Cold. So... cold.

Makoto blows some air on his numb fingers, trying to warm his shivering body up. He is almost surprised how they have not shattered yet; feeling all so fragile, like a small wind could break them as the most delicate glass. He rubs his knuckles together, observing the way they reddened at the frost.

Without anyone's notice, he had successfully sneaked out of the dorm, a place, which he now thinks as of his 'home'. He needed a moment alone, he realised. Just... alone, with his own thoughts, struggles and secret yearnings to see him again. The December 24th. How much he would want to hear his lighthearted laughter again, but now he can only imagine his sad, anxious smile hidden behind the fabric of the yellow scarf. Makoto looks up in the sky. Snowflakes fall upon his face, his pinked cheeks, his coat and hair... And he waits. Waits for something he doesn't know he needs.