A new account about Killua and HxH in general? I like it.
can i ask you for a 100% fluff one shot with killua x reader?
Hi! Could I request a super fluffy Killua x Reader one-shot? Iâd love something where Killuaâs a little stressed about not finding the perfect gift for his girlfriend, but also makes the most of his winter break to spend time with her â like wandering through a Christmas market together, and then cuddling up to watch Netflix.
sorry if there aren't enough details, i just want a one shot with the warm atmosphere of christmas and winter because my god, i hate summer đ
dude, YES, i know. i'm lowk already so over summer, and my school starts in exactly a week. u have zero idea how badly i wanna kms rn. also, for some reason, writing this made me wanna step outside in HOT, SCALDING FRANCE (i don't even actually live here, i'm js visiting) in my long-legged pjs and a warm hoodie because... idk why. anyway, long story short, i got (naturally) really upset bc the second i went out, i began sweating and overheating like a carton left in the sun, AND i got pissed bc none of this is even real. u guys best believe imma post some killua x anera shi reallll soon.
but anyway!! back to the story!! i lowk added two endings bc i wasn't sure what u were looking for... so hopefully this makes it a bit better!!
also, idk how many words or characters there are here, and i'm lowk too lazy to check... so, sorry i can't make it aesthetic like what u guys are prolly already used tođ i'm sure you guys will like it tho!
KILLUA x READER ONE-SHOT â THE PERFECT GIFT
by: the goat, daddy bach (me)
killua hadnât planned on overthinking it.
really, he hadnât. gifts werenât usually this big of a deal to himâbut somehow, this was different. youâd been together long enough that the âearly datingâ excuses didnât apply anymore, and anything too basic would feel lazy. plus, winter break meant he actually had time to find something good⊠except, apparently, time didnât help when he was pacing in front of his laptop, glaring at ten tabs of âbest gifts for your girlfriendâ lists that all sounded exactly the same.
a scarf? too generic. jewelry? felt too much like he was trying. perfume? he didnât even know what scent you liked! half of these lists were clearly written by people who had no idea who you were, or who he was. he even felt a little bad for the poor guys that actually got the things off this list for their girlfriends. nothing fit you, and that annoyed him more than it probably shouldâve.
he dropped into his desk chair, leaning back and spinning once before stopping to stare at the ceiling. normally, he could figure things out by logic: break the problem down, eliminate options, pick the best one, etc. do what he always did. but this wasnât like that. he wanted it to be something youâd actually use, not just keep because it came from him. he wanted you to like it without him having to explain why it was perfect.
he scrubbed a hand through his hair and shut the laptop with a sharp click. forget itâheâd figure it out later. right now, there was a text from you glowing on his phone screen:
downtown christmas marketâs open. wanna go?
he could already picture it: you wandering through strings of warm lights, bundled up against the cold, smiling at things you probably wouldnât even buy. and maybe, if he paid attention, the perfect gift idea would show up somewhere between the cider stand and the tacky ornament booth.
[idk how to add a page split, so imagine there's one right here!!]
the air hit him the second he stepped off the bus; sharp, cold, the kind that made your eyes water if you stayed still too long. the market stretched down the street in a warm, uneven glow, fairy lights draped over wooden stalls and off-white tarps, and curling around lampposts. somewhere, a brass band was playing a christmas song he couldnât quite name but definitely recognized, and the smell of cinnamon, roasted nuts, and something sugary-sweet drifted between vendors.
he spotted you before you saw himâleaning over a table at one of the first stalls, inspecting something with that look of concentration of yours he knew by heart. your scarf was pulled up to your nose, your hands tucked into your sleeves between touches of the merch, and your breath fogged in the cold every time you laughed at something the vendor said. the laugh carried just enough over the noise for him to catch it, and it made his chest loosen in a way heâd never admit out loud.
âhey,â he called, weaving around a couple carrying matching paper cups. you turned instantly, eyes lighting up in that way that always caught him off guard.
âtook you long enough.â
âbus was slow,â he shrugged, but the corner of his mouth tugged up.
you stepped forward and, without even thinking about it, slid your hand into his. your glove was warm against his bare fingers, and he curled them instinctively around yours, not planning to let go anytime soon.
