."

I'm going to, he wants to say, but his lips are moving without a sound.

"If I hadn't heard you..." illusion Sergio continues shakily.

Fernando wonders how long this hallucination is going to last. He looks around to see what his frozen brain has conjured up. He was expecting the forestry, but he just sees more snow.

"I found a snow drift and decided to dig up some snow and wait for the storm to end," dream Sergio says, "I've never seen such a blizzard. It's very weird. I wonder if it's really the end of the world. I wasn't going to make it to the forestry in this weather."

Your hallucination is smarter than you, Fernando tells himself.

"Nando?" fake Sergio says, leaning over him and pointing the light right in his face, "Are you there? Do you hear me?"

Fernando turns his head away with difficulty.

"Stop... playing... with the... flashlight," he croaks.

He hears the laughter of the illusion. It warms him up and he starts drifting away, his eyes closing again. He's going to die happy. He never thought it possible.

"Hey," the touch of fire is back on his cheeks, "Don't sleep."

He manages a smile this time, wordlessly praying for the warm hand to keep touching his cheek. His wish is granted, he supposes even fate respects the death wish rule. He finally drifts away, warm and happy, a smile on his face, the storm and the cold left far behind.

A light falling on his closed eyelids wakes up Fernando. He cracks open an eye and closes it quickly, almost blinded.

"Stop playing with the flashlight," he mutters.

"It's not me," Sergio says quietly.

Fernando opens his eyes slowly. The memories of the previous day come crushing down on him. He doesn't know if he's alive or dead, if this is an illusion or the reality. His mind can focus only on one thing. Sergio is standing with his back to him, glowing, golden. Like an angel. He looks like an angel. Fernando doesn't care if this is real or not.

"It's not the flashlight," Sergio says, turning to face Fernando.

Tears streaming down his eyes. A halo around his head. Fernando knows what he's going to say even before he says it.

"It's the sun."