In the cold mornings of Shirayuki City, Roshia lives his life trying not to take up space. At 195 centimeters tall with pale blond hair and gray-blue eyes, his presence alone makes strangers flinch, clerks straighten their backs, and train passengers edge away. His night shifts at the warehouse leave him hollow, and his only comfort is a quiet corner of a café where he can pretend, for a few hours, that being alone doesn't look out of place.
Then one December morning, a stranger asks to share h
Beyond the Scarf - Night in front of the convenience store, a back came flying in
It was Friday night.
His body felt heavier than usual after the night shift. The sorting work at the Shirayuki Distribution Center warehouse had been as monotonous and quiet as ever tonight, finished without a word to anyone. Hauling cardboard boxes, checking invoices, hauling more. The cold had seeped into his bones, and his fingertips had gone slightly numb.
(I should eat something.)
Roshia decided to stop by the convenience store in front of the station.
Two minutes on foot from the north exit of Shirayuki Station. The twenty-four-hour "Machikado Mart Shirayuki Station Front Store." The area around the station was nearly deserted at this hour, and only the streetlights illuminated the damp asphalt. The air was biting cold, and his breath clouded white. It hadn't started snowing yet, but the heavy overcast sky looked like it could begin at any moment.
Roshia stood before the automatic doors.
That was when it happened.
"Whoa, you're huge."
A voice.
Beside the convenience store entrance, a man stood leaning against the wall. His greasy black hair was slicked back, clinging to his forehead in patches. A gold necklace glinted at his throat. His restless, glittering eyes crawled over Roshia's body, top to bottom, like a tongue.
The man grinned.
His gums showed.
"Big guy, huh. You a model or something?"
Roshia couldn't say anything.
(Is he... talking to me?)
(Why?)
(I don't even know him.)
The man staggered closer.
The distance between them collapsed in an instant.
"Hey, hey, you listening? How tall are you, bro? You gotta be over a hundred ninety, right?"
The man's hand reached out.
It touched Roshia's shoulder.
A clammy, damp sensation.
"Whoa, your shoulders are crazy broad too. What, you play rugby or something?"
Roshia's body went rigid.
(I want him to stop.)
(But I can't say it.)
(How am I supposed to turn him down?)
Roshia couldn't even shake the man's hand off. Couldn't run. He could only stand there, frozen in place.
The man watched Roshia's reaction as if it amused him.
"Huh? Ignoring me? You scared? Aw, that's kinda cute."
The man's hand slid from Roshia's shoulder down his arm.
Grabbed tight.
"Hey, come on, let me see your phone. What're you looking at? Your girlfriend? Or your boyfriend?"
The man's other hand reached toward Roshia's coat pocket.
He was trying to peek at the smartphone.
(Stop.)
(Don't touch me.)
(Help.)
He was screaming inside.
But no sound came.
In the back of his throat, the words had frozen solid, and wouldn't come out.
"Come on, it's no big deal. It's not like it costs you anything. Just a peek, just a peek."
The man's fingers caught the edge of the pocket.
That was when it happened.
"Please stop."
A low voice split the night air.
Roshia's head snapped up.
From across the street, he saw a man running toward them.
A clean-cut man with black hair neatly parted seven-to-three. Thin black-rimmed glasses. His dark brown eyes glared sharply at Kimome no Otoko.
It was Nihon.
Nihon — the very person Roshia had been avoiding.
Nihon wedged himself between Roshia and Kimome no Otoko.
As if shielding Roshia with his back.
"Do you have some business with this person?"
His voice was low and quiet.
But he was angry.
Clearly, unmistakably angry.
Kimome no Otoko looked taken aback for a moment.
"Huh? The hell are you?"
"If you're not acquainted with him, I'd ask you to step away."
Nihon didn't retreat a single step.
The man stepped forward.
Nihon stepped forward too.
"What, you his boyfriend or something? Awfully protective, aren't you?"
The man laughed.
But in that laugh, the composure from before had faded, just a little.
"...Step away."
Nihon's voice dropped even lower.
"Hah? Why the hell do I gotta take orders from you?"
The man shoved Nihon's chest, lightly.
Nihon's body staggered, just slightly.
But Nihon recovered his stance at once.
"Please stop this."
"What, you wanna go? You think a scrawny guy like you can take me?"
The man shoved Nihon's shoulder again, harder this time.
This time, Nihon's body swayed significantly.
Even so, Nihon didn't move from in front of Roshia.
He kept shielding Roshia with his back.
(Why?)
(Why is Nihon-san...)
(Why is he here?)
(Why is he protecting me?)
Roshia's head was a tangled mess.
Nihon had been avoiding him.
His replies had been slow, and when Roshia invited him out, he'd been refused.
Roshia had thought Nihon might never see him again.
And yet.
And yet, Nihon was standing in front of him now.
Putting his body on the line against a stranger.
"You better quit it. If I get serious, you're going down in one punch."
Thorns mixed into the man's voice.
"...I'm calling the police."
Nihon said it with a trembling voice.
But his eyes never left the man.
The man glared at Nihon for a while.
"...Tch. What a bunch of weirdos."
The man spat the words out.
Then he glanced at Roshia and said,
"You too, big guy. Lucky you, having your boyfriend protect you, huh."
Leaving those words behind, he staggered off into the night streets.
The man's figure vanished beyond the streetlights.
Silence returned.
Roshia couldn't move.
He'd been saved.
He'd been saved — and yet his body had turned to stone.
(Why?)
(Why is Nihon-san...)
(Why is he angry?)
(Why did he save me?)
The same words spun round and round in the depths of Roshia's chest.
No answer came.
