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Really, Iseya should have considered himself lucky. Winters in the Box Garden weren’t as terrible as they could be. He’d heard from an associate a few towns over that the snow and ice had settled so thick after the recent storm that many businesses there were still closed.
Nothing like that happened in a city woven so thick with industry. The constant heat of machinery warded off snow, whittling it down from all sides before it ever got a chance to stick. The same storm that laid a full ten centimeters over his associate’s home had left only a thin layer of snow behind in the Box Garden. It clung stubbornly to shadowy crevices and to rooftops protruding from the walls of the man-made crater that cradled the mining town’s livelier underbelly.
Year after year, Iseya had noticed that the snow came later and fell thinner. When it did snow it felt almost ornamental. Nothing but a light dusting of white to remind the city that it wasn’t autumn anymore but spring was still a long way off.
In the winter months, Iseya kept his library cold.
Books needed cool, dry air with minimal fluctuation. Heat warped bindings. It weakened paper and invited mold and bookworms. Central heating relied heavily on gas and open flame. Electricity was available, but not with the same reliability as the metropolis above them. Each appliance added strain to a system already stretched thin. More strain meant increased risk of electrical fires, which accounted for a disproportionate number of winter casualties each year. Iseya knew all of the statistics.
He could tolerate a few degrees of chill if it meant keeping his archives safe.
Much like his library, Iseya’s body also ran cold.
He did his best to stay inside during the winter, as frigid as the library was. The kotatsu he’d temporarily swapped out his desk for provided a small pocket of warmth. It was enough to keep him comfortable while he worked through his usual archiving tasks. When he was warm and focused, he could just about forget the cold. But it all caught up with him the moment he had to stand.
Luckily for him, spending long hours behind a desk was already a normal part of Iseya’s life. As long as he stretched every now and then, he didn’t need to move very much at all.
Iseya tried to cope in many ways. He wore extra layers indoors. If something fell off a shelf, he just stared at it for a long time while he weighed whether it was worth standing up to fix. He delayed meals because the kitchen was colder than his office. He put off errands until the list grew long enough to justify a trip.
In the depths of winter, Iseya only went out once a week. If he was going to brave the cold, he was going to do it as efficiently as possible. Every errand had been arranged in a neat, looping route that could be completed in one afternoon.
Today was that day. As much as he didn’t want to go out, there wasn’t much time to waste dawdling. He only had a few hours of daylight to work with and it wasn’t going to get any warmer. So eventually Iseya put on his heaviest cape, took one last deep breath of warm air, and locked the library behind him.
It was cold enough outside to be unpleasant. Below freezing, judging by the way his breath fogged in the air. The trees surrounding his library had gone bare months ago. It had been depressing at first. But now their dense branches sparkled, encased in ice clearer than the glass of the library’s windows.
At least there was some beauty in the cold, even if he’d rather leave the rest of it behind.
In the warmer months, he’d gladly walk the whole way. But the chill hit him harder than he’d expected. So he opted for one of the few trolleys that ran this far down. Even shivering and runny-nosed, Iseya did his best to enjoy the short walk.
There were still a few empty seats when he boarded. That was a relief. Less body heat to warm the car, maybe. But Iseya disliked being crowded enough to make the tradeoff worth it. He pressed up against a window and tucked his hands into his sleeves, watching his own breath fog the glass as the town rattled by.
The trolley followed the river’s meander for only a few blocks before he hopped off. He’d reached the steep stairway leading down several levels to the market district. The water never froze in the winter– it was much too polluted for that. But the sharp, metallic smell of nickel and sulfur had dulled in cold. Or maybe Iseya’s nose was too numb to register it properly.
The streets below were lined with mismatched buildings– storefronts plastered in signage and held together by corrugated metal and ice. The shade of gangways and structures above him made the cold feel even colder. He huddled his cape around his body and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, just trying to endure. It would only be a few minutes before he could get himself inside.
