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 - The day I told my friend, a shadow lingering in the snow
The window seat at Café Kotonoha.
Roshia sat there.
Outside, heavy gray clouds had covered the sky since morning. It hadn't started snowing yet, but the sky looked like it could begin at any moment. People walking through the streets all hurried along with their coat collars turned up, looking straight ahead.
Roshia stared at the same page of the book lying open on the table, never turning it.
(...I'm not reading.)
Not a single word was entering his head.
He kept replaying, over and over, what had happened two days ago on the snowy walk home.
Being hassled by a stranger in front of the convenience store. Having his shoulder touched, his arm grabbed, his phone almost peered at—and still, he hadn't been able to say a word.
And then Nihon had come charging in.
Nihon, whom he'd been avoiding.
Glaring at the man with that low voice, shielding Roshia with his back.
And then the two of them walking together on the snowy way home.
Nihon, in a trembling voice, confessing to him.
That it wasn't that he hated Roshia or wanted to avoid him.
That he'd been afraid of getting too close and ruining what they had.
Roshia looked at his own hands.
His large hands, resting on the table. His fingertips were trembling, just slightly.
(I have to say it today.)
(My feelings.)
(I have to put them into words.)
Roshia gently gripped the end of his scarf.
The pale-colored scarf his older sister Ukuraina had knitted for him. The feel of the yarn was just barely warm against his chilled fingertips.
(...Um, uh.)
(I'm—with Nihon-san.)
(Nihon-san is—my—)
He tried assembling the words in his mind, over and over.
But none of them felt right.
The words caught in the back of his throat.
*Chime*—the bell at the entrance rang.
Roshia's shoulders jumped with a start.
He looked up.
The person who'd come in was a middle-aged man in a suit. Not Nihon.
Roshia dropped his eyes back to the book, a complicated mix of relief and disappointment churning in his chest.
(...Not him.)
(He's not here yet.)
*Chime.*
The bell rang again.
This time it was two young women.
Roshia stopped looking up.
(...How many times has it been now?)
(Every time Nihon-san comes, I do this.)
(I can't settle down.)
(My heart is so loud.)
He looked outside the window.
Gray sky. People passing back and forth along the sidewalk.
And there he was—searching for a figure in a black coat among them.
(...Will he come today, I wonder.)
(We made a promise, but.)
(But maybe.)
(Maybe he won't come again.)
An unpleasant thought reared its head.
Roshia shook his head.
(No.)
(Nihon-san will come.)
(He told me that day.)
(That he'd contact me again.)
(So it's fine.)
He told himself that.
But the restless feeling deep in his chest wouldn't go away.
――――
Café Kotonoha sat on the corner of the station-front shopping street, a three-minute walk from Shirayuki Station's north exit. The interior was done in wood grain, with a small bookshelf by the window. The coffee was siphon-brewed, one cup at a time—a quiet shop.
For Roshia, the window seat here was the most calming place.
Sitting here, he didn't look out of place even alone.
Reading a book, he didn't look lonely even alone.
That was what he'd thought when he started coming here.
But now, it was different.
He hadn't come here today to be alone.
He'd come to see Nihon.
(...Nihon-san.)
(Won't you come soon?)
(No, but.)
(Even if he comes, I'm not sure I can talk properly.)
(What should I do?)
(Maybe I should just go home.)
(No, I can't go home.)
(I decided I'd say it today.)
Roshia gripped the end of his scarf tight.
So tight his fingertips went white.
*Chime.*
The bell rang.
This time, Roshia looked up.
The one who came through the door was a small-statured man with black hair neatly parted seven-to-three. He wore thin black-rimmed glasses, and his calm dark-brown eyes quietly surveyed the shop.
It was Nihon.
Something deep in Roshia's chest gave a hard thump.
(He came.)
(Nihon-san came for me.)
When Nihon spotted Roshia, he gave a small bow and walked over.
Roshia hurriedly straightened his back.
Straighter than usual. Much straighter.
"Hello, Roshia-san. Sorry to keep you waiting."
Nihon's voice was, as always, quiet and polite.
"...Ah, yes. Hello."
Roshia couldn't get his voice out properly—it came out as little more than a nod.
Nihon quietly settled into the seat across from him.
He took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair.
Every one of those gestures was so careful, so precise.
"It's cold today, isn't it. Looks like it might snow."
Nihon said, gazing out the window.
"...It does, doesn't it."
Roshia looked outside too.
The gray clouds seemed a little lower than before.
(I wonder if it'll snow.)
(I wonder if I can walk through the snow with Nihon-san again.)
(...Ah, no.)
(That's not what matters right now.)
Beneath the table, Roshia gripped the end of his scarf once more.
"Would you like something to drink? I brought tea leaves again today."
Nihon took out the same small cloth pouch as always.
A faint aroma of tea leaves drifted softly through the air.
"...Ah, yes. Please."
"Would houjicha be all right?"
"...Yes."
Nihon called over to the server, got some hot water, and with practiced ease put the tea leaves into the teapot.
White steam rose slowly between the two of them.
Roshia watched him intently.
Nihon's fingertips were clean and neat, and there was no wasted motion in them.
(...Nihon-san is amazing.)
(He's so good at brewing tea.)
(And good at talking, too.)
(So completely different from me.)
(...But.)
(That's exactly why I have to say it.)
(My feelings.)
"Here you go."
A teacup was gently set before Roshia.
Along with the steam, a roasted, fragrant aroma spread softly.
"...Thank you very much."
Roshia wrapped both hands around the teacup.
It was warm.
That warmth seeped slowly into his thoroughly chilled fingertips.
(...This warmth.)
(I want to remember it, always.)
Roshia brought the cup to his lips.
The gentle flavor of the houjicha passed down his throat.
