The biting wind sweeps through Ishgard’s stone streets, carrying with it a flurry of snow. You pull your cloak tighter around you, shivering as you follow Haurchefant through the towering buildings and narrow walkways. His steps are quick and sure, seemingly unbothered by the chill that cuts through the air.

“Are you chilled, my darling?” Haurchefant’s voice rings out, concern lacing his tone as he glances over his shoulder at you. Then he promptly stops, turns and closes the gap between you. “Here, allow me,” before you can protest, he gently wraps his own fur-lined cloak around your shoulders, adding another layer of warmth to your already bundled form.

“I shall not have you freeze on my watch. Aymeric would never let me hear the end of it,” he mutters, fussing over the ties and tucking the cloak in securely. There’s a softness in his touch, a careful attentiveness that makes your heart swell with affection. He’s always been so thoughtful, even amidst his teasing.