âyou have to see the almond guy,â you said, already tugging him toward the next row. âand thereâs this place with handmade ornamentsâtheyâve got these tiny glass penguins, i swear youâll like them.â
he listened, taking in the sound of your voice against the background of the market, the way your head tilted when you pointed something out, how your eyes darted toward anything that sparkled in the lights. every now and then, he caught himself scanning the tables and shelves, not just for food or random giftsâbut for something. something that looked like you. maybe the perfect gift was here somewhere.
the first stall you dragged him to was, indeed, âthe almond guy.â he stood behind a copper kettle, stirring with a big wooden spoon, and the air around him smelled like toasted sugar. you bought a small paper cone without hesitation and held it out to him.
he leaned in, letting you tip one into his mouth so he didnât have to let go of your hand. it was warm, sweet, and crunchy.
âyeah, thatâs good,â he admitted, already taking another from the cone. you just rolled your eyes and held onto it protectively.
you walked a little slower after that, weaving through stalls selling knit hats, candles in little glass jars, and snowflake-shaped cookies. at one point, you stopped to point at a lopsided wreath that was clearly homemade. âthis looks like something youâd make,â you teased.
âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âthat youâd get bored halfway through and just staple the rest together.â
he smirked. âsounds like the best way to get things done to me.â
you rolled your eyes, but ended up splitting a hot chocolate nextâmostly because the vendorâs cups were hugeâand killua carried it while you navigated through the crowd, sipping from it whenever you could without spilling. he noticed how the steam curled up against your cheeks, making your skin pink from the warmth and the cold, and he couldnât help smiling when you caught him looking.
ânothing,â he said, passing the cup back to you. âjust donât burn your tongue.â
you led him straight to the ornament stand youâd mentioned earlier, the one tucked between a candle shop and a stall selling knit scarves. it wasnât flashyâno blaring music or neon signs: only rows of tiny glass figures hanging from thin hooks, each one catching the market lights in a different way.
âlook at these,â you said, leaning closer to inspect a shelf lined with miniature animals. âtheyâre so delicate. iâd break them in like⊠two seconds.â
âyeah, you definitely would,â he said without missing a beat, earning himself a smirk and a soft shove from you.
he scanned the table, fingers brushing over a glass fox, a little snow owl, a penguin mid-waddle. they were all nice, but his gaze kept drifting toward a section off to the sideâa small display of ornaments shaped like tiny books, each with a hand-painted cover. some had gold-painted edges, others were tied with miniature ribbons.
you hadnât noticed them yet, too busy picking up a crystal snowflake to hold it up to the light. but something about the book ornaments stuck in his mindâmaybe because it felt more you than anything else here.*
*(author's note: dude, idk, lowk ik how corny it sounds but like bear with me please idk what you guys likeđđ)
âwhat about this one?â you asked suddenly, holding up a tiny glass cat with a crooked tail.
he shrugged. âitâs cute. but it doesnât beat the almond guy.â
you rolled your eyes but smiled, placing the ornament back carefully before tugging him toward the next row of stalls.
as you walked away, he glanced back once, mentally marking the spot.
after a few more stalls â and a brief detour where you convinced him to try on a ridiculous reindeer hat âjust for the photoâ â you caught the smell of something savory drifting through the air.
âwait,â you said, tugging on his sleeve. âdo you smell that?â
he tilted his head, sniffing. âyeah⊠smells like⊠food.â
âwow, thanks, sherlock,â you teased, but you were already steering him toward the source.
it turned out to be a small food stand with a chalkboard sign that read fresh pretzels â plain, salted, cinnamon sugar. the vendor, an older woman with a santa hat perched slightly crooked on her head, was pulling a tray of golden-brown pretzels from the oven. the heat hit your faces in a wave as you stepped closer.
âone salted, one cinnamon sugar?â you asked, glancing at him for confirmation.
âiâm not sharing mine,â he warned, pulling out his wallet.
you found a spot on the edge of the marketâa little wooden bench near a lamppost, far enough from the crowd that you could actually hear each other. the bench was cold, but the pretzels were warm enough that it didnât matter.
âokay, taste test,â you said, tearing a piece from yours and holding it out.
he leaned in to take it, chewing thoughtfully. âyours is good. but mineâs better.â
you made an exaggerated show of trying his. âokay⊠fine. maybe yours wins.â
you ended up just sitting there for a while, eating slowly and watching the crowd pass by. every now and then, your knees would bump, and neither of you bothered to move away. killua finished his pretzel first and sat back, one arm resting along the back of the bench, looking out at the lights. he didnât say anything, but there was something about the way his shoulder brushed yours that felt more comfortable than ever. kind of like you could sit there forever and it wouldnât get boring.
