"You look starving."Yukino had already guessed what Aiden needed. She passed him a pack of choco pies.
Aiden tore it open and devoured them. Even after finishing the bag, the gnawing in his stomach barely eased. "More?"
"Here." Yukino, a little wide-eyed, handed over her whole pack. He ate fast, then finally slowed.
"It's the cost of that ability," Aiden said simply.
Up front, Hayato kept the bus steady through the gray streets. Utaha, a folded city map in hand, raised her eyes when Aiden stirred—something unreadable flickered there.
The aisle was clear now—blood scrubbed away as best as they could in a moving bus. Kakeru lay mid-cabin, pale and bandaged, groaning now and then.
Aiden set a painkiller pack beside the classmate watching him, then moved to the front.
"I didn't know you could drive," he said.
"I learned in Hawai'i over summer break," Hayato answered, voice hoarse.
"Thanks for the two specials," Hayato added after a beat. "If not for you, we—"
"I did it to survive," Aiden cut in, frank as ever.
Hayato gave a tired half-laugh. Polished manners were what he knew; Aiden's bluntness short-circuited them.
"We're entering downtown," Hayato said, easing off the gas by a luxury fashion store. "Heater's nice, but we need real winter gear. We'll gear up here, then head straight to the Bauhinia Grand Hotel."
"Works," Aiden said.
They swept the boutique—no infected inside.
"LV… Chanel… Dior—" Voices trembled between awe and relief. Money meant nothing now; warmth meant everything.
Yukino ignored the labels and built layers: a black shearling jacket over her uniform, a practical leather pleated skirt, thick winter tights, snow boots. Cute and compact—and, more importantly, warm.
Aiden kept watching. Color rose in Yukino's cheeks. "Don't stare. Pick something."
"I'm bad at this."
"I'll handle it," she said, trying to sound flat; the corner of her mouth betrayed her. She pulled pieces with brisk efficiency—weatherproof, quiet fabric, free-moving joints—then helped him gear up. It felt, for a moment, almost domestic.
On the way back, Aiden noticed Utaha near the hosiery wall, biting her lip, indecisive.
"Grab thermal layers and leggings for everyone," he said. "Cold beats fashion."
She looked up, then away, guilty heat flickering in her eyes.
They ended up in a quiet corner between racks. Utaha bowed her head. "About before… I was wrong. I accused you without thinking. Gomen."
Aiden met her gaze. "Own it and move on. We don't have time to break."
Silence pooled, crowded with things unsaid—fear, pride, the bus's faint engine hum. Utaha swallowed, then stepped closer.
Their first kiss was brief and clumsy—two frayed nerves touching and sparking—then Utaha stepped back, ears red.
"Don't get the wrong idea," she murmured, voice steadying. "I'll work. I'll pull my weight."
"Then start with the warm gear," Aiden said. "We roll in five."
They packed coats, gloves, hats, neck warmers, thermal leggings—gear for everyone who'd make it through the night. Outside, snow kept falling, soft and endless.
(End of Chapter)
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