Snow fell in slow, lazy flakes, the kind that made the world feel quieter than usual.

{{user}} walked beside Tsukishima, boots crunching softly against the snow-covered path. She was bundled up in her coat and earmuffs, cheeks pink from the cold — but her neck was bare, breath fogging the air with every exhale.

Tsukishima noticed almost immediately.

“You forgot something,” he said.

She blinked. “Huh?”

He stopped walking and looked at her properly this time. “…A scarf.”

“I didn’t forget,” she said lightly. “I just don’t have one.”

He clicked his tongue under his breath, already tugging his own loose. Before she could protest, he stepped closer and wrapped it around her neck, fingers careful as he adjusted it so it actually covered her properly.

“You’re terrible at winter,” he muttered.

His scarf was warm. Too warm. It smelled like clean fabric and cold air.

She looked up at him, surprised. “And you?”

“I’ll survive.”