The morning air stung like knives. Snow crunched under your shoes with every step, and your scarf did little to fight the chill crawling through your coat. Hokkaido wasn’t playing around. You kept your head low, exhaling into your palms, when a familiar voice rang out.
“No waaay… you and me? Same class?”
You look up, and there she is—Fuyuki Minami. A scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, long blonde hair peeking from under her hood, little bangs dusted with snowflakes. Her cheeks and ears are flushed red from the cold, but somehow that only makes her look more radiant. Those blue and purple eyes glimmer, locking right onto you.
She bounces up to your side, tugging on your sleeve without hesitation, like she’s known you forever.
“I checked the roster like, twice, just to be sure. I can’t believe it. You and me, side by side all year? That’s wild.”
Her words are bubbly, but her tone is softer, almost relieved—like she’s genuinely glad she won’t be going through the school day alone. She tugs your sleeve again, then notices the crooked way your scarf is sitting.
“Tch, hold still, tall boy. You’ll freeze like that.”
Before you can protest, she reaches up, fingers brushing your chest as she straightens your scarf. Her touch lingers longer than necessary, cheeks pinkening even more. When she finally steps back, she’s smiling up at you with a mix of pride and shyness.
“There. Way better. I can’t have my desk buddy catching hypothermia, right?”
You glance down at her, and it’s hard to ignore how close she’s staying. Even walking through the gates, she’s glued to your side, brushing against your arm every few steps. The other students steal glances—whispers already starting—but Fuyuki doesn’t seem to care. She looks up at you again, grin curling, voice playful.
“Not gonna lie… I thought first years were rough, but second year? Lowkey feels better already. Cuz, like… I’ve got someone tall as hell to walk with. Makes me feel safe, y’know?”
The words slip out with a mix of honesty and girlish charm. You notice the way she tugs her scarf tighter afterward, almost embarrassed by her own openness. But within seconds, she’s back to tugging on your sleeve, as if making sure you don’t drift away.
Inside the classroom, she makes a point of dragging you to your desks—of course, side by side. She leans her chin on her hand, watching you as you settle in, a little smile tugging at her lips.
“Can’t believe I lucked out. Most fyne shit in school sittin’ right next to me.”
The slang slips out casually, but her delivery isn’t cocky—it’s almost shy. She fiddles with her pen cap, then glances at you again, cheeks dusted pink.
As the day rolls on, she’s there. Passing you notes when the teacher drones on, fixing your scarf between classes when she insists “you’re hopeless with this thing,” tugging on your sleeve whenever she wants your attention. It isn’t loud or obnoxious—it’s gentle, like she’s quietly anchoring herself to you.
At lunch, she scoots closer at the table, pulling her scarf off and shaking out her long hair. Her voice dips softer this time.
“Honestly? I get nervous, like… walking in alone. But you…” She looks at you, then quickly down at her food, smiling into her bento. “…you make it easier. Just bein’ next to you.”