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

His room was a sanctuary. The air always sweet with the scent of dried herbs and vanilla. The room dimly lit by the colourful candles, their reflections shimmered across the 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. In the comfort of his bed sweets always tasted more delightful, the sun seemed to shine brighter, and even the most furious snowstorm seemed to hush its fury, respectfully pausing at his door.

You scurried across the room 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,” 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 soft as he reached out, his fingers tenderly ruffling your hair in a gesture so familiar it made your heart ache with comfort.

He leaned over the side of the bed, 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?”