A/N: I cried while writing this.

The second half of January passes by without much excitement, thankfully, and not much has changed.

Okay, practically nothing has changed; everything is still the same, in terms of cabin life. We continue to go about our usual routines, which consist of mutually cleaning, cooking, reading, chess, bonfires, and occasionally fishing. Separately, he usually gets firewood while I shoot the bow since he still won't let me touch a gun, and I brush and play with Moose when he goes hunting for the second time.

I'm thankful he doesn't try to convince me to go, whatever the reason he may have for it.

However, I'd like to think one sure thing has changed. It's small, so maybe I imagine it, but Vaughn seems...nicer?

For example, if I get hurt in any way, like accidentally bumping into something like the clumsy person I am, he'll seem...almost concerned, and consistently ask me if I'm okay or how I'm doing throughout the day.

It's strange, and I really don't know what to make of it.

I don't complain about it or mention it, though, mainly because I like it.

Today is the second of February, a Sunday, and I find it hard to believe how fast the first month of 2020 went by, especially since I didn't really do all that much.

It's pleasant, though, and I'm thoroughly enjoying my time with Vaughn and Moose as usual. Spending so much time together...it's so new to me.

I've always--always preferred to be alone, especially during activities I enjoyed, like reading. But now, I find a gentle peace in reading while Vaughn does the same a few feet away.

It makes me feel included in some way. I don't feel the desperate need to always be alone like I did before, because the mutual silence and trust between us allows for the company.

But at the same time, the comfort found in this cozy cabin regular routine feels like the calm before the storm.

And I know it is because I know that I can't run and hide forever; I guess I merely want it to last as long as possible.

I don't even know how I'll be able to forget about all of this when it's over; I think it will be too hard to. I'll miss the warmth from the woodstove, the safety of the cabin walls, the good morning greetings from Moose, and the little quips and looks exchanged with Vaughn.

I plan on leaving for the village again on Wednesday, and I surprise myself when I opt to inform Vaughn about it a few days earlier than usual.

Sitting up from the cot where I've been reading one of the poetry books he owns, I lean back on my forearms as I look at the man standing by the woodstove with his back to me.

It's late afternoon, around 4:30 p.m., meaning the sun's going to set in about thirty minutes. We've kind of both done nothing today, and I don't know about him, but I feel like a blob.

"Hey, so I'm planning on leaving for the village on Wednesday if that's okay."

Wait...of course, it's okay...what am I saying? I don't need his permission.

But maybe I want his validation just a little bit, who knows?

I ignore my thoughts, watching as he turns slightly to look at me, merely tilting his head a little to the side and, with small confusion in his voice, says, "But that's three days from now?"

"Yup, it is."

I know why he's confused. Usually, I tell him when I'm planning on leaving the day before I go, which isn't really too considerate of me, I suppose.

But I just changed that by informing him early this time, so it's not a big deal.

He continues to look a bit perplexed but nonetheless nods, turning back to the fire. So I return back to the book, turning the page.

'I said, 'here's to new beginnings and long overdue endings,' but the truth is I keep coming back the thought of you.

I poured out my heart to you, someone who I thought I knew, but you were never who you claimed to be.

A stranger from the beginning,

And after what you did, you should be dead to me.

So why aren't you?

The memories haunt me,

But I bet they don't phase you.'

I sigh, closing the book.

Boring.

That really only sounds like a gullible, melodramatic teenager finding out that their online girl or boyfriend is a catfish.

Or in other words...it sounds like something I'd write.

I'd much prefer to read some fantasy enemies to lovers romance or something.

Something about that trope makes it my favorite.

Maybe it's the way the two sometimes have to fight together to survive, and the whole enemies-to-allies thing really touches my heart for some reason.

The way they have to learn to put faith in each other, and that trust leads to interacting with each other more since lack of trust leads to disengagement.

The witty banter, the slow burn, the little glimpses and hints that show that they're beginning to care for each other.

It's too bad there weren't any books like that at Luna's store; otherwise, I definitely would have bought some.

But no, she probably thinks fantasy books are lame. People like that are annoying.

Suddenly, my train of thought is interrupted by the sound of Moose barking loudly outside, sounding panicked.

My first thought is, 'what if it's wolves?' But then, I start to wonder if maybe other people have finally reached Vaughn's cabin.

Either one sounds terrible, to be honest.

Vaughn reacts before I do, making confused and concerned eye contact with me before quickly putting on his boots, not even bothering to throw on a coat. I stand up from the cot, moving near him to do the same, but he has other plans, apparently. After he grabs his gun from above the door, he stops me, putting his right hand gently on my side for a split second.

Moose continues barking.

"Vaughn-"

"No, Mikaere. Stay."

"Vaughn, I'm not a dog," I say, irritated. He needs to get out here, not argue with me.

"I know, Mikaere, and that's why I need you in here. I don't want you getting hurt."

I don't want me getting hurt, either, but that doesn't mean I want to play hideaway!

Without another word, he lets his hand fall from where it was resting on my waist, moving to go outside.

Watching as the door closes behind him, I put on my boots, just in case I feel the need to ignore his command. I scoff, moving to stand near the window that faces the general direction where the barks came from.

I don't see anything, though, and it certainly doesn't help that it's getting later in the day.

But then, in the distance, I see Moose come running from my left to the right, appearing to put himself between the cabin and whatever has entered the vicinity.

Wolves? Or a wolf?

A lynx, possibly?

But no, something tells me it's neither of those. Moose appears even more worked up than with the previous threats.

I hear vicious, loud rumbling, then, and it's clearly not coming from the resident dog. I've never come across this type of growling before; it's much different from the usual distinctive feline noises, and it's not the basic growling from wolves.

