Work Text:
Ena pulled up her scarf over her mouth; not because of the cold, but to hide her blush. The warmth she felt from Futaba — bundled shoulders brushing, hands intertwined in Ena’s pocket — was enough for the snow falling down around them to no longer bite.
The school year was almost over and they were on their way home from class. Futaba had been the one to bashfully suggest that they hold hands. Something about conserving heat, but Ena could see through the lie.
She had never expected Futaba to make a move, but was glad that she did. After all, she, too, liked Futaba in that way. So, to let her know, she had slotted their fingers together as Futaba grasped her hand. The other girl had gasped, a cloud of air puffing out of her mouth, but accepted it without a word.
None were needed, after all, not when holding hands with a loved one in the winter was the highest form of love to artists such as they.