The city felt too quiet. That was yet another reason he disliked the winter. For these bitter weeks, his vibrant little slice of the world went dormant. A few people lingered on their balconies, tending small fires, but few braved the streets. What little foot traffic there was moved stiffly and with purpose, trying to get where they were going as soon as possible. No room for distractions.
The machinery surrounding Iseya, at least, was indifferent to the season. Conveyors rattled, vents hissed. The essential infrastructure for the coal mines, baked into the very fabric of the town, chugged along the same way it always did.
He wished he could be like them.
It was almost like he was trying to be as he ran his errands along the methodical route he’d planned. He stocked up on paper and ink, food and other loose ends that had come up throughout the week. His fingers ached the whole time, even through his gloves. Short bursts of being indoors hadn’t stopped the deep chill from settling in his skin.
The sun dipped low by barely five in the evening. Lanterns flared to life along the streets, bathing the patchwork town in red and gold. Now that it was dark, the cold threatened to absorb him completely. He should have aimed to be home earlier, given his sensitivity to the cold. But this timing mattered.
If he couldn’t fit everything in, why bother making the trip?
Iseya stepped into the Evening Pomegranate and was immediately embraced by the sizzle of food and lively conversation. He gravitated toward the grill, hands extended to soak in the warmth.
Through the mismatched sing-song of staff welcoming a customer, a familiar voice sounded behind him, warm with practiced politeness.
“Welcome in. Can I help you?”
Iseya smiled, thawing out immediately.
“I believe you can.”
❅ ❅ ❅
Once a week, Eiwajima started his shift at the restaurant early and left a few hours before closing. It aligned perfectly with the narrow window when the shops Iseya needed to visit would still be open. Naturally, that was the day he chose for his weekly excursion. There was no sense in walking home alone in the cold, and Eiwajima’s presence came with the added benefit of extra hands to carry the spoils of his outing. He’d been saddled with two bags as soon as they finished their meal and made to leave.
Unfortunately, the snow had picked up while they were enjoying each other's company. Iseya just stood in the doorway of the restaurant regarding the flurry with stunned disappointment. Eventually, Eiwajima was able to rally him into starting their trek back to the library.
“Ishizaru punks causing trouble again today. A few of them.” Eiwajima said matter-of-factly as they stepped out into the evening, like Iseya could fill the blanks in his story easily enough. He’d tossed them around and scared them off like he always did. “More of them these days. Don’t think it means anything.”
Iseya was trailing behind. Eiwajima’s long strides slowed until they matched those smaller, more careful steps. White fluffs of snow melted into the fabric of Ei’s thick outer coat and stuck to the fur of Iseya’s collar. Iseya had started shivering, and Eiwajima moved closer automatically.
Iseya’s fingers were shaking as they gripped the handles of his bags. Once Eiwajima noticed, he swooped in and took the remaining bags without comment. The weight was negligible to him, anyway. Thankfully, Iseya didn’t protest this time. A smile came to Eiwajima’s face when he saw those cold hands tuck themselves away in his pockets.
“Figures.“ Iseya replied mildly, trying to force the tremble out of his voice. “They m-must be bored, picking a fight with you.”
The falling snow hadn’t been kind to the stairways, the building ice making the journey up more treacherous. They took it slow, gripping the handrail the whole way. Halfway up, Iseya’s foot slid. His heart barely had time to leap into his throat before Eiwajima’s hand closed firmly around his arm. Relief flooded Iseya’s entire body.
“I’m fine.” He huffed, adrenaline-quickened breath billowing white against the cold.
“I know.” Eiwajima answered, not releasing him until both of Iseya’s feet were planted securely on the ground.
“I got everything done.” Iseya picked up their conversation as if the interruption never happened. “Though the tea shop’s selection is miserable this time of year, and I nearly froze to death waiting for them to find something decent.”
Iseya walked close to Eiwajima’s side, prattling on about whatever came to mind. He was content to let their shoulders brush whenever the path narrowed, not just to share warmth. By the time they reached the trolley, the car was already crowded. They squeezed in among other bodies coming home from long shifts, everyones’ coats damp with melting snow. The air around them felt thick– too warm, when Iseya knew it was all coming from other peoples’ breath and sweat.