It's more like a murderous huffing.

And that's when I see it.

Wolves...I scoff. I was too busy worrying about them to consider the danger that I didn't see coming.

Everyone warned me about the wolves...and I totally forgot about the wolverine.

As I stare at the thing that looks like a mix between a bear, a dog, and a weasel, I see its semi-retractable claws are out, and its teeth are bared.

It's smaller than Moose, but I've heard even grizzlies will sometimes back down from them.

It comes stalking forward, getting closer to the cabin seeming wholly and utterly unbothered by Moose's warnings.

Vaughn comes into view, then, with the rifle pointed at it. I think I see him try and pull the trigger, but nothing happens.

After that, I hear a few curses as I watch Vaughn suddenly turn around, run inside, slamming open and shut the door behind him. He's moving as fast as he can, but I don't bother to pay much attention to him, keeping my eyes trained on the predator that now stands face-to-face with Moose.

The second Vaughn's moving across the room, though, I watch in horror, letting out a noise as the wolverine lunges forward, hurdling itself at the canine.

Moose manages to dodge it, for the most part, avoiding being directly impaled.

However, when I hear the dog let out a loud yelp, and he staggers to the side, I assume he still managed to get clawed somewhere.

No.

Feeling tears start to rise, all I can do is watch, making me feel helpless. I would like to do something to help the situation, but what could I possibly do?

My bow isn't in here, it's yards away near the target.

Vaughn goes to go run back outside, this time with a different rifle I didn't even know he had.

Please don't let either die.

But when I turn back to the window, I know Vaughn's too late.

The wolverine has its jaws clamped tight around the Newfie's neck.

I hear a mixture of loud snarls and whimpers for a split second before there's a deafening gunshot, and then the snarling comes to a halt as the wolverine falls limp like Moose currently is.

Right as I see its form fall to the ground beside the dog, I burst outside. Ignoring the icy chill of evening wintertime on my bare arms, I scramble down the porch and onto the white snow, not stopping until my boots are standing on red.

Moose lays there, whimpering softly as his whole body twitches like he always did when he had a nightmare.

But the blood wildly seeping from his stomach and neck proves that this isn't a dream; this is all too real.

I crouch down near his head as he continues whimpering, and my heart shatters when his sad eyes look up to meet mine.

But I finally let out a sob as I watch his tail start to slowly wag up and down. Almost as if he's saying, 'Hey, guys, I did it. I protected you.'

"Mikaere, go inside."

"But-"

"Mikaere," he closes his eyes for a second. "Please."

His voice alone makes me want to cry, as he sounds so sad, but then the gravity of the situation hits, and I immediately feel guilty.

Moose is his dog, and he deserves to be alone with him as he dies if he wants to be.

Without a word, I quickly stroke Moose's head softly before nodding once and standing. Then, I turn, heading back to the cabin.

As soon as the door is closed behind me, though, I jump as I hear another gunshot go off.

I close my eyes, taking a staggering breath in before it shudders out.

He put him out of his misery.

Numbly taking off my boots, I feel the tears finally begin to rise again as I sit down in front of the woodstove.

He's gone.

I look down to the left of me, to the spot where Moose used to lay next to me, resting his head on my lap as I read.

I remember the feeling of comfort and safety, but now it's hard to even comprehend those feelings.

All I feel is sad, and looking at the empty spot beside me is only making it worse.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I close my eyes, letting the tears fall.

He hasn't stepped inside since it happened.

I don't know what exactly he's been doing for the past few hours, all I know is that I don't try to find him.

He just lost the one living thing that has been with him for the past eight years, protecting and guarding him against everything around them.

I'm still bawling, but I remain quiet in doing so. I haven't moved since I sat down, and to be honest, I'm feeling quite cramped and uncomfortable.

But I don't care.

I just remain sitting in front of the fire, hugging my knees to my chest, slowly watching it die through blurry eyes.

And when Vaughn finally enters, I don't turn to look at him, nor do I say anything to him.

I want to give him his space, as I'm assuming that's what he wants.

But then he sits down beside me, and suddenly I'm not so sure.

For a while, we just sit in silence in front of the fireplace. It now merely consists of hot coals, both of us not knowing what to say.

But finally, he sighs tiredly, deciding to be the first to speak up.

"I...buried him in the best spot I could find," he tells me quietly.

"I could have helped," I offer just as softly, still not looking at him.

From the tone of his voice, it's quite apparent he's hurting, and if I saw that hurt showing on his face, I'd probably start crying again.

"I didn't want you to have to do that."

And I don't know what to say to that, so I just settle on whispering, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't reply for a while, making me think that's the end of our conversation. But then he says, even quieter than before, "Yeah, me too."

I look down for a split second, willing myself to breathe before deciding to glance up at him.

It was a mistake.

The first thing I notice is how glossy his eyes look as he stares straight ahead, the rest of his features only attributing to how broken he looks at the moment.

But when he closes his eyes tightly, opening them only for a tear to run down the right side of his face, my heart hurts even more.

I've been around this man consistently almost for three months, and while we may not know everything about each other, we're not total strangers anymore.

And right now, we're the only comfort to each other that we have.

The only problem is: I don't know what to say.

But maybe I don't have to say anything.

So without giving myself time to overthink and talk myself out of it, I lean to the left, resting my head against his shoulder as I wrap my right arm around his front in an improvised hug.

I feel him tense at first, but after a moment he relaxes, pulling his right arm from beneath my head, to wrap it around my shoulder.

That's how we stay for a while--sitting in silence, busy with our own thoughts. Allowing ourselves to be content with staying close to each other, trying to grasp some sense of comfort.