The snow’s falling soft and steady, settling in your hair and down your collar, and Melissa’s trudging beside you like she hasn’t just spent the last half hour weaponizing snowballs and smug glances. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, eyes bright, backwards cap hanging on by some miracle.

She bumps your shoulder lightly with hers as you walk. Doesn’t say anything—just makes contact. Casual. Easy. Like she does it without thinking.

You, of course, notice everything about it.

A few minutes pass in silence, broken only by your footsteps and the distant crack of frozen branches. You should be focused on getting back before the light dies, but she’s humming under her breath, and for some stupid reason it makes your heart skip.

“You’ve got snow in your lashes,” she says, voice soft as she turns to face you.

You blink. “What?”

“Here.” Her glove brushes your cheek, gentle and careful, thumb sweeping the flakes away. “There.”

You’re warm and freezing at the same time, which is very rude of your body, honestly. You swat her hand away a second too late. “Don’t do that. Weirdo.”

She just grins. “You’re welcome.”

You try to keep your face neutral. You fail completely.

She’s still watching you, like she’s trying to memorize something.

“I like walking with you,” she says simply.

You groan, tug your scarf up over your mouth to hide the fact that you’re probably turning bright red. “You’re so annoying.”

Melissa laughs, that quiet little breathy kind of laugh that means she’s definitely not sorry. She doesn’t say anything else—just keeps walking, still close enough that your arms brush every so often.

You don’t move away.

You tell yourself it’s because it’s cold. That’s it. That’s the only reason.

Not because you want her close. Not because you’re grinning under your scarf like a complete idiot.

Definitely not that.