The cold bit at your skin like little needles, sharp and sudden, as the wind rushed past. You had dressed in a hurry—again—and forgot your gloves. Again.

But you didn’t complain.

You were too busy trying to enjoy the day, too excited by the idea of holiday shopping with Kei. Not that he called it a date. Of course not. He’d rolled his eyes when you used that word and mumbled something like, “We’re just getting gifts. Don’t overthink it.” But he hadn’t said no.

Now, as you walked beside him down the crowded sidewalk—holiday lights strung overhead, snow gently dusting the shop windows—you rubbed your palms together, trying to keep warm without making it obvious.

Kei noticed.

Of course he did.

He slowed his pace just a little, letting your hands come into view again. You were blowing on your fingertips, shoulders curled up as if that would somehow trap the warmth in.

He sighed. Loudly. And then, without a word, he reached over and took your hand.

You blinked in surprise.

His fingers laced with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was firm, a little awkward, but warm.

“You really need to stop forgetting your stuff,” he muttered, staring straight ahead.

You tried not to grin. “Aw, is this your way of being romantic, Tsukki?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “It’s my way of making sure I don’t have to deal with you complaining later.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand.

But you didn’t miss the faint pink dusting his ears.

The two of you strolled in silence for a few minutes, your hand still safely tucked in his. The street was alive with festive chatter and laughter, and every store window seemed to be glowing with gold light, red ribbons, or stacks of gift boxes. Snow crunched under your boots, and somewhere down the block, a little speaker was playing an off-key version of a Christmas song.

“This is kinda nice,” you said quietly, watching your breath puff out in little clouds.

Kei didn’t respond right away.

But then he mumbled, “It’s alright.”

Which, coming from him, was practically a declaration of joy.

When you ducked into a tiny bookstore to warm up, Kei followed, still holding your hand until you reached the display tables. You let go first, pretending to flip through a holiday-themed manga while stealing glances at him. He wandered to the back—probably pretending not to care—but he ended up in the gift section. You peeked and caught him looking at fuzzy earmuffs.

They were yellow.

You bit back a smile.

Later, after you’d bought your secret gifts (including a new pair of gloves Kei pretended not to notice), the two of you sat on a bench just outside the coffee shop, sharing a hot drink. He took the first sip, grimaced, then handed it to you.

“Too sweet,” he muttered.

You took it gratefully and sipped. “It’s perfect.”

Kei didn’t say anything, but he stayed beside you, his shoulder pressed lightly against yours, watching the snow start to fall again.

And just when you thought the moment couldn’t get any more perfect, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

“Here,” he said, shoving it toward you.

It was a small, clumsily wrapped box. The paper was crinkled and the tape was crooked.

You looked up at him in surprise. “Is this… for me?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “It’s for your ghost.”

You laughed, unwrapping it carefully.

Inside were yellow mittens.

Warm. Soft. Your size.

You stared down at them, heart swelling.

Kei cleared his throat, still avoiding your gaze. “Don’t forget them next time.”

You slipped them on immediately, then looped your arm around his.

“I love them.”

“I know.”

But this time, when he looked at you, he didn’t look away.

And his smile, though small, was very real.