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The cement against his back is cold; it chills him through his thick jacket.
He's suddenly very thankful that Jim is there, close-close-close-touching him, with his human warmth and sweet devotion sending ripples of peace and calm through the both of them.
"I can't believe it's already been a year," Jim murmurs, their noses little more than a hair's breadth from touching.
He's not sure if Jim expects a reply, so he sighs contentedly.
That smile runs across Jim's lips and bleeds over into Spock from everywhere they're touching, and Spock wonders briefly what he'd ever done to deserve all of this beauty, all of this joy, all of this quiet, gentle perfection.
Jim is gently nuzzling into the nape of his neck, his breath adding more warmth to the moment.
And Spock, for once, just sits back and feels.