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“Bright, are you cold?”
Glass turned to look at Bright, whose shoulders were trembling like a little bird caught in the wind. The sight stirred something tender in him. Without hesitation, he reached into his coat and pulled out a spare scarf, wrapping it gently around Bright’s neck.
“There… Now you won’t be cold anymore.”
Bright didn’t say much in response. He simply held onto the scarf, his eyes lowering just a little. A faint blush crept across his cheeks—perhaps from the warmth of the fabric, or maybe from the quiet kindness behind Glass’s gesture.
“…It really does make me feel warmer. But… can I hold your hand too?” Bright asked, his voice small.
Glass only smiled, his expression soft and full of affection.
“Of course. If holding my hand helps keep the cold away, then I’ll hold it as long as you want, Bright.”
On a day when the breeze whispered gently through the air, the two of them stood close, fingers intertwined. And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the soft hush of winter, the warmth they shared was more than enough—like the gentle glow of a hearth that warms not just the body, but the heart as well.