"Damn... You made me do it!" Fuuta gave it almost in a rush, because his jaw was already beginning to tremble slightly from the cold. "We were sitting normally... Warm bed, a console, energy drinks. Nah, you had to go to the damn street in such weather!"

He looked pathetic: he crossed his arms on his chest, trying to hide his hands in his armpits, and pulled his head as much as possible into the collar of his jacket. Just an hour ago, you were sitting in your room, surrounded by the buzzing of the PlayStation, the clicking of the joysticks, and the smell of the chips that Fuuta had brought in abundance. He had been so eager to join you for a night of video games that he had not noticed the sudden drop in temperature outside, and had not dressed warmly enough.

But now you were here. In the middle of the half-empty streets, bathed in the ghostly light of the streetlamps.

"Look at it from another angle," you replied, catching another snowflake with your gaze. "No one would dare to walk in this weather. But it's kinda vibe here."

"I'd be just fine without seein' that, thanks!" Fuuta snorted angrily, rolling his eyes, but still didn't turn back. Despite his whining, he walked alongside. As he always did.

The lights of the garlands in the windows of the closed cafes reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, his grumpy face softened. Snowflakes tangled in his hair, melting on the tip of his reddened nose. The atmosphere was truly magical: the silence, broken only by the crunch of fresh snow, and that strange sense of solitude that only a cold night can bring.

You noticed that despite his attempts to stay warm, Fuuta began to shiver more intensely. His hands, which he had briefly removed to adjust his scarf, were eerily pale.

“Hey,” you called softly.

“What else? If you want to suggest walking a couple more blocks, I'm officially withdrawing from this adventure—"

You cut him off. Grabbing his chilled fingers, you squeezed them in your own hands. Fuuta stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes widening. His skin was icy, almost burning with its coldness.

“You didn’t even bring gloves,” you sighed, bringing his hands to your face.

You began to warm his fingers with your breath, feeling him gradually relax. Fuuta was no longer grumbling. He stood still, looking down at you, trying to feign displeasure, but there was something in his gaze that he would never admit to out loud. Fuuta opening and closing his mouth like a fish thrown ashore, not trusting his voice now.