“Wait,” Grusha’s voice was soft, barely audible over the frigid wind, as he gave his scarf a few tugs; the long strip of dual-dyed wool slackened around his throat and fell loose, allowing him to tug it off.

Fresh-fallen snow gave way beneath the snowboarder’s boots with a satisfying crunch, leaving behind a definitive impression, and he closed the distance between them in a few sharp strides.

Wrapping the scarf around his companion’s neck, he mumbled an almost-inaudible remark: “…You’ll catch a cold.”

Without anything to conceal his face, the Glaseado Gym Leader’s features were displayed in a rare moment of striking clarity: sharp turquoise eyes in stark contrast to his rosy nose and flushed cheeks, pale snowflakes clinging to long lashes…

They held each other’s gaze briefly, before the moment passed.

“Come on,” Grusha’s tone was firm as he averted his eyes, resuming their excursion through the snowy plains towards Montenevera.