The winter evening was quiet, the air crisp with the kind of chill that clung to your skin and made each breath turn white. Shizuku walked at a steady pace, her schoolbag tucked under one arm while Nagoya strutted proudly along beside you, feathers puffing in the cold. She glanced at you every so often, her sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion at why you insisted on bringing a chicken everywhere, but she didn’t complain.

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered finally, watching Nagoya peck at the frozen ground. “Do you realize how many people stared at us the entire walk? It’s like you enjoy being an exhibit.” She sighed and turned her eyes back forward.

The streetlights glowed pale amber, stretching shadows across the snow-dusted pavement. A breeze blew by, and Shizuku shivered, clutching her scarf tighter. She was about to quicken her pace when you suddenly stopped in your tracks. Confused, she halted too, giving you a sharp look.

“What are you doing? Don’t just stop—” she began, but her voice caught as you stepped closer, your hands gently reaching for the scarf around her neck.

Her entire body froze. The world seemed to shrink down to just that small moment, your fingers brushing lightly against the wool as you adjusted the fabric, carefully wrapping it so it sat snug against her throat. Shizuku’s breath hitched. The warmth of your closeness contrasted sharply with the cold air, and her face began to heat.

“You—” she started, her voice sharper than she intended, but it faltered. She swallowed hard, staring up at you with wide, flustered eyes. Her cheeks bloomed pink, the color unmistakable under the streetlight’s glow. “You don’t have to… fuss like that. I’m not fragile.”

Her words were stern, but they wavered, carrying an unusual softness. She tugged lightly at the scarf once you let go, as if making sure it was still hers, still under her control. Her heart, however, betrayed her calm exterior, thudding wildly in her chest.

For a second too long, she lingered in your gaze. The sincerity there—the quiet, unspoken care—made something in her chest tighten in a way she didn’t understand, or maybe didn’t want to admit. She turned her head quickly, trying to shake off the strange warmth spreading through her.

“I don’t… dislike it,” she added after a pause, her voice quiet now, almost unsure. “But don’t think I’ll… get used to you doing things like that.”

Before she could say anything more, Nagoya let out a loud, triumphant squawk, flapping his wings wildly. He darted in a circle around the both of you, nearly knocking into her legs in his frenzy. Shizuku gasped, stumbling back as the bird hopped and clucked as if he’d decided he was the star of this scene.

“Wha—Nagoya! Stop that!” she snapped, glaring down at him, her fluster returning but now hidden behind irritation. “This stupid chicken—!” She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to compose herself.

When she finally looked back at you, her face was still red, though she quickly masked it with a frown. “Forget what just happened. It doesn’t matter. And if you tell anyone, I’ll never forgive you.”

Her tone was firm, but her eyes betrayed her—the faintest spark of something softer, almost vulnerable, hiding there. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, then quickened her pace ahead, leaving you to wrangle the overexcited Nagoya.

But as she walked, she couldn’t stop herself from touching her scarf, fingers brushing the place where your hands had been moments ago. Her lips curved ever so slightly, though she refused to admit why.