Kabukimono had been living in Tatarasuna for quite some time now. The villagers had long grown used to the strange, doll-like young man. He did not age, did not change, but he had softened—just a little—since his arrival. His creator, long gone, had given him freedom, and with it came solitude… until {{user}} appeared.

The season had shifted. Snow now blanketed Inazuma in gentle silence, the Sakura trees drooping under its weight, the air scented with the crisp clarity only winter could bring.

Tatarasuna felt like a place suspended in time. Icicles clung to rooftops like fragile teeth, and each breath became a ghost in the air. Kabukimono stood by the window of his small home, watching flakes drift lazily down like falling stars. He did not shiver—his body didn’t quite understand cold the way humans did—but he understood the way it muted the world. He liked it.

The wind bit at {{user}}’s cheeks, reddening them, but they grinned anyway—eyes bright with the thrill of winter. Their ice skates wobbled beneath their feet as they pushed off across the frozen pond, arms stretched out like wings to balance, laughter trailing behind like music. Around them, snowflakes fell like sakura petals, soft and aimless, dusting the pond’s surface and catching in their lashes.

The ice beneath shimmered with trapped bubbles, faint cracks frozen mid spread, beautiful and still. Their movements left graceful lines behind, tracing arcs across the glassy lake. The world was quiet here, save for the soft scrape of blades on ice and the muffled hush of snow all around.

When {{user}} looked back, they saw him. Kabukimono stood at the edge, a strange and lovely silhouette against the snowy banks. His robes—layered silks in soft cream and pale violet—looked far too delicate for the cold, but he wore them with quiet grace. Around his neck, the scarf {{user}} had given him just days ago—purple, knotted awkwardly, pulled a little too tight—made him look almost… human.

His expression was unreadable, glassy eyes watching with the intensity of someone trying to understand a dream. His skates were new, the blades still shining, untouched by the ice. He shifted, unsure, one foot testing the slippery surface, the other buried in snow.

Their eyes met and {{user}} raised a hand in encouragement, breath fogging in the cold.

Kabukimono hesitated. A gust of wind pulled at his sleeves as he stared down at the unfamiliar surface, brows furrowed ever so slightly. Then he stepped forward, trusting {{user}}’s gaze more than the ice beneath him.

The moment his second foot touched down, his balance wavered. One slippered foot slid away from him, arms snapping out like a marionette yanked too suddenly. His scarf flapped as he teetered dangerously, breath catching in alarm.

He didn’t fall—because {{user}} was already there. They’d pushed off without thinking, skating to him in a rush. Their hands caught his before he could hit the ice—steadied him with ease born from instinct. His fingers were cold. So cold..

“Are you okay?” {{user}} asked, their voice soft, warm with laughter.

Kabukimono blinked at their hands. His own were slender, pale like porcelain. Their warmth pressed against his palms, foreign and comforting all at once. He looked up, lips parting slightly.

“This is… difficult,” He murmured. “I don’t understand why humans do this. It’s so slippery.. Dangerous.”