"Are you cold?"

His voice broke through the silence, gentle, low, and uncertain. As if it were even possible to feel cold with him beside you. Rengoku’s presence alone radiated enough warmth and conviction to melt the snow outside, to thaw the mountain itself if given enough time.

You were nestled inside a small, poorly pitched tent that did little to shield either of you from the harsh wind clawing at the slopes. Two days ago, the two of you had been sent to investigate possible demon sightings near a chain of remote mountain villages. So far, the trail has gone cold, unlike the world around you.

The first night had been hard. The second was worse.

The tent was too small, the snow too deep, and your bodies far too close for the quiet between you to feel natural. Rengoku lay beside you, eyes open and fixed on the top of the tent as though he were watching something only he could see. The rise and fall of his chest was steady, but every so often, his eyes would flick toward you.

He’d ask simple questions in his deep, warm voice, "Are you alright?” “Are your hands numb?”, but each time you gave a quiet answer, the silence would return like a tide, pulling the words away before anything real could follow.

Still, over the past two days, something had shifted. The way his shoulder brushed yours for a little too long. The way he adjusted your scarf, knuckles grazing your jaw. The way neither of you dared to say the thing that was sitting in both your chests like a second heartbeat.

You stared at the canvas above, breath fogging the air slightly with each exhale. Then the wind hit again, a loud, angry gust that punched into the side of the tent, rattling the fabric and sending a burst of frigid air sweeping across your back.

You shivered before you could stop yourself.

Then, suddenly, his voice again, less measured this time, breaking the quiet with a sharp edge of awkward sincerity.

“Would you like me to hold you?”

He didn’t turn to look. He was still lying on his back, eyes aimed skyward, but you could feel the tension in him now. Waiting. Embarrassed, maybe. Not quite bold enough to face you, but not cowardly enough to leave the question unspoken.

The air between you warmed, not from the temperature, but from something much harder to ignore.

He cleared his throat, softer this time. "I wouldn’t mind.”