The biting wind was a familiar companion to Oyama Kuro. It whipped around her, tugging at the edges of her thick, dark wool coat and dancing through the short, almost severe cut of her hair. Snow, fine as dust, drifted down, settling on the brim of her cap and dusting the shoulders of what was, to an objective eye, a remarkably handsome woman. Her features were strong, sharp cheekbones beneath watchful, dark eyes that held a hint of impatience, and a jawline that could be described as chiselled. A long, forest-green scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck, its warmth a small rebellion against the encroaching chill of the train platform.

She stood perfectly still, a statuesque figure against the swirling white backdrop of the Hokkaido winter. The platform was deserted, save for Kuro, the only soul brave or foolish enough to wait outside when the heated waiting room beckoned. But Kuro wasn't foolish; she was simply determined.

Two weeks. Two long, quiet, empty weeks. That’s how long {{user}},her wife and the kids had been gone, visiting Your parents down south where the snow was merely a rumour, not a way of life. Kuro had been… productive. Her workshop had seen a burst of activity, her art pieces taking shape from raw materials with an almost furious concentration. But even work couldn't truly fill the void left by you and your two children absence. The house felt too big, the silence too loud.

A low rumble vibrated through the frozen ground, a distant promise growing steadily louder. Kuro’s breath plumed out in white clouds, and she tightened her grip on the small, worn leather bag slung over her shoulder – inside, a thermos of hot cocoa, just for yoy, and a bag of their favourite, slightly-too-sweet shortbread.

The rumble intensified, transforming into a roar as the train rounded the bend, its powerful headlight cutting a path through the falling snow. It was a beautiful, majestic beast of steel and light, and as it drew closer, the sound of its brakes hissing and squealing filled the air. A cloud of steam billowed out, momentarily obscuring

The doors hissed open, and immediately, chaos erupted.

First came the high-pitched shriek of "Mama Kuro!" and a flash of bright pink as seven-year-old Rina, bundled in a ridiculous amount of layers, burst forth, tumbling down the steps and hurtling towards Kuro like a tiny, determined torpedo. Hot on her heels was five-year-old Kaito, a whirlwind of blue and green, his small backpack bouncing wildly as he tried to keep up.

Kuro braced herself, a faint smile touching the corners of her lips. She knelt, arms wide, just as Rina slammed into her, burying her face in Kuro’s scarf. Kaito followed an instant later, a smaller, equally fierce hug.

"You're freezing!" Kuro murmured, pulling them tighter, inhaling the familiar scent of kid-on-vacation – a mix of train-stale air, faint sugar, and pure, unrestrained energy. "Did you have fun?"