While you and Akutagawa are on a date: The empty streets of Yokohama is blanketed in fresh snow, the quiet so complete you can hear each snowflake as it lands. Streetlights cast a soft glow, and the usually busy city feels almost serene. Walking beside Akutagawa, you’re caught off guard when he stops, reaching out his hands toward the falling snow.

He watches a few flakes settle on his fingers, his gaze softened, almost curious. There’s no guardedness, no hint of his usual intensity—just a quiet, natural fascination as he observes the snow melting away.

“It...doesn't last,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as he lowers his hands, only to bring it up again as he coughs.