Normally, Iseya would hate being pressed on all sides like this. But tonight, he didn’t mind.
He turned slightly and rested his head against Eiwajima’s chest, eyes slipping shut. The steady beat of Eiwajima’s heartbeat grounded him, a quiet constant beneath the noise of the trolley and its passengers. Eiwajima shifted, bracing him with one arm and shielding him from the bulk of the crowd.
They often didn’t touch more than necessary, especially not in public. They didn’t need to. What they had was familiar and easy. It was comfortable. Something worn smooth and beautiful like a stone shaped in a river.
Iseya cherished moments like this, when it felt like they were the only two people in the world no matter how many people were around them.
He settled more fully against him and watched their reflections huddle close together in the darkened window. The trail of their footprints side by side in the snow disappeared behind them.
❅ ❅ ❅
Iseya resumed his ramble as soon as they stepped off the trolley, voice carrying easily over the snow. Something about the ink vendor trying to overcharge him, and how the detour to a glassworker too far downriver had not been worth it. Eiwajima listened, steady and attentive, and responded occasionally with a short acknowledgement or question.
Iseya unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The library, which had been too cold when he’d left, now felt balmy compared to the dark, frigid outside. Still, he could have sworn that as Eiwajima filled its walls, the air warmed by a few more degrees.
He shrugged off his cape and moved on autopilot, picking up the bags Ei had set down and filing away everything he’d gathered from town. Ink and paper refilled their cabinets. A replacement bulb for the reading lamp was wrapped carefully and tucked into its designated drawer. His joints were still stiff from the cold, and he wanted nothing more than to get back under the kotatsu where he could plan a few tasks for the next day. But things had to be put away properly first.
Behind him, Eiwajima removed his wet outer coat and his boots, loosening up quickly like someone who knew the space well. Once he was inside, everything had settled back where it needed to be.
“You still have more work to do?” Eiwajima asked, watching Iseya stretch and lower himself to the floor behind his desk.
“A little.” Iseya replied, reaching for his notes. He flicked a glance over his shoulder, eyes gleaming behind dark lenses. “You’re welcome to keep me company if can manage not to distract me.” He adjusted his legs under the kotatsu and pulled his writing supplies close.
He expected Ei to sit beside him like he usually did. He’d slide in close under the kotatsu, knees brushing his. It was efficient. They’d conserve heat through proximity.
Instead, Iseya felt the other man fill the space behind him. The fabric of Ei’s happi brushed over his shoulders as he drew it open with a light gust of air. He sat, angling his big, awkward legs under the kotatsu on either side of Iseya’s body and wrapped him up in his happi. Iseya was quickly pulled into a warmth that melted away the last stubborn chunk of ice in his ribs.
”What are you doing?” he asked, guarded on reflex. But he’d resisted for only a moment before settling into Eiwajima’s chest.
”Keeping you warm. You're cold.” Eiwajima replied, mild but firm.
That hadn’t exactly been subtle. Still, how Eiwajima always seemed to know, without being told, what was bothering him the most at any given moment was something Iseya had given up trying to understand.
Iseya sighed a little too wistfully to mask the warmth building up inside of him, and allowed himself to be guided closer to Eiwajima’s chest.
“You’re talking this awfully seriously. Is this one of your stray rat instincts?” He taunted, words edged with a familiar brattiness.
“You’re important. I want you to be comfortable.” Eiwajima answered simply, like that was the only reason required.
He adjusted his hold, pulling Iseya closer beneath the happi. Ei smelled like food and smoke and the lingering heat of the restaurant. The smell was alive and grounding, burning low in a place that usually smelled only of dust and paper. The contrast made his chest ache pleasantly. He felt the careful way Ei’s muscles tightened and eased, constantly recalibrating to avoid holding too tight.
