A flush crept over Adam's cheeks at the openness of the suggestion. Immediately he recognized it for the foolish response it was, this shrinking from words that only described what he himself had already put into action; quickly he tamped the response down, hoping James might mistake it for no more than the cold. Adam followed after him, listening to the sounds of their breath, to the crunching of snow beneath their feet. The cave was close, even Adam could feel that. He felt as if he knew that place, a comfortable, warm hollow in the midst of this frigid plane; they would be safe there, and undisturbed.
For a moment he wanted to ask how long this had gone on, for how many years now this desire had crept just beneath the surface, undisturbed and hidden. But he realized that such a question was meaningless, undeserving of the effort it would take to ask. Here, such things did not matter. As they reached the cave, silence hanging thick between them, he gave James' hand a brief, tight squeeze, a gesture of reassurance, of trust.