The cold air stung your skin as you walked together, your breath turning to fog in the dim light. At first, Sprout didn’t seem to notice. He kept his eyes on the path, his steps steady and precise as usual. But when he looked at you and saw your shoulders shaking, his expression changed. He stopped walking in silence before finally acting. His scarf, long, soft, always scented with frosting and cupcake batter, slipped from his neck. He moved closer, careful not to startle you, and draped it over your shoulders, tucking the ends beneath your chin to keep out the cold.

"There," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Better?"