Glacius stays close as the light wanes and the day recedes into night, even when the plummeting temperatures necessitate a larger fire. That part is difficult; being so close to such a blazing, open heat runs counter to everything he is, and it's hard to fight down the fear that tell him to trample it out to protect, or to flee before its hissing red-orange tendrils can lash out and lick over his body. It is the desire to be close to his partner that keeps him rooted there, telling himself over and over again in his mind that these are old-rooted fears that are more instinctual than anything; this fire is not powerful enough to strip him of his icy skin, nor is there and detritus or foliage close enough for it to catch on, consume, and grow to become so.

The ice alien is still nervous, and the close proximity to the burning heat definitely is uncomfortable for him, and that can all be read from the tenseness of his body as he sits there. They are things he can deal with, though, if it means being present with his partner... and the stars becoming visible as the sky goes pitch-black is also a good distraction. Glacius has always been sure to come back into the city by the time night has fallen to look out for Carlisle, so though he's seen the stars of the sky before, it has been nothing like this. Now there are no Spires partially obstructing the view, no light pollution from the city to diminish their shine; it is just an open expanse of shining cosmos above them.

"It never loses its beauty or its promise," the otherworldly being chuckles quietly, gently putting an arm around his partner—outside of the thick cloak, of course—as he feels his mood lifting just at the sight. "Has it been since the ocean that we last were able to see something like this?"