Work Text:
Snow has been falling since early morning, thick enough now that the streets look newly born—everything softened, rounded at the edges, wrapped in white.
Mydei’s already waiting when you step outside the office, hands tucked into his coat pockets, breath fogging the air. He straightens when he sees you, eyes doing that familiar sweep like he’s checking if you’re warm enough, bundled enough.
“You’re late,” he says, but there’s no bite to it.
“You love waiting for me,” you reply, stepping closer.
He doesn’t deny it.
Instead, he reaches for your hand, fingers warm against yours despite the cold, and you start towards the grocery a few blocks away.
The errand itself is simple—quiet aisles, shared glances, him lifting things off high shelves without comment. On the walk back, he insists on carrying the bags as usual, and as usual, you let him.
Snow falls heavier now that it's late afternoon, the world hushed, the orange rays of the sun glowing soft through the white.
You walk hand in hand, shoulders brushing. Your fingers are starting to numb, but you don’t say anything, it’s only a few blocks more until you get home, anyway.
But Mydei notices, as he always does.
He slows. Then stops.
He sets the bag of groceries down on a nearby ledge—careful, deliberate—before turning back to you.
“Mydei—what?” you ask, confused.
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at you for a second, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s made up his mind. Then he reaches up, unwinds his scarf, and drapes it around you.
It’s warm immediately. Heavy. It smells like him—clean, familiar, comforting in a way that makes your chest feel tight.
“Hey,” you murmur, clutching the ends, “You’ll be cold.”
“Worry about yourself, first,” he says, easy as breathing.
You look up at him through your lashes, cheeks flushed—partly from the cold, partly from the way he’s looking at you now. Snow gathers in his hair, lashes catching a few snowflakes as well. His nose is already turning red.
The only word in his mind as he takes you in, wrapped in his scarf, blinking at him like that, is absolutely adorable.
When you turn your face away, clearly trying to hide how warm your cheeks have gotten, he moves.
Two fingers hook into the long tail of the scarf and he tugs you back—gentle but sure—right into his chest.
His lips meet yours, warm, soft, and unhurried. A kiss meant only for you. Snow drifts past, the world staying respectfully quiet.
When he pulls back, his nose is red now too, breath ghosting between you.
You blink up at him, voice small, “What was that for?”
He huffs softly, amused, and slips your hand into his coat pocket, surrounding it with warmth.
“Just felt like it,” he says, already starting to walk again, tugging you along.
You follow, dazed, heart light, fingers warm where his hand keeps yours.
It takes a few minutes, a few blocks of walking when you realize something.
Then you stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
Mydei stumbles back a step when you tug him, turning instantly, “Why? Are you okay?”
You look at him. Then behind you.
Then back at him.
“…Mydei,” you say carefully, “we forgot the groceries.”
There’s a pause.
He exhales slowly, eyes flicking behind you.
“…Worth it,” he mutters, squeezing your hand before turning back.
And this time, he makes sure not to let go of you or the bags.