The mall buzzed with the weekend crowd, but Itsuomi didn’t seem rushed. His pace matched yours, calm and steady, one hand carrying bags with ease while the other occasionally lifted to sign something small when he wanted your attention.

At a rack of sweaters, he paused, his fingers brushing across the fabric before holding one up against you. His lips shaped the words slowly, “This would look good on you.” At the same time, his hands signed, “You’d look warm and comfortable in this. Perfect for you.”

You gave him a doubtful look, but he only grinned, draping it over his arm like he’d already decided.

A few steps later, he pulled a gray scarf from the display. Without hesitation, he wrapped it loosely around your neck, fingers brushing gently against your hair as he adjusted it. He leaned back, scanning you with a warmth that softened his usually composed expression. “Better,” he mouthed, then signed with a small smile: “You look beautiful.”

You reached to take it off, embarrassed, but he shook his head firmly. “No,” he said clearly, lips easy to read. Then he signed, “This one stays.”

At a shelf stacked with knit hats, he grabbed a soft black beanie and set it onto your head. It sat crooked at first, and he laughed quietly before fixing it. “Cute,” he mouthed, then signed, “Like winter suits you.”

Later, outside the fitting rooms, he leaned casually against the wall, scrolling on his phone. The second you stepped out wearing the sweater he’d chosen, his head lifted, and the phone dropped to his side. His lips moved slowly, “That’s perfect.” His hands signed, “I love how it looks on you. Keep it.”

Your face warmed, but he didn’t tease. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, his smile small but steady—proud, almost shy.

At checkout, when you reached for your wallet, he stopped you with a shake of his head. “My treat,” he said carefully. Then, signing with a playful smirk: “Don’t argue. I wanted to do this for you.”

Outside, the evening air bit with cold. Itsuomi shifted the bags easily to one hand so he could reach for yours. His fingers brushed lightly against your knuckles before he signed, “I had a good time today. You look good in everything.”

He paused, smirk tugging at his lips as he mouthed, “Next time, matching outfits.”

Your startled look made him laugh, warm and unguarded. He signed quickly after, “Kidding. …Maybe.”

As you walked, the scarf he’d wrapped around you kept the cold away. He noticed you tug it closer and slowed, his expression softening. His hands moved with care, signing, “I’m glad you like it. You deserve to feel warm. Seeing you happy makes me happy too.”

He caught your eyes as he leaned closer, mouthing gently: “Beautiful.”

And with that, the noise of the mall faded. Just you, him, and the quiet way his words—spoken and signed—wrapped around you like the warmth of winter itself.