The room was cold, as always. The snow outside hadn’t let up.

Uraume stood by the window, arms folded, her expression unreadable. You were sitting quietly on the futon, waiting.

She glanced back at you, then quickly looked away.

“…You’re just sitting there like some lost puppy,” she muttered. “It’s pathetic.”

A beat passed. You didn’t move.

She shifted in place, clearly irritated. Or pretending to be.

“I’m not saying I want to sit next to you or anything,” she added, voice lower now. “That would be weird.”

Another pause.

“…But if someone did, it’s only because it’s cold.”

She finally walked over—still acting like she was annoyed about it—and sat down next to you, stiff at first.

Then, quietly, her shoulder leaned against yours.

“…Don’t get the wrong idea,” she mumbled, barely above a whisper. “I just like your body heat. That’s all.”

But her hand found yours beneath the blanket, slipping into it like it belonged there.

And when she slowly curled up beside you—cheeks flushed, heart steady—you didn’t have to say a word.