The room grew quieter as they settled in, hardly more than the scratching of pen against paper filling the air. Their leftovers had long stopped steaming by the time Iseya decided to pick at them again. He balanced a skewer in one hand, pen scratching steadily across the page. The food wasn’t bad cold. Eiwajima ate slowly behind him, watching with focus that never felt invasive. They spoke only occasionally– nothing important. Even the silence that filled the spaces of their conversation was peaceful.
Eventually, Iseya set his pen down.
Without looking, he slipped his arms into the loose sleeves of the happi. Cold fingers traced warm muscle wrapped in white fabric, sliding down until their forearms overlapped fully inside the sleeve. Eiwajima tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed once he understood.
Iseya’s fingers curled into the inside of Ei’s sleeve, anchoring himself.
Eiwajima lowered his head, resting it fully against Iseya’s shoulder and pressed his warm cheek to his. The contact was unguarded and intimate and Iseya leaned back into it fully, the last of his tension draining away. His thoughts slowed, the careful walls he kept around himself softening just enough.
Behind him, Eiwajima exhaled, content and quiet. Like this stillness was exactly where he’d wanted to be all day.
Iseya closed his eyes.
He could get through the winter like this.
❅ ❅ ❅
Really, Izaya should have considered himself lucky. Ikebukuro only got about seven centimeters of snow per year, and temperature rarely fell below freezing. The way he dressed, he could usually survive whatever winter threw at him without issue.
Unfortunately, it seemed like all seven centimeters had decided to come at once. And somehow, Izaya let himself get caught in the middle of it.
Maybe it would be more bearable if he wasn’t stuck walking home with an idiot.
Shizuo walked beside him with all the dumb, silent, unbotheredness that he did in every other season, the cold seemingly nothing to him. Disgusting. Unfair.
Izaya tried to hide the fact that he was shivering-- he wasn’t, actually. It might have looked like he was shivering, but it was just the icy wind whipping at his coat. The snow clinging to the fur of his coat didn’t mean anything to him. His hands weren’t stuffed into his pockets because he was cold. Maybe he just thought it made him look cool. He wasn’t shivering.
He tried adjusting his scarf. For the price tag, it wasn’t doing much. All fashion, no function.
The action didn’t escape Shizuo’s notice.
“That jacket just for show or what? Doesn’t look like it’s doing much for you.” Shizuo said, voice flat but clearly amused. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he? The beast.
“I didn’t ask f-for your opinion.” Izaya snapped back.
“Uh huh.” To Izaya’s horror, Shizuo stepped closer, boots crunching softly over the freshly-fallen snow. “You haven’t stopped shaking since we stepped out.”
“I’m not--” Izaya was cut off by the wind, curling in on himself as a harsh gust cut through him.
Shizuo snorted. Imbicile.
Izaya’s shot him a glare through the flurry. “You seem awfully amused.”
Shizuo didn’t respond. Just looked at him in that deep, focused way he did sometimes that sent a chill through Izaya’s spine every time. Like he was under a microscope, if the brute even knew what a microscope was.
“God you’re annoying.” Shizuo muttered at last, pulling off his outer coat and draping it over Izaya’s shoulders. "Just say you're cold if you're cold."
The instant warmth made Izaya freeze.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He demanded. The coat was warmed with the heat of Shizuo’s body, soaked in the unfortunately too-familiar scent of smoke and cheap shampoo. The way his heart flipped in his chest made Izaya’s skin crawl.
Shizuo seemed ignorant to the state of Izaya’s heart. He answered simply. “Keeping you warm. You're cold.”
“I'm not--” Izaya snapped, but he couldn’t hide the heat crawling up his face. For how stupid he was nearly all the time, Shizuo was frustratingly observant at times. “You’re taking this awfully seriously. Is this one of your monster instincts?”
Shizuo paused, trying to find the right words. Which was impressive, given his low processing power and abysmal impulse control. And he just kept looking at Izaya like he was taking stock of his very soul. Izaya always squirmed under the tenderness that bled through the edges of that gaze. What the hell was Shizuo thinking? Did he even think?
For all the buildup, he just answered gruffly.
“Just take it and shut up.”