Winter crept in quietly, frosting windows and biting at fingers. You rushed to class one morning, scarf poorly wrapped, ends trailing behind you. Itona saw you the moment you walked in. His brows instantly furrowed. Without a word, he stepped forward, hands gentle but firm as he reached for the fabric around your neck.

You froze as he carefully adjusted it — looping it once, twice, tucking the end in with slow, precise movements. His fingertips brushed your collarbone through the cloth, and his breath warmed your cheek in the cold air. "There," he murmured. "You’ll stay warm now." He said it so simply, so honestly, that you couldn’t even argue. His hands lingered on the scarf a moment longer, like he wanted to make sure it was perfect. "…I like taking care of you," he said softly.