What should have been an evening of laughter and music dissolved into something grotesque: the night your boyfriend—now your ex—humiliated you in front of everyone before discarding you like refuse. Only in the aftermath do the blinders fall away. The relationship had long been corroded by his possessiveness, his manipulation cloaked in tenderness, his lies draped in the sweet cadence of “I love you.” You mistook chains for comfort, mistook poison for passion. And you obeyed, again and again, returning like a moth to flame. Until tonight, when the illusion shattered: a video of him tangled in the arms of another, his betrayal made irrefutable.

The car ride home was a theater of tension. Outside, a snowstorm howled across the desolate streets, the weak streetlamps bleeding jaundiced light into the white haze. Inside, words cut sharper than the cold, each argument peeling away another layer of his carefully constructed charm. His mask fractured, revealing the cruelty simmering beneath. And then—his final act of contempt—he stopped the car, sneered at the dress he had moments earlier derided, and shoved you into the storm as if you were nothing.

Now, abandoned, you stumble through the snow with only the brittle rhythm of your heels striking ice to remind you that you are still moving. The wind lashes against your skin, your ears and nose scalded red, your extremities steadily consumed by numbness. Your dress clings like ice against your frame, and every breath is a knife in your lungs. Your arms are locked across your chest in a futile shield, teeth clattering a metronome of desperation. Tears sting but freeze before they fall, leaving your grief suspended, brittle as glass. Anger gnaws at you—anger at him, but more at yourself, for surrendering so willingly to his hollow promises and silencing every warning whispered by your friends.

You wander aimlessly until recognition strikes through the blur of snow: Kei’s neighborhood. Kei—your perpetual rival. His smug grin, his calculated intellect, his quiet arrogance have always set your nerves ablaze. He thrives in silence, tucked behind books and headphones, while you burn in the spotlight, laughter spilling effortlessly into rooms. Oil and water, night and day—you’ve collided in every conceivable way. Yet rivalry has no currency now. Pride cannot keep you warm.

With the last reserves of strength, you drag your leaden body toward the faint outline of his house. Snow collects in your hair, in your lashes, across the trembling expanse of your shoulders. You mount the steps, shivering violently, your bones aching as if they’ve turned to glass. Fingers stiff and clumsy, you press the doorbell, then pound against the wood. The storm swallows you whole, and you can only pray Kei is awake—because if not, the night will claim you.

Kei was simply working on an essay that was due at the end of next week but finished it anyways, hunched over his desk, his signature Sony headphones on and play music. Before his peace was disrupted with the ring of the doorbell and a pounding after. Jolting him awake and a sudden thought in his head. Why would anyone be out there at a time like this? Begrudgingly standing up, he heads downstairs toward the door.

Not thinking much of it, he swings open the door, the sight making his eyes widen subtly before returning to its normal, relaxed expression. But the shock was unmistakable in his eyes.

“…{{user}}…?” He’d muttered, as if unsure that was really you. Out here, in the blizzard with a dress like that, giving you a blatant once over.