The G-Wagon growled steadily up the steep, snow-covered switchbacks, chains on the tires clacking rhythmically against the packed ice. Derek gripped the wheel with both hands, leaning forward slightly to peer through the swirling flakes that battered the windshield.

Eve sat in the front passenger seat, black-gloved fingers idly tracing patterns on the fogged-up side window. In the back, {{user}} occupied the middle seat, with Fiona curled quietly beside them on the left and Casey bouncing with barely-contained energy on the right.

Casey pressed her face to her window, breath fogging the glass in little excited puffs. "Oh my gawd, you guys... this snow is, like, intense. It's basically a total whiteout! We're gonna be stuck up there until spring thaw or whatever." She spun in her seat to beam at everyone, pink-streaked twintails bouncing under her hood with the ears on it. "But honestly? This is gonna be the best weekend ever! Just us, my absolute fave peeps in the whole world, zero cell service, and Derek said there's like a million bottles of booze in the cabin. We're gonna par-tay so hard!"

Derek let out a warm, booming laugh that filled the cabin, glancing quickly in the rearview mirror. His eyes landed on Fiona, who was staring down at her lap, arms wrapped tightly around herself, silver-blue eyes distant and glassy. "Hell yeah, Cas! Nothing but good vibes this weekend. No drama, no bullshit... and definitely no—" He caught himself mid-sentence as Eve reached over and firmly nudged his arm, shooting him a sharp sideways glare. Derek winced. "Ow—careful, babe! I'm trying not to drive us into a snowbank here. Visibility's crap... But yeah. Who's this Tyler guy again? Never heard of him."

Eve rolled her eyes but the corner of her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a smirk. She turned halfway in her seat to look back at the others, voice low and raspy with that familiar teasing edge. "Ignore my idiot boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. He's got the subtlety of a sledgehammer."

Fiona didn't respond to the banter. She stayed quiet, shoulders drawn in, red beanie pulled low over her straw-blonde hair. After a long moment, she slowly leaned sideways until her head rested gently against {{user}}'s shoulder. Her voice came out small and weary, barely louder than the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of the wipers.

"I'm just... so tired," she murmured, almost to herself. Her arms tightened around her torso, as if she were holding herself together against some invisible cold deeper than the snow outside. She closed her eyes, exhaling a shaky little breath that fogged faintly in the warm air.

The cabin's open living room glowed with soft amber light from the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the log walls. Some cheesy early-2000s pop playlist thumped from the speaker on the mantel, and Casey—still inexplicably wearing her shimmering silver sequin cocktail dress despite the remote mountain setting—was swaying and spinning in front of the fire, arms above her head like she was in a club instead of a snowy wilderness.

"Woooo! This song is, like, my entire middle school experience," she squealed, twirling so the dress caught the firelight in little flashes. She grabbed her vodka-cranberry from the mantel, took a big sip through the straw, then set it back down with a satisfied "Ahh!" before resuming her carefree dance.

On the plush, slightly worn leather couch facing the fire, Fiona sat curled into the corner, knees tucked beneath her, a half-empty glass of red wine cradled in both hands. Her cheeks were softly flushed from the alcohol and warmth, and a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips as she watched Casey. She glanced around at everyone, voice quiet but warm.

"You guys... seriously, thank you. For dragging me out here. For all of this." She gestured vaguely with her glass, encompassing the cabin, the fire, the company. "I really needed it. More than I realized."

Derek, sprawled in the oversized armchair nearby with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, grinned wide and boisterous as always. "Hey, don't even sweat it, Fi. Anything for our favorite girl." He took a swig, then flicked his gaze across the room to Eve, a quick, meaningful look passing between them.

Eve, lounging gracefully on the arm of the couch beside Fiona, caught the glance immediately. She set her own drink down on the coffee table and slid down to sit properly next to Fiona, reaching out to gently take her hand. Her voice was low, raspy, laced with that familiar teasing warmth.

"Come on, gorgeous," Eve murmured, giving Fiona's fingers a soft squeeze as she stood and tugged lightly. "Derek and I have a little surprise for you upstairs. Something to help you... really relax."

Fiona blinked, a faint blush deepening on her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. She let Eve draw her up from the couch, wine glass left behind on the side table.

Derek pushed himself out of the chair with an easy stretch, clapping his hands once. "Alright, you two party animals," he said, nodding toward Martin and Casey with a playful grin. "You guys hold down the fort down here, yeah? Keep the fire going, keep the music bumping. We'll... catch up later."

As Eve guided Fiona toward the wooden staircase at the far end of the room—arm slipped affectionately around her waist—Fiona glanced back over her shoulder. Her silver-blue eyes found Martin's across the flickering firelight, searching, uncertain, almost pleading. A silent question lingered there: Are you okay with this? Will you say something?

Then Eve murmured something soft and reassuring into her ear, Derek following a moment later with one last wink toward the living room.

Soft winter light spilled through the cabin’s big picture windows, turning the fresh layer of overnight snow outside into a glittering blanket. Inside, the living room still carried the faint, lingering scents of last night’s fire, spilled wine, and warm bodies. The massive stone fireplace had gone cold hours ago, leaving only a bed of gray ash and a few glowing embers.

Casey was sprawled dramatically on the thick rug in front of the hearth, one arm flung over her face, still in her ridiculous silver sequin dress—now rumpled and riding up slightly. Soft little snores escaped her gloss-smudged lips, one pink-bangled wrist dangling off the edge of the rug.

Martin was curled under a heavy knit blanket on the wide leather couch, dozing lightly or just waking.

The old wooden stairs creaked gently as Fiona descended, moving slowly, almost floating. She was wrapped in Derek’s oversized black hoodie (clearly borrowed), sleeves pushed up, the hem brushing mid-thigh over her black leggings. Her straw-blonde hair was loose and a little tousled, falling over one shoulder. Her cheeks held a soft, rosy flush that had nothing to do with the cold, and her silver-blue eyes looked brighter, clearer—like a weight had finally shifted off her chest. She radiated a quiet, fragile glow.

She padded barefoot across the cool hardwood and eased herself into the armchair facing Martin, tucking her legs beneath her. A small, shy but genuine smile curved her lips as she watched them stir.

“Morning, sleepy,” she murmured, voice still husky from sleep and everything else. She reached out to lightly brush a stray strand of hair from Martin’s forehead, the touch lingering a second longer than usual. “How’d you sleep down here?” Her gaze softened, searching their face. “I… something happened upstairs last night. With Eve and Derek.” She bit her lower lip, the smile deepening just a fraction—equal parts embarrassed and relieved. “It was… intense. And gentle. And exactly what I think I needed. I feel… lighter today. Like I might actually be okay.”

Before Martin could fully respond, the stairs creaked again. Eve appeared at the bottom, looking deliciously disheveled—long black waves a wild, sexy mess around her pale shoulders, wearing nothing but one of Derek’s flannel shirts, unbuttoned far enough to tease. Her green eyes were half-lidded with lingering satisfaction, black lipstick smudged just enough to look intentional.

She stretched languidly, arms overhead, then dropped them with a lazy grin as she surveyed the room. “Morning, beautiful people,” she rasped, voice even lower and rougher than usual. “Derek’s still dead to the world upstairs—snoring like a bear. You two surviving down here?” She padded toward the open kitchen area, bare feet silent on the wood. “I’m making coffee. Strong coffee. Who wants a cup? I figure we’ve all earned it.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Fiona with a private, warm little smirk that said everything without words, then flicked her gaze to Martin, curious and teasing.