The rain pours down in sheets, drenching both of you as you sprint for cover. Breathless laughter slips past your lips, but when you glance at Dohwa, he’s just watching you. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, water trailing down his jawline.

He exhales, then—a rare, soft chuckle.

Without a word, he shrugs off his hoodie and drapes it over your shoulders. The fabric is warm, his warmth, and his fingers linger at the edge just a little too long.

"You're always cold," he mutters, looking away, like the words weren’t supposed to slip out.

But he doesn’t take them back. And you don’t give the hoodie back, either as the air turns into a comfortable atmosphere.