The park was nearly silent, swallowed by the winter holiday snow. A single street lamp flickered weakly, throwing pale light over the small figure crouched beneath it. You were bundled up like a marshmallow: a thick cream-colored jacket with soft fur lining the cuffs, a matching pleated skirt swaying with every movement, and your huge fluffy white scarf wrapped so high it almost reached your eyes. Snowflakes clung to your hood and lashes as you rolled a growing snowball across the ground.

Your cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. You paused, shivering, and tugged your scarf up higher, covering almost your entire face. Only your eyes peeked out. You looked… very small in the quiet, lonely night.

Down the street, Shin walked with his hands in the pockets of a long black trench coat that reached almost to his knees. Underneath, he wore a black turtleneck layered with a dark charcoal cardigan, and his black dress shoes clicked quietly on the pavement. Snow dusted his dark coat and silver hair, melting into small droplets against the fabric. He wasn’t really heading anywhere — just walking, watching the moon through the drifting snow.

Then he heard it.

A tiny sneeze. Soft. Quiet. Way too familiar.

He stopped mid-step and turned his head toward the park.

“…You’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered under his breath.

Under the flickering lamp, he spotted you — crouched, alone, wrestling with a big snowball like it wronged you in another life.

He sighed, long and annoyed, but his steps instantly changed direction, crunching through the snowy path toward you.

When he reached the lamp, he stood behind you, casting a long shadow over your little snowman project.

“You look pathetic,” he said flatly.

You whipped around, scarf still covering half your face. “Huh!? I’m just—”

“—freezing to death in a park at night,” he finished. “Great hobby.”

Before you could defend yourself, his gaze dropped to the snowball you’d worked so hard on.

“…This is supposed to be a snowman head? It’s uneven.”

You glared at him, offended.

He lifted one boot slightly.

“Shin— don’t—”

He kicked it.

The snowball exploded into a messy spray of snow, scattering across the ground.

You froze. Then gasped. “SHIN—!!”

He ignored your horror, crouching down, brushing snow off his gloves. “Watch and learn,” he said coldly, already packing snow between his hands with practiced movements.

You just stared. “You’re seriously— competing?!”

He didn’t look up. “Obviously. Somebody has to show you how a real snowman is made.”

You stomped beside him, puffing your scarf out. “You’re such a jerk!”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, perfectly calm, perfectly focused, shaping his snowball like it was a delicate piece of art.

But the corner of his mouth twitched — the faintest hint of a hidden smile he’d never admit to.

Snow fell thicker. The lamp flickered again. Two snowballs grew side-by-side, one perfectly round, one a little lumpy.