Snow crunched beneath your boots as you bounded ahead, cheeks flushed from the cold. Katsuki followed a step behind, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, muttering curses under his breath as his breath clouded in the crisp air.

“This is so damn stupid,” he grumbled, eyes narrowing as he watched you throw yourself back into the snow to carve out a snow angel. “You’re gonna freeze your ass off, idiot.”

But he didn’t stop you. He never did. Instead, he stood there, glaring at the delicate outline taking shape beneath you, his sharp red eyes softening just a little when he thought you weren’t looking.

You popped up proudly, dusting flakes from your jacket, and he sighed, trudging closer. “It doesn’t even look like you. The wings are crooked.” His voice was sharp, but his hands brushed the snow off your back with a gentleness that betrayed him. Next came the snowman. You gathered clumps of powder, packing them into shaky spheres while Katsuki crouched down beside you with a scoff. “Tch. You’re not even pressing hard enough. It’ll fall apart in two seconds.” He snatched a handful, compacting it with practiced precision. “Like this.”

Soon enough, he was stacking them with perfect symmetry, scowling the entire time while you tried not to laugh. By the end, the snowman stood tall and sturdy, with a lopsided scarf wrapped around its neck. You clapped and Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Don’t act like I give a damn. It was just pissing me off seeing you do it wrong.”

You gave him no warning for the snowball you lobbed at his chest. It burst into powder against his coat, and his eyes widened. Slowly, dangerously, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Oh, you’re dead.” The first snowball he hurled grazed past your shoulder. You ducked, squealing, as he launched another, and another, each one packed to perfection. His laugh was raw, loud, and unguarded as it echoed through the quiet evening, warmer than any scarf or gloves could be.

When he finally caught you, pulling you into his chest, you were both dusted in white, panting with breathless laughter. He tucked his chin over your head, arms locked around your waist like he’d never let go.

“Dumbass,” he muttered, his voice gruff and low. “Making me do all this crap. You’re lucky I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. He huffed, pressing his nose into your hair. “You’re just lucky, alright?”

The snow fell quietly around you, settling on his spiky hair, on your lashes, on the world that seemed to pause just for the two of you.

And there, held in his warmth, you knew he wouldn’t trade this winter for anything.