the first day, it's cold out, and you stuff your pockets with your hands to keep them warm. he's bundled up, scarf, gloves, and all, but both your faces are rosy from the cold.
he hands you his scarf, because that's the kind of boy he is, but you reject it, because that's the kind of boy you are. it's a pride thing, and besides, it's not his fault you were stupid enough to not bring something to keep yourself warm.
the second day, it's colder, and the gloves fit awkwardly on your hands and the hat awkwardly on your head and honestly, you look like a preschooler. he laughs when he sees you, jokingly complimenting the monstrosity on your head, and you fumble to flip him off with a gloved finger. he laughs harder, warmly, and you feel like the temperature of the air around the two of you just rose twenty degrees. you feel the blood rising to your face and excuse yourself, with a half-assed excuse about having to get to your next class, because you've never felt like this before.
the third day, you take a sick day because you can, and because you don't feel like getting out of bed. your friend peko comes to your room, knocks on the door so hard you think it'll fall down, and demands to know if you're okay. you tell her you're fine, and that she really doesn't have to bust down the door every time you skip a day of class. you two have known eachother since before you've known how to speak, and she should know better, you think. still, her presence always cheers you up, and you find yourselves discussing calculus and gossip over mugs of hot chocolate before the door closes behind her.
the fourth day, you roll out of bed reluctantly, and are surprised by him and his concerned face as you meetup in between classes. he says he was worried about you, and you tell that he's a weird guy, and that everyone gets sick this time of year. he smiles, and tells you you should've taken his scarf the other day, scolds you for forgetting the gloves that you didn't even realize you left on your bed this morning.
he takes your hand, smiles gently as you yank it away, as if he expected it. he tells you fine, dumbass, but suit yourself if you get frostbite on those fingers of yours.
you take his hand.
the fifth day, it snows so hard that classes are cancelled for the day, and you spend the day catching up on homework and chugging hot chocolate. you run out of marshmallows halfway through the day, but you don't notice, because you've somehow managed to get yourself caught up on the hand-holding from yesterday.
your head says you should've just stuffed your hands in your pockets and taken the cold "like a man", and your heart says that your head's a dumbass and can go fuck itself, and you're not really sure what that says about you.
the sixth day, snow and ice cover the ground, and your gloves still fit awkwardly. the two of you walk in silence side by side, bundled up with your boots making crunching sounds against the snow. he asks you if you have any plans for winter break, and you say you don't, because it's the truth. you say you don't really want to go home for the holidays, and he doesn't ask why, just nods.
the seventh day, he says he doesn't want to go home for the holidays either, and you're surprised. you try not to show it, but he must've seen the surprise in your eyes, because he shrugs and explains that holidays at home were never very exciting anyways. he's broke, he says, so it's not like he'll be able to really buy any presents for anyone, and you nod. the rest of the walk is in silence, save for the sound of snowflakes hitting the ground that you think you're imagining.
the eighth day, it's a weekend, and he's sitting on a bench in the courtyard.
you sit next to him, and neither of you say anything out loud, but he puts his hand down on the bench and you put yours on top of it because it seems like the right thing to do.
the ninth day, you're studying, and his face keeps popping up in between paragraphs of chemistry and calculus and world history. you say fuck it, you literally say it out loud, and you pull out your phone with sweaty hands to text the number he gave you the other day. you spend the night in his room, laughing and joking about nothing at all, and fall asleep without even realizing you've never actually laughed and joked about anything like that with anyone before.
the tenth day, he's not there when you're walking to your classes, and you try not to think about it much. but it's on your mind the whole day, and you fucking hate it. you meet up with peko after your last class, talk about more calculus and more gossip at lunch because it's a half day. you discuss plans for break, or lack of, and she says she's visiting old friends from high school. you don't think much about it, until you realize that means you'll be alone for the holidays. it doesn't bother you at all, but it's just a fact.
you make a christmas tree out of soda cans and branches in your room, and stick a lightbulb on top. merry fuckin' christmas, you say, but you're the only one around to hear it.
the eleventh day, it's christmas eve, and he is sitting on that bench in the courtyard. you forgot your gloves again, but it was purposeful this time, and he knows it when takes his out of his pocket to hold your hand. he forgot his own gloves too, and it's skin on skin, and his hands are warmer and softer than you expected. peko's are rough, callused, just as a kendoka's would be, and yours are embarrassingly small, along with the entire rest of your body. he comments on it, and you start to tense up a little, but his eyes are warmer than his hands and you melt.
you walk around campus with him for a while, until your hands feel like they're about to freeze together. you don't think you'd mind if that happened, but either way, you end up going back to his room to eat. he's a fairly good cook, and you fall asleep with a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.
the twelfth day, you wake up next to hajime hinata. he's on the floor with you, and your hands are still intertwined. it's christmas day, and the first thing he says to you when you wake up is merry christmas. you left a candle burning overnight, a peppermint one, and it smells like christmas and it feels like christmas and snow is on the ground in blankets.
you walk to your room, and your hands haven't separated. he laughs at your poor attempt at a christmas tree, and you laugh with him. there's a small, wrapped present beneath it - it's for him, naturally.
i got something for you, you tell him. he's a little surprised, a little flustered, and a little embarrassed- he didn't get anything for you, but you don't mind. what you got is kind of for the both of you, you tell him.
he unwraps it, finally letting go of your hand. you fidget with the collar of your shirt- you're both still in your pajamas, standing in your bedroom, and it's completely ridiculous.
you look back at him, and he's beaming, with a sprig of mistletoe in his hand. your face turns bright red, it's the cheesiest present you've ever gave anyone, but he seems happy.
he holds it above his head, takes your hand with his other hand, and his lips are even softer than his hands are.
the day after christmas, it's cold out, and you stuff your pockets with your hands to keep them warm. hinata's bundled up, scarf, gloves, and all, but both your faces are rosy from the cold.
he hands you his scarf, because that's the kind of boy he is, and you wrap half of it around your neck, because that's the kind of boy you are now. you brought more mistletoe with you, but it doesn't take any convincing for his lips to meet yours.