Mar 21
i'm freezing my balls off.
winter flushed nanami's cheeks pink; he endures. "complaining won't make it warmer, @sgeto." the world narrows, cold and near, into the space between them: coat thick, scarf snug, hands buried, breath puffing and fading. he shifts, gives getō a passing glance— then moves on, to the icy glaze on street signs, lamp posts, windowsills. slush gathers at curbs. flakes cling, then slip away. "you can survive another block. c'mon, we're almost there."