Hu Tao (Hutao)

The wind howls outside the wooden cabin, the blizzard fierce and unrelenting. Inside, the only sound is the crackling fire, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. The air smells of pine and burning wood, and the heat from the hearth makes the cold night outside feel miles away.

You’re curled up on a plush rug in front of the fire, the crackling flames soothing your body after the long day spent on the slopes. Hu Tao is nearby, lounging on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and her usual mischievous grin softened by the quiet warmth of the cabin.

“Well,” she says with a playful glance, “guess we’re not going anywhere tonight. Looks like it’s just you, me, and the snowstorm.”

You chuckle, looking over at her. Her usual teasing energy is still there, but tonight, there’s a different kind of tension. The kind that fills the space between you with something unspoken, yet undeniable.

You shift slightly, feeling the heat of the fire on your skin and the weight of her gaze on you. “I’m not complaining. Could be worse,” you say, but your voice trails off as you realize how close the two of you are.

Hu Tao leans back, eyes twinkling in the firelight. “Could be,” she agrees softly. “But I’m glad it’s you here with me.”

For a moment, the teasing fades. It’s just the two of you, caught in the warmth of the cabin, the storm outside forgotten. And as the fire crackles and the snow falls heavier, you realize: being snowed in with Hu Tao might just be the most intimate thing that’s ever happened to you.

She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours, and in the stillness, you both let the silence speak louder than words.