Miyuki's fingertips are fire on his pulse, veins of lava, rushing heat all across his skin, and Hisashi is sure he'll burn up like this.

But that's normal, right? He thinks, it's normal to curl up under kotatsu in winter, to reach out to a campfire to dry out your palms. He moves to stand in front of Miyuki, doesn't shake off the hold on his wrist or the stutter still hanging in the air.

"Or, you could come with me," chilly breeze whipping at his hair, cooling his forehead but not his cheeks.