Nihon stood there for a while even after the man had gone.
His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing.
His ragged breaths turned to white and dissolved into the night air.
"...Are you all right?"
Nihon's voice.
But Nihon wasn't looking at Roshia.
His face was turned down.
He wouldn't meet Roshia's eyes.
"Roshia-san."
His name was called.
That voice was trembling.
Just moments ago, he'd glared at the man so clearly, so fiercely.
Now Nihon's voice was so small and frail it seemed about to vanish.
"...N-Nihon-san."
Roshia managed, with great effort, to force the words out.
His throat stung.
"...I'll walk you home."
Nihon said that.
But still, he didn't look Roshia in the eye.
Roshia couldn't say anything.
There were so many things he wanted to ask.
Why are you here?
Why were you avoiding me?
Why did you save me?
Why do you look so pained right now?
But he couldn't ask.
If he asked, Nihon might hate him.
If he asked, Nihon might drift even further away.
Roshia nodded silently.
The two of them began to walk.
――――
It had begun to snow.
Fine snowflakes piled up over the town without a sound.
Roshia buried half his face in his scarf.
The precious scarf his older sister, Ukuraina, had knitted for him.
The feel of the yarn against his chilled cheek was just barely warm.
Nihon, walking beside him, said nothing.
He simply walked in silence, matching Roshia's pace.
Roshia stole a glance at Nihon's profile.
A black coat. A pale gray scarf.
A profile tilted slightly downward.
Behind the glasses, his eyes looked only straight ahead.
(Nihon-san.)
(Please.)
(Say something.)
(If you're angry, tell me you're angry.)
(I don't understand.)
Words welled up and vanished inside Roshia's heart.
But none of them could reach his lips.
Snow settled quietly on both their shoulders.
It was as if sound were draining out of the world.
All he could hear was the sound of falling snow and their two sets of footsteps.
(That day, it was snowing too.)
Roshia was remembering.
The day he first walked through town with Nihon.
The day Nihon fixed his scarf for him.
The day he received the gloves.
Back then, walking beside him had made Roshia so happy.
And yet.
Now, it was just painful.
The same snow.
The same street.
The same person beside him.
Why did it feel so far away?
Roshia gripped the end of his scarf tight.
His fingers were trembling.
――――
How long had they walked?
Before he knew it, they had arrived in front of the apartment building where Roshia lived — Heights Shirayuki.
A two-story building, about twenty years old.
Snow had gathered in a thin layer on the railing of the outdoor staircase.
Nihon stopped.
Roshia stopped too.
Silence piled up between them.
"...I'm sorry about today."
Nihon murmured quietly.
Roshia couldn't understand what those words meant.
(Sorry?)
(Why are you apologizing?)
(Nihon-san didn't do anything wrong.)
(I'm the one who's at fault.)
Roshia tried to ask.
But the words wouldn't come.
Something was caught in the back of his throat.
Nihon started to say something.
Opened his mouth.
But then closed it again.
"...Good night."
With that, Nihon turned on his heel.
And walked out into the snow.
Roshia couldn't move.
Nihon's back grew distant.
The back in the black coat slowly dissolved into the white snow.
(Don't go.)
(Wait.)
(There's still so much I want to ask.)
Roshia was screaming inside.
But his feet wouldn't move.
His voice wouldn't come.
He could only stand there, watching Nihon's back recede.
Nihon's figure disappeared beyond the snow.
Even after he could no longer see him, Roshia couldn't move.
(He protected me.)
(Nihon-san protected me.)
(So why does it hurt so much?)
Roshia buried his face in his scarf.
The smell of yarn and the cold of the snow.
And then, faintly, the scent of tea leaves.
(...Nihon-san's scent.)
(He was beside me just moments ago.)
(He was right there.)
Roshia gripped the end of his scarf with trembling hands.
For the first time, someone had protected him.
For the first time, someone had been angry on his behalf.
And yet.
Still, there was a distance that couldn't be closed.
Nihon's back had vanished into the snow.
Until that back was out of sight, Roshia couldn't move from that spot.
Snow settled quietly on Roshia's shoulders.
The streetlight illuminated the snow in a blurry glow.
At last, Roshia took a step.
He climbed the outdoor staircase of the apartment building slowly.
The iron railing was cold as ice.
One step, one step.
Dragging his heavy feet.
He reached his door and unlocked it.
A dark room.
The heater hadn't even started yet.
Without taking off his coat, Roshia sank down in the entryway.
He pulled his smartphone from his pocket.
Lit the screen.
One notification.
Roshia's heart leaped for an instant.
(Nihon-san?)
But it wasn't.
The sender was an unknown number.
Roshia tapped the notification, fearfully.
The message opened.
There, a short, single line.
"Just how serious are you about that tea shop guy?"
Roshia read the sentence over and over.
(...What?)
(The tea shop guy?)
(Does it mean Nihon-san?)
(How serious, what...)
(...How do they know?)
Something cold crept slowly up his back.
Just moments ago, everything had been so warm.
The warmth of Nihon's back as he disappeared into the snow.
The warmth of the scarf.
All of it was suddenly turning cold.
Roshia gently set the smartphone down on the floor.
The light of the screen floated faintly in the dark entryway.
"Just how serious are you about that tea shop guy?"
Those words burned into his eyes and wouldn't leave.
(Someone is watching.)
(Me and Nihon-san.)
(Were they watching today, too?)
Roshia gripped his scarf tight once more.
The scent of tea leaves tickled his nose, faintly.
(...Nihon-san.)
(What should I do?)
No answer came.
Outside the window, the snow fell quietly, endlessly.
Roshia sat in the entryway, unable to move for a long, long time.
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