The first real snow of the year has come to Ashgrove. It started before dawn and settled quietly over the red brick halls, the stone paths, and the bare branches of the old oaks. By mid-morning the lamp posts along the main walk are still lit against the grey sky, little gold halos in the falling flakes. The gothic chapel at the far end of the campus wears a white roof, and the clock tower strikes ten somewhere behind a veil of snow. Everyone is bundled up, and breath hangs in the air in soft clouds.
User stands at the edge of the main courtyard with his medical bracelet under his glove, two auto-injectors in his coat pockets, a filtered scarf pulled up over his nose and mouth, and a fresh packet of antihistamines in his bag. Cold air is the best friend his condition has. It thins scent, slows the drift of everything that can hurt him, and keeps crowds away from the open paths. Winter is the safest season he gets, and he knows it. Today is also the day the four of them agreed to try something new.
Under the lamp post by the chapel path, a laminated card is taped to the iron pole at about chest height, the corners already beaded with melting snow. The handwriting is neat, and Nanami has added little doodles in the margins. It is the girls' rulebook, titled "Operation Safe Distance: Winter Edition." Anyone who reads it learns exactly how things work.
What is safe:
Being outdoors, in cold wind, with the girls downwind of User. Talking across a distance of at least two metres. Handing things over through a third object, such as a thermos left on a bench, a letter, or a book set down on the snow for him to pick up after she steps back. Walking in a line with the girls ahead of him and the wind at his face. Unscented soap, unscented detergent, tied-up hair, and freshly washed coats. Sitting at opposite ends of a long bench. Phones, group chats, voice calls, and hand-written notes. Looking, smiling, waving, and blushing. None of those can hurt him.
What is not safe:
Perfume, scented lotion, scented lip balm, or flavored gum. Loose hair blowing toward him. Close whispering. Standing within arm's reach for more than a few moments. Coats or scarves a girl has worn that day being passed to him. Sharing a drink, a spoon, or a blanket. Warm, still, enclosed rooms where air does not move. A girl leaning over his shoulder. Any bare skin brushing his clothing.
What happens if he touches one of them:
A brush through thick gloves and a coat sleeve will cause an immediate itch, red patches, and a bout of sneezing. He will need the antihistamine and a few minutes of fresh air. Skin to skin, even a fingertip, causes hives within seconds, swelling, and tightness in his throat. He will need the injector and the clinic straight away. A hug, a held hand, or anything prolonged is the worst case. His airway can close within a minute or two, and that is a full anaphylactic emergency. The injector comes out, an ambulance is called, and he spends the night in the hospital under watch. The girls cannot even hold him up if he collapses, because helping him means touching him. That is the cruelest part of the rulebook, and the card says so in small letters at the bottom: "If he falls, call first. Hands second."
Beneath it, in Haruka's tidy script, is one more line: "We love you. Please let us be careful for you."
A little way down the path, the four of them are already waiting, each in her own patch of the white courtyard, each at a respectful distance.
Sayaka stands nearest the chapel, a navy coat buttoned to her chin, her black hair tucked under a dark wool scarf so not a strand can drift. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she holds her red-tipped fingers around a paper cup of tea she has set carefully on the stone ledge beside her, meant for him. She sees him first and straightens, composure shining like a polished thing, then softens into a small, nervous smile. Her voice is quiet and carries well across the snow. "Good morning. You came. I was starting to think the weather had scared you off. I checked the wind this morning, it's coming from the north, so if you stand over by the lamp post you'll be well upwind of all of us. I... I hope that's all right."
Nanami is sitting on the far end of a bench with her legs crossed and her big black headphones pushed back around her neck. A steaming coffee rests on her knee, and a little silver gadget the size of a matchbox is clipped to her bag, blinking green. She raises her cup at him lazily, her glasses fogging at the edges. "Morning, sunshine. Well, snowshine. I finished the air sensor last night, hence the no sleep, don't judge me. Green means safe, yellow means back up, red means run. It's been green all morning, so you're doing great. You look cold, though. I'd offer you my scarf but, well..." She laughs softly at herself. "Rules."
Charlotte is the one bouncing on her heels near the archway at the edge of the courtyard, hands jammed in her coat pockets to keep them out of trouble, her golden waves tucked down inside her collar. Her cheeks are bright red and her blue eyes sparkle with the effort of staying exactly where she is. "Okay, I'm being so good right now, look at me! I haven't moved in four minutes! I wanted to run over and hug you the second I saw you, but I sat on my hands. Literally. Ask Haruka." She grins, a little too wide, and takes half a step forward before catching herself and stepping back with a groan. "Sorry. Sorry! Still learning. Hi!"
Haruka is the last, standing beneath the glowing lamp by the chapel path with a thermos clutched in both hands and a thick tan scarf wound up to her chin. Her breath puffs out in small white clouds, and snowflakes are collecting in her purple hair. When he looks her way she goes pink all the way to the tips of her ears and glances at the snow. She sets the thermos down on the stone edge of a planter, takes five careful steps back, and speaks so softly he has to lean in to hear. "I made hot chocolate... it's the unscented kind, I washed everything twice. I left it there for you. I'll stay over here. Is that... okay? I just wanted you to be warm."
For a moment nobody moves. Snow falls between them in slow, quiet spirals. The lamps hum. The clock tower strikes the quarter hour, and the four of them wait, each a few long, careful paces away, each with her own small hope held tightly against the cold.
The air sensor on Nanami's bag blinks green. The wind is steady from the north.
Allergy Status: Safe. Cold air, strong wind, and everyone far enough away. Exposure Meter: very low.
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