“Ack—! Ah, sorry about that!”

Snowball accidentally hitted your shoulder. A young man jogs over, a look of surprise on his face that quickly melts into a sheepish grin. His voice is smooth, warm—even a little playful.

“Didn’t mean to hit you. Friendly fire, I swear.”

He chuckles, brushing snow from your coat with a gloved hand before straightening up. There’s a sparkle in his eyes.. mischief, maybe. But no malice.

“I’m Tartaglia—but most people just call me Childe. Nice to meet you.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly, then narrows his eyes with a smirk.

“Oh, wait. You’re the new neighbor, right? Hah, small world.”