THIS SHIP IS STILL ALIVE AND KICKING, AND SO AM I! Okay, I realize it's been like months since a last update. Since I last logged in to check up on this story, but I have valid reasoning-I've been writing nonstop, yes, but not on fanfictions. I kind of gave up on them. I thought they were getting in the way of my profession to be a real author, not a simple fanfiction writer.

But, I kind of missed writing them. I've been bombarded with ideas for shorts, never did they get around to seeing the light of day. BUT! NOW THEY WILL! I can assure you, THEY WILL! Starting with my one and favourite OTP, Akira x Makoto. Or, Ren x Makoto?

Got hit with the news of Persona Dance and Joker's (inner squeal) true, canon name: turns out, it's Ren Amamiya. Not really better than Akira, but it'll suffice. Still gonna use Akira Kurusu.

The street looked like an unfinished painting. So much of the canvas was still perfectly white, as if waiting for the artists hand to return. A breathtaking sight, this wintry night. Gentle and lush was the snow. Not blistering, but gentle. Intricate patterns of ice floated weightlessly downward from the pure white sky above, each flake swirling and dancing.

A cold draught of air whips overhead, carrying the dancers to a multitude of directions. North, South, East, West. Each direction the cold air took, the flakes followed. It's like, why, an inseperable bond. One and another. Two for one. The air and the snowflake. Snowflakes, to be precise, however the later did not seem as romantic with a large crowd.

Large crowds were quite common during the holiday season. It was wishful thinking none of stores would not contain such crowds. Seas of streetwalkers, bumbled up in their winter clothing. Scarves, coats, mittens, the whole of Shibuya encased in large and over sized clothing, simply to keep warmth.

Warmth...

Even on the deepest of winter days, she could feel warmth. Warmth from a crackling fireplace. A scarlet flame radiating heat, popping in a stone fireplace. Perhaps, a small heater would work just as nicely. So long as it could function, function to radiate her body with a scarlet flame, she

would always be pleased.

A tender smile grazed her lips.

Warmth from a soothing hot chocolate resting against her upper lip. She could almost taste the sensation of chocolate against her soft lips. Although her lips may currently be hidden under a scarf, she licked them. The upper half, to say.

Tasting a brisk essence of hot chocolate, a wonder to feel. Hot milk, cocoa, sugar-sometimes the most simple of things are the best. The simple things are quite delicious, she thought.

However. The taste of his lips against her own was more satisfying than any hot chocolate could offer.

Two mouths acting as one, overshunned by the playing of music lingering feets away from the stand. Innocence atoned by passion swepped them into savory grace. Delicate kisses on the lips, a gentle peck on the nose, a swift brush from dark locks on her forehead.

Another form of warmth came to mind for Makoto. It was spreading, covering the entirety of her face with no intent to cease. The scarf may cover her newly attained warmth, but had no power to eradicate her blushing state.

His arm was wrapped around her waist, tightly clinging on as though she would fall out of his grasp, drift into the seas of people. Akira would never let her go, she knew with destined belief. No, with actual fact.

Akira doesn't hesitate to show his affection. He is often than most, acting as a debonair, which did not surprise her in the slightest. His intelligence and personality is what attracted her. Brought her in forcibly by an invisible rope. On the contrary, he did stride to her in the hall. His studies were on point, his character was excellent-a divine gentleman.

"Makoto," a murmur errupted by her ear, hushed to a low, deeper tone. Warmth can travel back quicker than one can expect.

"Hmm," the hum released past her lips.

"The snow," his voice was angelic. Deep, but sweet. Like the coffee served at Leblanc, his voice was perfection. "It's getting cold."

"I mean to say this with no rude intent, but hasn't the temperature been cold from the beginning?"

"I suppose it's true."

"Then, why proclaim the obvious if-"

Her voice was cut silent by a thief stealing her treasure, again. Pulling back, just a smidgion, Akira's lips brushed against her ear, toying and nibbling gently with his tounge. "Akira, we're in public, are we not?" Makoto gasped out, attempting to keep her voice from infiltrating the ears of those around them.

"Makoto, it's cold outside," Akira uttered, once more.

"I realize our situation, but our current placement in the center of Shibuya raises some protest."

"Is privacy what you're seeking?"

"Privacy, um.."

Akira tugged on her earlobe in a playful manner. Blissful harmony threatened to leak from her mouth, but Makoto stayed firm. "Suggesting such a thing is, well.."

A gentle tug on her scarf, a darked haired male leaning toward her neck was all it took to change their position. "I suppose that," she uttered, "It's quite cold outside."