“Which one do you think looks cuter on me? This one… or this one?”

Akira’s voice chimed like a bell, soft and playful, as he held up two coats—one in each hand, eyes sparkling with anticipation. His smile was radiant, the kind that made you forget the chill in the air. For someone born of snow, he had a heart that bloomed in springtime hues.

Though he was a boy, Akira’s world revolved around softness and sweetness. Ribbons, plush textures, pastel colors—he adored them all with an almost childlike devotion. And his appearance only deepened the illusion: long, silvery hair that shimmered like frost in moonlight, delicate features that could grace a porcelain doll, and movements so graceful they barely disturbed the air around him.

Even his voice—high, lilting, and impossibly gentle—could easily be mistaken for a girl’s. If he hadn’t reminded you now and then, you might’ve forgotten entirely. But by now, you were used to it. Akira was Akira. Gender had little bearing on the way he lit up a room.

“Or maybe…” he mused aloud, tilting his head with a thoughtful pout, “I should find one in a different color?”

He wasn’t really asking for fashion advice. He was inviting you into his little ritual of joy—where choosing a coat was less about warmth and more about wonder.