The mountain was thick with snow. ‎ ‎Not the soft kind. ‎ ‎The kind that swallowed sound—made every step feel like you were sinking into something that didn’t want you there. ‎ ‎You and Ruho hadn’t spoken for an hour. ‎ ‎There wasn’t much point. Breathing alone took effort, each inhale sharp and cold. The wind wasn’t loud—just constant. Pressing. Watching. ‎ ‎“We should’ve turned back,” Ruho muttered. ‎ ‎You didn’t answer. ‎ ‎You’d said that already. ‎ ‎Twice. ‎ ‎Your legs ached. Your fingers felt distant. The storm wasn’t dramatic—it was worse. ‎ ‎Quiet. Certain. ‎ ‎And then— ‎ ‎“There.” ‎ ‎His voice shifted. ‎ ‎Sharper. ‎ ‎You followed his gaze. ‎ ‎At first, it didn’t make sense. Just a break in the white. ‎ ‎Then it did. ‎ ‎A body. ‎ ‎Half-submerged in the river. ‎ ‎Not frozen into it. ‎ ‎The water moved—slow, lazy—as if the cold didn’t apply to her. ‎ ‎“…She’s alive,” Ruho said, already moving. ‎ ‎You didn’t stop him. ‎ ‎You watched. ‎ ‎He stumbled down, slipping on ice, reaching in. The second he touched her, he flinched. ‎ ‎“Warm—she’s warm!” ‎ ‎That was wrong. ‎ ‎You stepped closer. ‎ ‎The river lapped at her pale skin, unmarked. Her hair spread like ink, untouched by frost. ‎ ‎Ruho dragged her out, breath sharp—not from the cold. ‎ ‎“Hey—can you hear me?” His voice softened. ‎ ‎You crouched beside them. ‎ ‎Her eyes opened. ‎ ‎Just like that. ‎ ‎No struggle. No gasp. ‎ ‎She looked forward. ‎ ‎Not at Ruho. ‎ ‎At you. ‎ ‎Her gaze didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. ‎ ‎Then— ‎ ‎She smiled. ‎ ‎“...Cold,” she said. ‎ ‎Ruho almost laughed. “Yeah—hold on—” ‎ ‎He wrapped his jacket around her, movements too careful. ‎ ‎“There’s a cabin nearby.” ‎ ‎You stood. ‎ ‎“She shouldn’t be alive.” ‎ ‎“She is.” ‎ ‎“That water would’ve—” ‎ ‎“I said she’s fine.” ‎ ‎Too fast. ‎ ‎Too sharp. ‎ ‎Her eyes never left you. ‎ ‎Even as Ruho rambled, helping her up. ‎ ‎“It’s not far—just lean on me—” ‎ ‎She didn’t move. ‎ ‎Not until you did. ‎ ‎You turned, heading back. ‎ ‎A moment later—footsteps behind you. ‎ ‎Uneven. ‎ ‎Too light. ‎ ‎Like she wasn’t really leaning on him. ‎ ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎The cabin was worse than you remembered. ‎ ‎Smaller. Colder. ‎ ‎Wood creaked under the wind. Snow blurred the windows. ‎ ‎Ruho didn’t notice. ‎ ‎He moved quickly—stove, blankets, restless hands. ‎ ‎“Sit here. I’ll get something warm.” ‎ ‎She let him. ‎ ‎Easily. ‎ ‎Like she’d done it before. ‎ ‎You stayed by the door. ‎ ‎Watching. ‎ ‎She sat wrapped in his jacket, damp hair clinging to her skin, completely still. Firelight shifted across her face. ‎ ‎Beautiful. ‎ ‎Not admiration. ‎ ‎Observation. ‎ ‎Ruho returned with a metal cup. “Careful, it’s hot.” ‎ ‎She took it—but didn’t drink. ‎ ‎She tilted her head. ‎ ‎At you. ‎ ‎“…You’re quiet.” ‎ ‎Her voice wasn’t weak. ‎ ‎It was smooth. ‎ ‎“You talk enough for both of us.” ‎ ‎Ruho laughed. “She’s just like that—don’t mind her.” ‎ ‎You didn’t look away. ‎ ‎She smiled. ‎ ‎Sharper. ‎ ‎“I don’t mind.” ‎ ‎Ruho hovered close. Too close. ‎ ‎“You should rest.” ‎ ‎“I don’t feel tired.” ‎ ‎“That’s… good.” ‎ ‎He waited. ‎ ‎For something. ‎ ‎She gave nothing. ‎ ‎Instead, she stood. ‎ ‎Sudden enough to make him flinch. ‎ ‎She stepped past him. ‎ ‎Toward you. ‎ ‎Slow. Measured. ‎ ‎“Hey—wait—” ‎ ‎She stopped in front of you. ‎ ‎Too close. ‎ ‎Up close, it was clearer. ‎ ‎Not just beautiful. ‎ ‎Precise. ‎ ‎Too precise. ‎ ‎“You’re not surprised,” she said. ‎ ‎“I am.” ‎ ‎“You don’t look it.” ‎ ‎“I don’t need to.” ‎ ‎Her eyes searched yours. ‎ ‎Behind her, Ruho shifted. ‎ ‎“Hey… give her some space?” ‎ ‎Neither of you moved. ‎ ‎She leaned closer. ‎ ‎Warm breath. ‎ ‎“You’re not like him,” she whispered. ‎ ‎“No.” ‎ ‎A pause. ‎ ‎“Good.” ‎ ‎Ruho stood abruptly. ‎ ‎“What is this?” he snapped. “She almost died—Sato, can you not—” ‎ ‎You glanced at him. ‎ ‎His expression had changed. ‎ ‎Not concern. ‎ ‎Something tighter. ‎ ‎Possessive. ‎ ‎He stepped between you. ‎ ‎“Sit down,” he said, strained. ‎ ‎She didn’t look at him. ‎ ‎“I don’t want to.” ‎ ‎A pause. ‎ ‎Then— ‎ ‎“She looks more attractive.” ‎ ‎Light. Casual. ‎ ‎That was when something in him snapped.