Jun 13
Shōto was cold. That's a given, typically. But today it was near-freezing in his room. He liked the cold. Preferred it to most things. The cold meant he was safe. That maybe if he let the frost crawl up the walls, watched the door freeze over, didn't think about the frostbite, then maybe he'll be okay. Or, at the very least, it meant he wasn't anywhere near him. And that's what mattered. If flames do nothing but burn, then surely the ice is what heals. So he'll stay holed away in his room for now. For the rest of night. And for as long as he can push it in the morning before Fuyumi grows concerned. He will be okay. The ice will protect him.
