Of Winter and Warmth
“I made you something,” she said, her voice soft—something unusual for her.
In her purple-gloved hand was a grey, seemingly brown scarf. It was obviously handstitched. The absence of unravelled threads made Neji think if she had practiced more than once.
He sighed, rather happily.
Knowing Ino, yes, she probably did.
It must be the reason why there were nights when he could feel her presence—not her chakra, but her presence overall—in the Hyuuga compound. Sometimes, when he passed by his cousin's room, he could swear that it smelled of floral and citrus—something Neji knew that only screamed her name.
A smirk went on its way to his lips, making her pale features redden in an instant. That was when the warmth hit his cheeks as well.
“Tis nothing special,” Ino claimed. Then, in the most uncommon way possible for the blonde, she continued with a stammer, “I just thought you could use it. . .since y-you never really dress up for the cold.”
Slowly, his bare hand touched hers—it was supposed to be the scarf she was giving him.
However, for a second, he didn’t take it.
Not yet.
Instead, his fingers brushed lightly over her gloved ones, pausing there—not by accident, but not fully intentional either. Just long enough to make her breath catch.
“Then it’s the most special ‘nothing’ I ever received,” Neji murmured, his voice low, almost whispering if it were not for the fact that he made sure his words reached her ears.
Ino blinked. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something witty, maybe deflect with a laugh, but it never came. She just stood there, looking as if he had stunned her, the cold forgotten.
The scarf—still caught between their hands—finally passed to him.
As the snow began to fall again, soft and slow, he wrapped it once around his neck. It matched his clothes, surprisingly.
It brought him warmth.
Unmistakably because of her—her and her doing.
She watched him with eyes wide, unblinking, as if memorizing the image of him wearing something she'd made. Something that, for once, wasn’t a weapon, or a tool, or a mission.
“You will get used to it,” Ino said, her voice now higher—just like her usual voice. “I mean—the cold. Or the scarf. Or. . .me.”
He looked at her, calm but unreadable, the snow beginning to catch in his hair.
“I already have,” Neji said in a tone he would use for promises.
Before the moment could fold into awkwardness or retreat, he turned—not to leave but to walk beside her. Quietly.
She followed.
No hands held. No declarations needed.
Just warmth shared between two people walking home beneath falling snow.
