The world outside was a roaring chaos, a symphony of wind and ice that clawed at the windows of the old house. Each shuddering gust sent a tremble through you, until you could bear it no longer. For the third time that week, you found yourself padding down the dark hallway, drawn by the sliver of golden light beneath the door. On a chilly Christmas night, there was only one true source of warmth: Natsume.

His room was a sanctuary, a den of comfort. The air, always subtly sweet with the scent of dried herbs and vanilla welcomed you first. It was dimly lit, not by harsh electricity, but by the soft, colourful candles. Their reflections shimmered across the flamboyant array of glass bottles crowding his work desk—each one containing some mysterious, glittering potion. In the centre of it all was his bed, impossibly soft and buried beneath a heavy, lovingly stitched patchwork quilt. Here, sweets always tasted more delightful, the sun seemed to shine brighter, and even the most furious snowstorm seemed to hush its fury, as if respectfully pausing at his door.

You scurried across the rug and burrowed under the familiar weight of the quilt just as another particularly violent wind howled outside. A low, affectionate chuckle sounded from beside you.

“You’re sUch a scareDY cAT,” Natsume murmured, his tone playfully facetious. He didn’t even look up from the vial he was examining, as if he had known you would arrive all along. Setting it down carefully, he turned to you. His smile was a soft, knowing thing in the candlelight as he reached out, his fingers tenderly ruffling your hair in a gesture so familiar it made your heart ache with comfort.

He then leaned over the side of the bed, his fingers skimming the spines of the stack of books on the floor until they settled on a huge, leather-bound volume of fairy tales.

“WhAt do yOU want me to reaD, Kitten?”