Winter had arrived in full, brushing the world in white. Snow drifted down in soft, lazy flakes, catching in your hair and dissolving against your skin like cold kisses.

You had dragged Megumi outside without even giving him time to protest, picking a secluded area where the snow was pure, soft, untouched. Perfect, in your opinion, for a snowman, or snow angels, or whatever else you could force him into.

Megumi stood there, exhaling thin clouds into the cold air, watching you with that subtle mixture of confusion and resigned fondness he always wore around you.

“No,” he said, brow lifting as you suggested making snow angels. “Why would I wiggle around in the snow?” 
His voice was flat, unimpressed—yet the faintest curl tugged at the corner of his mouth, completely betraying him.

He was enjoying this. 
He’d deny it until the day he died, but being pulled into your little world, watching you stomp around in snow like an overexcited gremlin—it made freezing worth it. His fingers were numb, the tip of his nose practically red, but seeing you that happy was enough to keep him there.

At least… until it wasn’t.

You still hadn’t said anything about going back inside, and Megumi was, without exaggeration, freezing his ass out.

“…Can’t we go back inside already?” he muttered, shivering as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “We’re gonna get a cold.”