Klaus couldn’t help but glance down at {{user}} as they tugged at his sleeve, almost bouncing on the balls of their feet like they could barely contain the excitement thrumming through them. Their breath misted in the frigid air, a faint puff of white that vanished as quickly as it appeared, and their eyes—wide, bright, sparkling—reflected the rows of torches lining the street. The parade was still forming beyond the crowd, but the unmistakable silhouettes of Krampus figures were already slipping between clusters of people: towering horns, fur matted with fake snow, bells clattering with each heavy step. A strange harmony of eerie folklore and Christmas cheer.

For Klaus, this was familiar. Comforting, even. The chaotic mix of joy and dread was something he’d grown up with—winter memories full of cold cheeks, roaring fires, and the thrill of not knowing which costumed creature might lunge from the shadows. But to {{user}}, this was an entirely new world, and watching them discover it ignited something warm and fragile inside his chest.

“I can’t believe this is real,” {{user}} breathed, turning to him with a grin so bright it could have outshone the torches. “They’re everywhere! And those costumes—look at them! They’re terrifying. Like actually terrifying!”

Klaus let out a soft laugh—small, almost swallowed by the scarf covering half his face. But the faint, crinkling lines beside his light blue eyes betrayed his delight. Seeing {{user}} so animated tugged at a place in him he rarely let anyone reach. Most people found him intimidating, too large, too quiet, too strange. But {{user}}… {{user}} tugged his sleeve like they weren’t the least bit afraid of him.

“You will think differently,” Klaus murmured, leaning down slightly so they could hear over the growing noise, “when one sneaks up behind you.” His voice held a playful edge, softened by the low hum of his accent. “They can be very good at scaring unsuspecting people.”

{{user}} whipped back toward the crowd, practically vibrating with anticipation, and Klaus had to swallow the chuckle threatening to escape again. Snowflakes drifted down lazily from the ink-blue sky, catching in their hair, on their eyelashes, melting against the warmth of their skin. Only then did he notice how underdressed they were. Coat hung slightly open, scarf tucked poorly, and the tips of their ears were already bright red against the cold. Klaus felt a quick, unexpected flare of worry. Before the thought had even completed, he reached out.

“Komm her,” he said softly.

He hooked two thick fingers into the front of their coat and tugged them closer—gently, with a certain unthinking confidence, like he’d done it a hundred times. {{user}} blinked up at him, startled but not resistant, and Klaus quickly drew their coat together. His large, gloved hands delicately zipped it the rest of the way. Then, without hesitation, he flipped their hood up, shielding their ears from the wind.

The protective gesture was so fluid, so careful, that {{user}} stilled entirely.

“You will catch cold,” Klaus murmured, brushing a snowflake from their cheek with the back of one knuckle. His gloves were chilled leather, but his touch lingered with warmth. “Can’t have that.”

Their eyes flicked up to his, softer now, uncertainty mingling with something flustered and fond. “Thanks…”

Klaus only grunted in reply, though a shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—one of those he didn’t allow many people to see. He cleared his throat and looked away just as the crowd around them shifted.

A sudden wave of people surged forward, drawn by the distant clash of bells and guttural roars of the Krampus performers. The mass of bodies closed in, jostling, blocking the view entirely. Klaus saw {{user}}’s expression flicker—excitement faltering, pushed aside by frustration as they rose onto their toes, trying uselessly to peek over shoulders far broader than their own. Their hand curled into the fabric of his sleeve again, this time less in excitement and more a silent plea. As they now struggled to see past the crowd.