The days had grown longer, but winter's chill still lingered like a forgotten ghost. Soft clouds blanketed the sky in a pale hush, and snow sat like icing on rooftops, untouched in corners the sun never reached. It was the kind of cold that made your breath look like secrets.
Hana Amano stared out the classroom window, pencil hovering over the edge of her notebook. Outside, the bare trees clawed at the sky, and students in scarves and laughter drifted across the school courtyard. Her eyes weren't on them, though. They followed the sway of the wind, tracing something unseen.
She wasn't quite alone anymore.
A sketch of Popcorn, Naoki's kitten, curled contentedly on a rooftop, sat half-finished on her page. Her hand moved in gentle strokes, lines as soft as the emotions she couldn't yet name. Drawing was becoming easier again—like the world had stopped shaking quite so violently under her feet.
Ren had noticed that.
"Yo," came his voice, familiar now like a favorite coat. He slid into the seat beside her, hair still tousled from gym. He always smelled faintly of mint and the winter wind.
Hana blinked out of her daze. "Hey."
He leaned over to look at the sketch. "That Popcorn?"
She nodded.
"Looks fluffier than the real thing."
She smirked faintly. "She sat still longer for me."
Ren chuckled. "Yeah, she's a menace. Naoki's in denial. Says she's 'dainty.' Caught her trying to eat a button yesterday."
Hana's smile lingered longer this time.
---
On the rooftop that afternoon, Naoki was already waiting. Popcorn was zipped up in a sling across his chest, poking her head out and surveying the world like a snow-colored general.
"You bring her to school now?" Ren said, stepping into the chill breeze.
Naoki shrugged. "She's got abandonment issues."
Popcorn sneezed.
Hana joined them, setting her sketchbook on the ground beside her. The rooftop had become a silent kind of sanctuary—their own little fragment of peace, away from the buzz of teachers and schedules and obligations.
They sat in companionable quiet for a while, the wind occasionally tossing someone's hair into their eyes. Ren leaned back on his hands, eyes half-closed. Naoki fed Popcorn a tiny biscuit from his pocket.
"You okay today?" Ren asked quietly, not looking at him.
Naoki gave a tired smile. "She had a better morning. The nurse said her white cell count's holding steady."
Ren nodded.
Hana looked over. "Your mom?"
Naoki blinked, surprised. "Yeah. Lupus. Autoimmune stuff. She's been in and out of the hospital since I was ten."
Hana's fingers tightened around the edge of her coat sleeve.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"Don't be," Naoki said, his voice lighter than expected. "She's tough. Honestly, she's the one worrying about me."
Ren leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "You visit her yesterday?"
Naoki nodded. "She made me bring her that book she likes. The Moonlight Killer. Says the hospital food's less painful if she's reading about people getting stabbed."
Hana choked on a laugh. Ren grinned.
"She sounds cool," Hana said.
Naoki's smile softened. "She is."
Popcorn climbed out of her sling and made a slow wobbling journey across the rooftop tiles before collapsing dramatically onto Ren's foot.
"She likes you," Naoki said.
"She likes warm things," Ren replied.
"Exactly."
They all laughed.
---
Later that week, Hana found herself standing in front of the art room after school. Her hands were cold from walking, and she was still holding the small thermos Naoki had handed her after lunch. He said she "looked like someone who needed hot chocolate," and she hadn't found the words to argue.
Inside the room, it was quiet. Dusty sunlight angled through high windows, catching on abandoned paintbrushes and worn canvases. She moved toward the easels at the back, setting her sketchbook down.
She drew. The world outside blurred away as her pencil traced emotion into expression, loneliness into shape. Her strokes became bolder, as if the memory of Ren's laugh or Naoki's quiet bravery gave her permission.
She didn't hear the door open.
"You always disappear in here," Ren's voice said softly.
She turned.
He stepped closer, holding a small convenience store bag. "I got you those melon buns you like."
Her heart made a strange flutter.
"I didn't think you remembered," she said, taking the bag.
"I remember stuff," he said, scratching the back of his neck.
She sat on the stool again, unwrapping the bun slowly. "You always check in on people. Even when you're quiet about it."
He shrugged. "Everyone's got something. We don't talk about it, doesn't mean it's not there."
She looked at him, really looked. There was something in his eyes—soft, steady. Like a lighthouse.
"You're kind, Ren."
He met her gaze. "So are you. Just a little… quieter about it."
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was full. Heavy with things unsaid, but not unwelcome.
Ren reached for her sketchbook, flipping to the latest page. A drawing of the rooftop, with three small figures silhouetted under the winter sky. He smiled.
"Is that me?"
"The tall one," she said.
"And Naoki's the gremlin?"
She giggled. "Popcorn's on his head."
He chuckled, eyes crinkling. "You're getting good at this."
"Thanks," she said quietly. "I think… I'm starting to breathe again."
Ren nodded. "That's all we can do, sometimes."
---
Saturday came wrapped in wind and grey skies. Hana stayed home, curled beneath a blanket with her sketchpad balanced on her knees. Her room, once too quiet to bear, now hummed with soft music and the occasional ding of messages from Ren and Naoki.
Naoki sent a photo of Popcorn attacking a banana.
Ren sent a meme of a cat looking judgmental.
She smiled to herself.
Downstairs, her parents spoke in muffled voices—about stocks, flights, something corporate. They hadn't asked where she'd been spending her afternoons. Part of her was glad. The other part… ached.
But she had new voices now. New warmth.
---
Monday came again. The rooftop welcomed them with sun this time, melting a bit of snow into glittering puddles.
Naoki was running late. Hana sat beside Ren, eating the snack he'd brought—mini strawberry cakes. They sat close, shoulders nearly touching. Neither of them mentioned it.
"Did you sleep okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. Dreamed about being a cloud."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Floating. Quiet. Not heavy."
Ren considered that. "Sounds nice."
"It was."
They didn't move.
Naoki burst through the rooftop door moments later, panting.
"I swear—Popcorn stole my sock. I couldn't leave until I found it."
Ren snorted. Hana burst into laughter.
Naoki slumped between them and dramatically sprawled on the ground. "I need therapy."
"Get in line," Ren said.
They stayed until the bell called them back, the rooftop holding the echoes of their laughter like soft footprints in snow.
And even though nothing huge had changed, something unspoken had.
Their little world was growing warmer.
Even in winter.
—————