It's been a long day. Winter isn't nearly as intense here as it might be back home for delivery businesses because there isn't the gift rush, but it's still busy for Minimoff Deliveries. People just don't want to go out in this weather to get things, or want to cancel on friends, or all sorts of other things, so there is always work for them to do. Which means it's not shocking that it's late when Tommy's locking up for the night.

The fact that it's been a long ass day, that it's cold and slippery, and that he's tired all means that he's going slow on the way home. But he knows this city better than most people, and so he isn't bothered to walk under areas with no lights. He can make it home with his eyes closed.

What he isn't expecting is hot breath on his neck. Tommy yelps and jumps away from it.

"Don't sn-"

Except he looks around and no one else is sneaking up on him.

"Shit."

Paranoia? Maybe. But then there's warm breath again and whispered words and Tommy freezes. Hilarious, right? Most people run when they're panicked. And Tommy's just freezing, terrified.

"No. Please, don't, I..."

"Fucking slush-snow," Tommy grumbles, pulling his coat tighter around himself. This was the worst part of the job, of course. Not the travel, not coming all the way out to the middle of nowhere to deliver shit, no, it was the being out in the cold and slush and snow. Speed and ice didn't tend to go together as well as people might think.

It was harder to keep in control. It was harder to get safe footing. And definitely a lot harder to get stopped once he slipped if there wasn't high friction with the ground to deal with. So yeah, he was not a fan.

"Just got to get home," he says to himself as he keeps trudging on. "Get home, get under your blankets, keep the shop closed tomorrow."

Not like they had back packages to deal with or anything. He could do it. It would be so easy. Which of course didn't mean he would do it. In fact, he would never do it. Work distracted him, and he still hadn't managed to feel comfortable enough to accept that he was maybe getting things just a bit better for once.

He wrapped his arms closer to his chest, looked up from his feet and... What? Where was he? He looks back over his shoulder but there aren't even any footsteps there behind him. What?

"No, I'm just getting sleepy," he tells himself. And then he puts on a burst of speed. Runs and runs and runs and when he skids to a stop... Well, he looks behind himself and there's nothing there. No footprints at all. Nothing.

"Fuck fuck fuck."