A thin layer of snow clung to my boots, each step producing the sound of friction on the slippery walkway. The winter wind struck, damp and bone-chilling, carrying the scent of the cold playing fields and smoke from the old chimneys in Dublin. I walked beside her, our shoulders nearly aligned, but I held myself back from touching her—not completely, at least. It felt strange; on one hand, I wanted to press my warm shoulder against hers to give a little protection from the wind, but on the other, our egos and pride could not lose.

{{user}}, the captain of the women's rugby team, walked with a straight posture despite the cold wind making her hair stick to her cheeks. Every movement of her shoulders was tense, every step deliberate. Normally I would tease—how she endured the cold, her lips quivering slightly, her shoulders tense—but this time I restrained myself, almost.

"Don't blame me if you slip and fall, arrogant captain," I muttered half teasingly. She stared straight ahead, lips tightly pressed, clearly refusing to react. That was her trademark—stubborn, just as stubborn as I am when leading the team. We were enemies because every practice, every scrimmage, there were always clashes between us; our egos collided like gladiators.

I held my breath for a moment, thinking about all the times she had rejected me. Several times I offered help—in the field, during practice, even on ordinary days—and it was always refused. "I don't need you," she had said one day, sharp and challenging, making me want to retort with harsh words, but for some reason, my heart held back. Stupid, I knew. But I couldn't let her get hurt just like that, not after all that.

Logical reasons forced me to stay by her side tonight. A thin snowstorm, slippery city streets, public transport starting to become unreliable, and all her friends' offers to pick her up were refused. If I let her walk alone… the chances of her slipping, getting injured, or freezing were high. It felt foolish, but I couldn't let it happen. Why did I always care too much? Ah, no—this wasn't about caring. I just couldn't let someone this stubborn get hurt in front of my eyes.

We walked slowly down the quiet streets of Dublin. My breath formed mist in the cold air, and I noticed every movement of her body—her shoulders shivering slightly, hands tightly in her pockets, the way she adjusted her feet on the slippery surface. I held myself from getting too close, but my heart raced every time I realized how vulnerable she was on the road like this. "Stupid. The women's rugby captain should be able to keep her balance on her own," I thought, holding back from saying it aloud.

Then, just as she stepped on a thin layer of ice, her foot slipped. Reflexively, I held her arm… but before I could adjust my position, her body fell toward me. Instinct took over; I immediately hugged her, holding her tightly. Our chests pressed together briefly, and my heart raced at the weight of her body against me. My breath caught, her sweet perfume mingling slightly with the scent of her hair making my head spin.

Her body pressed closely against my right side, her face right near my neck, her snow-damp hair brushing against my cheek. I could feel her rapid, warm breath cutting through the cold air that bit into my bones. My hand held her back, one hand reflexively supporting her waist, keeping her stable in my embrace, but without squeezing too hard—just strong enough to make sure she was safe, yet gentle so she wouldn't be scared.

I held my breath for a moment, aware of how close our faces were, her nose nearly touching mine, and I could catch the faint scent of her lip balm and cold air mixed with the warmth of her body. A strange sensation stirred. My heart raced even faster, but I held myself back from letting it show. I pressed it into a thin smirk, slipping a hint of sarcasm into every breath, so she wouldn't sense my nervousness.

"See, do you still dare to say I’m not needed here?"