âready to keep going?â you asked eventually.
he nodded, pushing himself up, but not before taking the last bite of your pretzel without warning.
you were halfway through the next row of stalls when he saw it â not just something nice, but the first thing all day that made him stop walking entirely.
it was tucked off to the side of a little shop selling handmade leather goods: wallets, belts, keychains. but on the far end of the table sat a stack of small, leather-bound notebooks, each one different. some were deep brown, some black, some dyed rich colors like navy and burgundy. the leather looked worn-in, soft and smooth at the edges, and the pages inside were thick enough that they wouldnât wrinkle easily.
you hadnât noticed yet, too busy inspecting and gawking at a display of hand-carved hair clips at the next stall. killua stepped closer, running his hand over the smooth cover of one of the notebooks. it wasnât flashy or overly sentimental, but to him, it felt right. like something you could actually use. something you might fill with doodles, random lists, pressed flowersâwhatever you felt like.
âhey, kil,â you called from a few feet away, âcome look at these!â
âbe right there,â he said quickly, slipping the notebook into the vendorâs hands along with enough cash to make sure you wouldnât notice the change missing later. the man wrapped it in brown paper without a word, and killua tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat before heading your way.
âwhatâs in the bag?â you asked immediately, narrowing your eyes.
âcandy,â he said, not missing a beat as he grabbed your hand before you could press. âcâmon, the kettle corn standâs this way.â
after the leather stall, the rest of the market turned into more of a game than actual shopping. killua kept trying to point out the weirdest, most useless items he could find, insisting theyâd make âperfectâ gifts for you.
âlook,â he said, holding up a knitted hat shaped like a squid, its tentacles dangling over his hands. âthis would look amazing on you.â
âoh yeah, totally. iâll wear it to the next hunter meeting,â you deadpanned, somewhat side-eying him.
he smirked. âi bet money youâd intimidate everyone more than kurapika ever could.â
"impossible," you shoved him lightly, but you were laughing, and that only encouraged him.
at one point, he tried to convince you that a two-foot-tall wooden carving of a goose was âartâ and therefore worth buying. when you refused (likely saying something along the lines of: "fuh no, are you serious, twin?"âi'm joking... kind of...), he dramatically pretended to be offended for the next two stalls.
you passed a small vendor selling intricate pins and brooches, most in the shapes of flowers or stars. killua picked one upâa silver pin shaped like a lightning boltâand raised an eyebrow at you.
âjust enough,â you said, grinning, but you could tell he was tempted to actually buy it.
there was kind of a comfort to it all: the back-and-forth teasing, the way youâd stop to try samples at food stalls, the shared glances when something caught both your attention, the soft smiles. even when you werenât talking, the market felt warmer with him there. it wasnât about buying anything anymore, but rather just the two of you moving through the crowd like you had all the time in the world.
by the time you reached the last row, your hands were stuffed into each otherâs pockets to keep warm, and killua was already talking about grabbing something to watch back at your place.
you were about to head toward the bus stop when the smell of something frying caught your attention. âone more snack,â you said, already steering him toward a stand with a simple sign: MINI DONUTS - made fresh!
the vendor dropped rings of dough into hot oil right in front of you, pulling them out a minute later and tossing them into a paper bag with cinnamon sugar. the bag was warm in your hands, and when you offered it to killua, he stole two donuts in one grab.
âhey!â you protested, but he just grinned, cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed.
âshouldâve been faster,â he said around a mouthful, brushing sugar off his jacket.
you lightly smacked his shoulder as punishment, and ended up sharing them as you walked, taking turns reaching into the bag until there were only three left. you paused at a crosswalk, handing him the bag.
âlast oneâs mine,â you warned.
he nodded solemnly⊠then popped the last one into his mouth before the light even changed.*
*(author's note: if my man ever did this, i would genuinely commit unspeakable war crimes.)
âyouâre the worst,â you muttered, but you were smiling.
the bus ride back was quiet in a good way. few people chattering, the hum of the engine, the faint smell of cinnamon still on your hands, the way his knee brushed yours every time the bus turned. killua leaned back in his seat, glancing at you now and then like he wanted to say something, but didnât. you didnât push either way.
when your stop came, he followed you off without hesitation, falling into step beside you. ânetflix?â he asked casually, like it wasnât already the obvious plan.
