"Hey, Touya," Hikaru says one day. He's sitting by the window in early winter, looking outside. It's cool, but not cold; the air is grey but not dark enough to be depressing. There's a strange sort of freedom, he thinks, that lingers in the air on days like these, days when Akira wraps his scarf around his neck, but hesitates and stuffs his gloves
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ahhh so sorry for the late reply, but thank you.
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