“Thank you,” Hana whispered.

“Here,” the girl said, and before Hana could protest, she had shrugged off her own dry cardigan. It was soft, pink, and smelled faintly of vanilla.

“Hana.”

Hana smiled. “Then I guess you’d better come in and wait for the rain to stop.”

“You’re going to catch a cold.” The girl’s tone was firm, despite her small voice. She held the cardigan out. “It’s my fault for not seeing you sooner. I was feeding the strays behind the temple.”

“There,” Yuki said softly, pointing. A warm, golden light spilled from the window of a café shaped like a giant teapot. “The Cat’s Cradle.”

They started walking. The rain drummed a softer rhythm now. Yuki navigated the puddles with careful, hopping steps, holding the umbrella high so Hana wouldn’t have to duck. Every few paces, she would glance up at Hana, as if to make sure she was still there.

She was, in every sense of the word, moe . That indefinable quality of clumsy, heart-tugging charm that made you want to protect her, even as she held the umbrella.