ภ๏รtг๏ภคยt on Nostr: Outside, the air was a jagged blade of ice, driving sheets of snow against walls ...

Outside, the air was a jagged blade of ice, driving sheets of snow against walls until the timber groaned. But inside, Nostronaut was anchored. He sat low in the leather chair, his large hands wrapped around a heavy stoneware mug, the steam from the coffee curling upward to meet the haze of the hearth.
​The firelight was unforgiving and beautiful, carving the lines of his face into deep relief. To anyone else, the logs were just burning wood; to him, they were a collapsing galaxy of embers—pockets of white-hot intensity that flared and died in the belly of the grate. Every time a spark spat against the screen, it mirrored the restless energy he usually carried, but the heat was winning. It seeped through his thick sweater, slowing his pulse, grounding him in the scent of charred pine and dark roast.
​He didn't look at the window. He didn't need to. The blizzard could scream all it wanted; for the first time in a long time, Nostronaut wasn't looking for an exit. He watched the flames lick the soot-stained brick, the golden light reflecting in his hazel eyes, and waited for the sound of the floorboards creaking behind him.