“I did my best!” she insisted, holding up 3 shivering fingers. Despite this, she still nodded for everything she was worth, small pigtails flopping to and fro as she affirmed her sincerity with her violent headbanging. The two of them finally stalled and stopped at the streetlight they’d been approaching as panic started to absorb the daughter’s features. Have you been a good girl?” The question was followed with a teasing look towards a conspicuously damaged coat. Said glowing bulbs provided no protection from the bits of sparkling crystalized water collecting in the pigtailed girl’s hair, but they let the man admire the innocent face he had been raising in a unique light. It was the same question she’d been asking since they’d left the store and the entire trip there before that, red and green lights guiding them back to their humble shack amidst the snowy concrete jungle. The rapid transition from bold curiosity to startled remorse amused the man. “Do you think this will be the year?” the girl probed aggressively, pulling so insistently that a new string in the coat came undone. Though he supposed he should count himself among the lucky ones for having such a wonderful family, it didn’t change the fact that he would be forever outnumbered when it came to voting on family activities. It was the face her mother had gifted her, one no power on Heaven or Earth could resist being compelled by, and one the man sometimes wished had come with a receipt he could cash in. The pout on his daughter’s face told him exactly how this conversation was going to go. Slackening their pace as the pair approached their crosswalk, the man’s upper body twisted to acknowledge his daughter. He adjusted the bag of confections nestled in one of his stout arms to avoid crushing them, a mistake that would cost them another trip through the merciless cold should he make it.

The man truthfully wanted nothing more than to get back to his wife and kotatsu as soon as humanely possible, but to let his temperament become colder than the weather was unacceptable for any sort of reason. A storm of overbearing white stewed maliciously above as a daughter continued to pester her father on a street corner below, pleading with her entire being that he grant her an audience with him.

Petite, feeble hands tugged incessantly at the frayed edges of a man’s wool peacoat.

Toreba prize watcher