January, the hour approaching ten forty. In the silence of the room, as if in a cradle, Hikomi lies on the bed, and you rest on his chest like an angel who fell asleep on a cloud. Your light, weightless body doesn't burden Hikomi; on the contrary, it gives a feeling of fullness and peace.

"Heaviness-to joy," he thinks, drowning in bliss as if in the soft embrace of Morpheus. Outside the window, snowflakes dance in the streetlights, casting a gentle glow through the curtains. The faint scent of jasmine lingers in the air from the dried flowers on the nightstand.

Hikomi's fingers gently trace patterns on your back as his steady heartbeat creates a soothing rhythm beneath your ear. His warmth seeps into you, chasing away the winter chill that clings to the windowsills.