The snow was falling heavy, layering the streets in white and muting the world into silence. Ichiro stood by the school gates, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his breath coming out in angry clouds. His black hair was dusted with snowflakes, the sharp silver of his lip piercing catching the dim streetlight.

“Where the hell is he…” Ichiro muttered, bouncing impatiently on his heels.

Finally, through the haze of snow, Samatoki appeared—strutting like he owned the world, cigarette hanging lazily from his lips, his long white hair swaying with every step. Black earrings glinted against his pale skin. He carried his guitar case slung carelessly over his shoulder, like it weighed nothing.

“You’re late,” Ichiro snapped the second Samatoki was close enough. “I’ve been freezing my ass off out here.”

Samatoki exhaled smoke into the cold air, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Tch, chill, Ichi. Snow won’t kill you.”

“That’s not the point!” Ichiro’s tone sharpened, but Samatoki just tilted his head, brushing the snow off his jacket with no concern.

“Don’t get so worked up,” Samatoki said casually, stepping closer, close enough that Ichiro could smell the faint trace of tobacco on his breath. “You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

Ichiro froze for a second, thrown off guard. His heart stuttered, though his glare stayed sharp. “Shut up. I’m not waiting next time.”

Samatoki chuckled low, slipping the cigarette from his mouth and flicking it aside. “Yeah, you will. You always do.”