"...It's good."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Nihon smiled softly.
"I'm glad. Today's leaves are roasted a little lighter. The aroma comes out easily, so I thought it'd be just right for a cold day like this."
"...Is that so."
Roshia took another sip.
(...This calms me.)
(The tea Nihon-san brews always calms me.)
(...Ah, but.)
(This isn't the time to be calm.)
(I decided I'd say it today.)
Roshia set the teacup down on the table.
And then he straightened his back once more.
"...Um, Nihon-san."
His voice cracked a little.
Nihon looked up.
His dark-brown eyes quietly fixed on Roshia.
"Yes."
"...Um, well—"
The words wouldn't come.
There was so much he wanted to say in his head.
But in the back of his throat, the words tangled up.
(...What do I do.)
(I knew it—I can't say it properly.)
(...But.)
(If I run away here, it's no good.)
(Because I decided I'd say it today.)
Roshia gripped the end of his scarf tight.
The feel of the yarn reached his palm, steady and sure.
(...It's okay.)
(I have this scarf my sister knitted for me.)
(My sister is protecting me.)
(...So it's okay.)
Roshia drew a deep breath.
Then slowly let it out.
His white breath mingled with the steam from the teacup and disappeared.
"...I—"
His voice was trembling.
But he didn't look away.
He looked straight into Nihon's eyes.
"...I—about you, Nihon-san—"
(Say it.)
(Say it.)
(In my own words.)
"...I think of you as a friend."
He'd said it.
He'd finally said it.
His voice was small and halting, and toward the end it nearly faded away.
But he had definitely said it.
With his own mouth.
In his own words.
He had told Nihon.
――――
Nihon's eyes widened slightly, as if surprised.
Behind the thin black-rimmed glasses, his dark-brown pupils wavered, just a little.
Then, slowly, taking his time, he smiled—softly.
"...Yes."
Nihon's voice was very quiet.
But there was a definite warmth in it.
"I think of you as a friend too, Roshia-san."
Something deep in Roshia's chest spread outward, slowly.
A sensation like heat, like warmth—he couldn't quite tell which.
(...A friend.)
(Nihon-san said I'm his friend.)
(...He told me.)
Roshia couldn't manage a proper smile.
He hung his head and pressed his lips tightly together.
(...I'm happy.)
(So happy.)
(But I can't lift my face.)
(If I look up now, I'll definitely make a strange face.)
"Roshia-san."
Nihon called his name.
"Thank you. Hearing you say that makes me very happy."
Roshia, still looking down, gave a small nod.
(...Thank you.)
(Really, thank you.)
(I'm the one who should be thanking you.)
He repeated the same words over and over in his heart.
He couldn't get them out loud, though.
――――
For a while, the two of them drank their tea in silence.
But that silence wasn't painful like it had been before.
If anything, it was a comfortable, gentle silence.
Outside the window, at some point, it had begun to snow.
Fine snowflakes fell slowly, soundlessly, from the gray sky.
"It's started snowing."
Nihon said, looking outside.
"...It has."
Roshia looked outside too.
White flecks rode the wind, streaming diagonally.
"It might pile up a little on the way home."
"...I suppose so."
(...Snow.)
(I can walk through the snow with Nihon-san again.)
(...I'm happy.)
Roshia gently cradled the teacup.
It was warm.
If only this warmth could last forever.
That was what he thought.
――――
When they left the shop, the snow had grown a little heavier than before.
Fine flakes settled quietly on Roshia's pale blond hair.
"Roshia-san, may I adjust your scarf a little?"
Nihon said, looking up at Roshia's neck.
"...Ah, yes."
Roshia bent down slightly so Nihon's hands could reach more easily.
Nihon noticed that the way Roshia's scarf was wrapped had loosened a bit, and carefully fixed it for him.
His fingertips brushed, just barely, against the nape of Roshia's neck.
They were cold fingertips.
But somehow, that coldness felt pleasant.
"...There. That should do it."
Nihon smiled, looking satisfied.
"...Thank you very much."
Roshia buried half his face in his scarf.
(...Nihon-san fixed it for me.)
(...Somehow, it's embarrassing.)
(But I'm happy.)
The two of them set off walking side by side.
Slowly, along the snowy road.
Roshia stepped carefully, one step at a time, pressing into the snow.
*Crunch, crunch*—the sound of stepping through snow echoed faintly through the quiet town.
(...This sound.)
(I love it.)
(The sound of walking beside someone.)
(The sound of not being alone.)
Roshia glanced at Nihon walking beside him.
Nihon was walking slowly, matching Roshia's stride.
(...Nihon-san always matches my pace.)
(Because I walk slowly.)
(...No, that's not it.)
(Nihon-san must be being considerate of me.)
(...I'm happy.)
(But I feel bad.)
(...Ah, but.)
(Right now, I want to stay like this.)
(I want to walk beside Nihon-san.)
Roshia quietly spread the end of his scarf.
And then, just a little, he closed the distance between himself and Nihon.
Their shoulders brushed faintly.
Nihon looked up at Roshia, startled for an instant.
But then he immediately smiled softly and matched his stride to Roshia's even more.
Two sets of footsteps echoed side by side through the snowy town.
*Crunch, crunch.*
In the same rhythm.
At the same speed.
Roshia was savoring, for the first time, the feeling of walking beside someone.
(...Is this what it means to walk with a friend?)
(...I'm not really sure.)
(But.)
(It's so warm.)
(My heart is warm.)
Roshia's lips loosened, just slightly.
Nihon caught that from the corner of his eye and let his own lips soften.
――――
It was around the time they'd passed through the riverside path along the Shirayuki River and turned into a narrow street in the residential district.
Roshia suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Nihon stopped too, pull
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