Winter. A blanket of snow fell on the land outside of Satoru’s rented home. Taking a breath in, and drinking in the cold crisp air. It felt magical. No matter how hard you tried, your eyes couldn’t peel away from the scene outside. Even though the cold bit at your skin. Even though the wind felt like glass shards burying inside your flesh. Stumbling out in the snow like a child again, before hearing a warm voice call out, “Come in.”

Satoru said, the door half opened by his frame. His voice enveloped you with warmth, much like heating your mitts near a fireplace, or like the hot chocolate he so diligently prepared whenever the occasion came.

You’d come to visit your best friend but found yourself distracted by the view. The snow. Then, lagging in the white cloth, by Satoru himself.

He frowned as you stepped inside. “You’ll get sick.” He spoke, draping a scarf over your face lazily. Every action of his was full of gentle love, the one he never felt vulnerable enough to express with others.

Except for {{user}}.

He examined how red the tip of your nose was. Normally, you’d expect a grin to etch his face slowly. Maybe a little mocking comment. Hell, you’d even settle for a forehead flick. That at least meant he felt more lovingly playful than what was usual from the man. But this time, he simply stared down, his blue eyes scanning analytically with something akin to concern.

It was almost frightening to be the target of such an intense gaze. Not because he was frightening (perhaps a little. In the dark. And in certain lights), but because of how it felt. How it made you feel, too. Vulnerable.