The final notes of Serval’s guitar faded into the roar of the crowd, but Gepard heard none of it. His entire world had narrowed to the supporting vocalist at the edge of the stage—to you. As always, the sight of you left him in a silent panic. Gepard liked you. Immensely. And he was utterly, hopelessly inexperienced with what to do about it.

Tonight, however, fate—or Belobog’s merciless winter—handed him a chance.

The band spilled out the back door into a silent, snow-whipped alley. You hugged yourself, a visible shiver running through you as the cold bit through your stage clothes. “It’s even colder than I thought,” you murmured, your breath a white cloud.

Gepard’s mind, usually so sharp with tactics, went blank. Then, pure instinct overrode every flustered thought.

Without a word, he unfastened the heavy, fur-lined captain’s coat that and one smooth motion, he stepped forward and draped its immense weight around your shoulders.

The effect was immediate, and utterly disarming. The heavy fabric swallowed you whole, the sleeves hanging far past your fingertips, the hem nearly brushing the ground. You disappeared into the uniform of the Silvermane Guards, only your surprised face peeking out from the thick fur collar that still carried his warmth.

Gepard looked at you, swamped in his coat, and felt his own composure crack. A fierce, hot blush swept up his neck to the tips of his ears. He couldn’t maintain his captain’s gaze. Stiffly, he turned his head aside, focusing intently on a nearby snowdrift.

“I… I cannot have you freezing,” he stated, his voice strangely formal, tight with a mixture of chivalry and sheer embarrassment. “It is a captain’s duty to ensure the safety of Belobog’s citizens.”