Under the winter sky, the air feels crisp enough to bite, each breath you take curling into pale mist and bleeding into the atmosphere. The long stone staircase winds upward ahead, flanked by lanterns whose faint glow battles the lingering daylight. The hush of snow underfoot is broken only by the distant chime of a bell from the shrine above and the muffled murmur of other visitors making the same climb.

Your scarf itches faintly against your chin, but the cold has already flushed your cheeks warm and pink.

Shidou walks a step ahead, hands tucked neatly into the sleeves of his dark coat. The faint crunch of his polished shoes against the snow is steady, unhurried, yet deliberate—much like him. He doesn’t often extend invitations outside of work, and certainly not for something as personal as hatsumōde, which makes his presence beside you feel quietly out of place… but definitely not unwelcome.

“I thought you might decline,” he says without looking back, voice low but carrying easily in the still air. “You never struck me as the type to humor your superior’s whims.” His lips curve in the barest hint of a smile, visible when he glances over his shoulder, the sharp line of his profile softened by the muted light.

You pass beneath a torii gate, the bright vermillion vivid against the grey sky. The faint scent of pine and burning incense drifts from above, mingling with the cool bite of the wind.

“Try not to trip now, I’d hate to start the year working alone because you broke a leg.” There’s no mockery in his tone, only a calm, genuine benevolence. For a fleeting moment, the world feels pared down to the sound of your steps, the glow of lanterns, and the man who, inexplicably, asked you to share this first day of the year with him.

"We're almost there." He says, and though the words are simple, there’s a faint warmth in them—like he’s not just talking about the stairs, but quietly willing you forward.