âalways,â you replied, and his mouth tugged into a small, easy smile.
by the time you got to your place, the air inside felt way too warm compared to the chill outside. you kicked your shoes off by the door, tossing your coat onto the back of a chair, while killua just dropped his on the couch like it lived there.
âyou ever hang stuff up?â you asked, raising an eyebrow.
ânope,â he said flatly, already heading for the kitchen. âwhereâs your popcorn?â
you shook your head as you followed him in, finding him halfway through rummaging your cabinets like heâd been here a thousand timesâwhich, honestly, he kind of had.
âyou could at least ask before stealing my snacks, you know,â you said, raising your brow, leaning against the counter.
he shot you a look over his shoulder. âyou offered to watch netflix. snacks are implied.â
while the popcorn popped in the microwave, he wandered around, picking up random things off your shelves, making little comments like, âthis candle smells weird,â or âyou still havenât finished this book?â it wasnât mocking exactlyâmore like his way of filling the quiet without actually saying anything heavy.
when the popcorn was done, he grabbed the bowl and headed straight for the couch, flopping down and patting the spot next to him without looking.
âyou picking the movie, or am i?â he asked.
âyou. but if you pick something dumb, iâm changing it.â
âyouâre so bossy,â he muttered, scrolling through the options anyway.
he landed on some random action-comedy youâd never seen, hit play, and leaned back, stretching his legs out so they rested against yours under the blanket youâd just thrown over both of you.
it didnât take long for the popcorn to migrate from the bowl to the couch cushions, because killua had this habit of tossing a piece into his mouth without looking and missing half the time.
âyouâre worse than a toddler,â you said, picking one up before it got crushed.
âiâm efficient,â he replied, grabbing it from your hand and eating it anyway.
the movie played in the background, but it was obvious neither of you was really watching. killua shifted until he was angled toward you, his arm stretched across the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like he couldnât quite decide if he wanted to pull you closer. eventually, he just did, tugging you against his side without saying anything.
âcomfortable?â you asked, glancing up at him.
âyeah. donât move.â
âbossy,â you echoed from earlier, and his mouth twitched in a small smile.
you noticed he kept glancing down at you during the quieter moments of the movie in a casual, checking if youâre still there kind of way. and every time your eyes met, heâd look back at the screen like it hadnât happened.
about halfway through, you reached for the blanket and pulled it higher, and he took the opportunity to trap your legs under his. âyouâre warm,â he said simply, like that explained it.
âyou could just admit you like cuddling, you know,â you teased.
ânever gonna happen,â he said, but didnât move away.
by the time the credits rolled, the popcorn bowl was empty, your legs were half-asleep under his, and the blanket had slipped so far down that killua had to tug it back over you without thinking. neither of you made a move to get up.
âso⊠was the movie actually good, or was i just distracted the whole time?â you asked, tilting your head toward him.
âyou were distracted,â he said immediately, smirking.
the room was dim except for the soft glow from the TV menu screen. outside, the faint hum of cars passing reminded you how late it had gotten. killua leaned back into the couch, his arm still hooked around you like it had been for the last hour.
âyou tired?â he asked.
âa little,â you admitted.
he nodded once, not moving. âthen just stay here a bit.â
it was such a simple thing for him to say, but there was a genuine sincerity behind it. there wasnât any rush, no need to end the night yet. his hand absentmindedly traced along your arm under the blanket.
in the back of his mind, he was already thinking about the notebook tucked away in his coat pocket. it wasnât wrapped yet. he hadnât figured out what heâd say when he gave it to you. but for now, it could wait.
you shifted a little so you could see him better, the blanket sliding just enough for the cold air to nip at your shoulder. âso, whatâs the plan for the rest of your break? you seeing gon?â
âyeah,â he said, leaning his head back against the couch. âhe keeps bugging me about going to that stupid ice rink by the pier. says itâs âtradition,â even though weâve only done it once.â
you grinned. âyouâre going though, right?â
âprobably. heâs impossible to say no to. kind of like someone else i know.â
you raised an eyebrow. âare you talking about me?â
you nudged his side, and he caught your hand under the blanket, holding it there without really meaning to. âyou two are such kids,â you teased.
