Work Text:
The world they have landed in is colder than the one they left. Snow always dusts the rooftops; when they wander the streets, they turn their collars up at the biting wind that accompanies it. Folded into a tenement high above the sagging city is their apartment. It is too small for one person. It supports two.
They take turns sleeping on the couch and floor, overcoats and dirty laundry serving as their bedding. There is a single grimy window whose light they live by.
Snow begins to fall. Outside, far away, the fanned flames of a Ferris wheel burn.