âsays the person who dragged me to a market just to make me wear a squid hat,â he shot back with no bite to it.
for a few minutes, you just talked... about nothing big. gonâs habit of texting killua at 3am with bad memes, the way the market smelled like sugar even two blocks away, how cold your hands had been before you stuffed them in his pockets. the conversation ebbed and flowed, comfortable in a way that made the night feel slower, like the world outside had paused just long enough for you to keep sitting here.
[PAUSEEEEEEE. alright, fuckers. since i'm such an amazing, kind, talented, freakishly good at writing, benevolent being, i've got TWO endings for you guys: one (1) that ends with him giving u the gift then and there, and one where he ends up giving u the gift on christmas. boom. guys am i the kindest, most amazing person ever or what?!?!?!1!!]
you glanced at the clock and winced a little. âitâs late.â
killua followed your gaze but didnât move right away, still leaning back like the couch had somehow claimed him.
âyeah,â he said finally, but his hand was still loosely wrapped around yours under the blanket. âguess i should head out.â
you stood, stretching, and he did the same, grabbing his coat from where heâd tossed it earlier. he slipped it on, zipping it halfway, but lingered near the door instead of immediately stepping out. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at you once, then at the floor, then back again.
âwhat?â you asked, smiling a little.
ânothing. just⊠today was nice.â his voice was casual, but you caught the way he shifted his weight like he didnât want to leave yet.
you leaned against the wall by the door, still watching him. his eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to memorize it for later, the corners of his mouth tugging into that barely-there smile he only got when it was just you.
he hesitated for half a second, then leaned in just enough that his shoulder brushed yours as he reached for the doorknob. his voice dropped low, almost like he didnât mean for you to fully hear it: âsee you tomorrow?â
âyeah,â you said quietly.
and for a few moments, neither of you moved. it was just a pause where you both just⊠stayed there, looking at each other.
he had his hand on the doorknob, but instead of opening it, he let out a quiet breath and reached into the inside pocket of his coat.
âhere,â he said, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped bundle in plain brown paper. no ribbon or no tag, but folded and taped with the kind of looks-accidental-but-isn't-in-the-slightest precision.
you blinked. âwhatâs this?â
âa brick,â he said deadpan, then rolled his eyes lightly when you didnât move to take it. âjust open it.â
you peeled back the paper slowly, and the leather-bound notebook slid into your hands. it was warm from his pocket, the cover soft under your fingertips, the edges just slightly worn in a way that made it feel like it was already yours.
âdonât make it a thing,â he said quickly, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. âi just saw it and thought youâd actually use it. figured itâs better than⊠i dunno, a candle or whatever.â
you smiled down at it, running your thumb over the spine. âitâs perfect.â
he looked away at that, his ears a little pink, and muttered, âgood.â
for a second, it looked like he might say something elseâbut instead, he just gave a small nod, like that settled it.
you held the notebook against your chest for a second before setting it on the small table by the door. âyou know iâm going to fill this with the dumbest stuff, right?â you said, grinning.
âyeah,â killua replied, smirking faintly. âbut itâll still look better than whatever leorio writes in his notes. the guy's handwriting is a war crime."
"well, he is a doctor, kil," you laughed, the sound making his smirk soften into something quieter.
he shifted his weight again like he was about to leave, but didnât reach for the door again. instead, he leaned one shoulder against the frame, his eyes still on you in that way where you could tell he was thinking a lot more than he was saying.
âthanks for today,â you said, and you meant it more than the words could cover. the market, the stupid squid hat, the pretzels, the bus rideâall of it.
he shrugged, but there was a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth. âwasnât bad.â
you gave him a look, and he sighed. âfine. it was good. really good.â
you smiled as a beat where you both just⊠stood there, the air warm and still held. then, without overthinking it, he stepped forward and pulled you into a quick hug. it wasnât dramatic; no lingering, no grand gestureâbut it was firm and real, his chin brushing the top of your head for just a second before he stepped back.
âdonât lose that notebook,â he said, as if that was all the explanation the hug needed.
you promised you wouldnât.
finally, he opened the door, the cool night air slipping in around him. he glanced back once, meeting your eyes like he was making sure you were still smiling before he left. âsee you tomorrow,â he said, and this time, it didnât sound like a question.
you closed the door after him, leaning back against it for a moment. the smell of cinnamon sugar still hung faintly in the room, the blanket from the couch was still rumpled where youâd sat together, and the notebook sat waiting on the tableâproof of the kind of day you didnât need pictures or words to remember.
and somewhere down the hall, you could hear his footsteps fade, steady and unhurried, like he wasnât in a rush to get away from the warmth of just now.
END OF ALTERNATE ENDING PT. 1
following from immediately after: "for a few minutes, you just talked⊠about nothing big. gonâs habit of texting killua at 3am with bad memes, the way the market smelled like sugar even two blocks away, how cold your hands had been before you stuffed them in his pockets. the conversation ebbed and flowed, comfortable in a way that made the night feel slower, like the world outside had paused just long enough for you to keep sitting here.
ALTERNATE ENDING NUMBER 2 RIGHT HERE:
neither of you moved. the popcorn bowl sat abandoned on the coffee table, the blanket tangled loosely around your legs, and the glow from the TV was the only light in the room. your head was warm against his shoulder, your breathing steady enough that killua knew you were seconds from falling asleep.
his eyes flicked toward his coat draped over the couch arm. the notebook was still tucked inside, wrapped in plain brown paper, edges folded just so. for a second, he pictured himself reaching for it, placing it in your hands right nowâthe perfect end to the day.
but then you shifted, curling in closer without even waking up, and he just⊠couldnât.
he let his head fall back against the couch, eyes still on you. christmas morning made more sense: quiet and slow, the kind of morning where you wouldnât be rushing to get anywhere. youâd probably still be in pajamas, the heater humming in the background, maybe frost clinging to the edges of the window. he could just hand you the notebook without making a big deal about it, watch you open it while pretending to be half-distracted by whatever was on TV.
yeah. that felt better than tonight.
without thinking, he adjusted the blanket higher, tucking it around your shoulders so no cold air could sneak in. his arm stayed along your back, thumb brushing against your sleeve in slow, absent circles. every so often, his gaze flicked to your face again, catching the faint crease between your brows smoothing out as you relaxed.
outside, the winter night moved on without youâa car passing now and then, the wind tapping faintly at the window. inside, it felt like time had slowed down to match the steady weight of you against him.
killua shifted just enough to rest his cheek lightly against the top of your head. he didnât overthink it; it was just warm, and it was you, and there was no reason to move. your hair still carried that faint, sweet trace of cinnamon sugar from the market, and every breath you took made his chest rise and fall with it.
he glanced once more at the coat across the couch, then at you, and knew it wasnât even a question anymore. the paper could stay folded, the notebook could stay tucked away. thisâyour head on his shoulder, your hand resting lightly against his sideâwas perfect to end the night.
the TV screen dimmed to black after a while, leaving the room in a softer kind of dark, but he didnât bother turning it back on. the heater kept humming, the blanket kept its weight over both of you, and he didnât feel like he had to fill the space with words or movement.
you stirred just enough to mumble something he didnât catch, and he glanced down. âgo back to sleep,â he said quietly, not because you were bothering him or because he minded the weight, but because he wanted to keep the moment exactly as it was.
your breathing evened out again, and he stayed there a little longer, his hand resting at your back. eventually, heâd head home, maybe text you when he got there.
right now, he was content to let the night stretch a little more, like holding onto the last bite of smooth chocolate.
he stayed there a little longer, letting the quiet sink in. the heater kept up its steady hum, the blanketâs weight was warm against his legs, and your hair brushed lightly against his jaw every time you breathed in. he didnât move or fidget; he just let the night keep stretching out like it was in no hurry to end.
when he finally shifted, he was careful, easing himself out from under you without waking you. you slumped slightly into the couch cushions, still wrapped in the blanket, one hand resting loosely where his arm had been. he grabbed his coat, slipping it on in one smooth motion, the wrapped notebook still tucked safely inside.
for a second, he stood there just looking at youâthe way your face had softened in sleep, the faintest trace of a smile still lingering like you were dreaming something good. his own mouth pulled into a small, quiet curve before he turned toward the door.
the cold air met him as soon as he stepped into the hallway, cold enough to make his cheeks sting slightly. he glanced back once more through the open doorway, catching the warm glow of the living room spilling out behind him, and then pulled the door shut with a soft click.
walking down the hall, hands stuffed into his pockets, he didnât bother thinking about whether the gift was perfect anymore; he knew it would be when you opened it.
ok guys that's all! hope u enjoyed!!
