Generate a new story in the style of the following excerpt. The new story should be about a kenma kozume x female reader fic titled "this christmas, with you" and should maintain the same tone, voice, vocabulary, sentence structure, and pacing as the example.

the first snow grazes the ground beneath your boots, a pale dusting of frost over black winter gravel that glows an iridescent sort of blue under the sharp light of the moon. the air feels like glass, biting in a way that scrapes your lungs raw with each breath. your scarf smells faintly of detergent and an edge of pine from the too-early wreath that'd been hung days ago in the middle of the jujutsu tech dorm doors. megumi walks a step behind you, gloved hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets, his head bowed slightly under a mop of inky hair. his breath fogs in the air, trailing behind him like a ghost.


it's quiet. not the "cozy by the fire" kind of quiet, but the kind that belongs to empty streets around midnight, broken only by the occasional wind or the far-off sound of an engine skipping through city blocks. the storefronts are dark and silent; there’s a nearly-forgotten wreath on one of the closed doors—dusty, handsomely aged, but still festive in its own way. the world feels small, closed in, like you’re walking inside someone else’s snow globe dream.


“i forgot how empty it gets this time of night,” you mutter to no one in particular, breaking the spell. somewhere nearby, a hollow clanging rolls out as someone tosses a bottle into a recycling bin. megumi doesn’t respond, but you don’t need him to. he always walks on your left side, almost reflexively, shielding you from traffic that was comprised of the stray car here and there.


you glance at him over your shoulder, and his face is pale under the pale winter light, his expression unreadable. he hasn’t said much, but you’re used to that. he’s not a quiet silence; he’s a steady one. it’s nice when everything else in life feels unbearably loud.
“i didn’t think you'd let me drag you out on christmas eve, megumi," you venture after a beat, playful, though your breath comes out like puffs of dragon smoke. "i thought you were allergic to fun.”


megumi snorts, gaze not quite meeting yours as his eyes drift toward the frozen gutter to avoid whatever teasing look you're probably giving him. “fine,” he exhales, voice low. “next time, i’ll ditch you for yuji and nobara. they'd be thrilled to run through the snow while shouting about santa claus.”


you catch it—the tiniest curve of his lips as he looks away again, embarrassed. the thing about megumi is that his smiles never last long enough, whether they’re sad ones, teasing ones, or real ones. they’re like the breath curling out of your mouth: fleeting, easily lost to the air. but you’ve always liked them. you don’t need them to last forever so long as you get to witness them.


you fall back into quiet steps for a while. your hands are stuffed inside your coat pockets, one of them clinging to the crumpled paper bag you’d picked up earlier—a bakery run that had transformed into a “walk the cold away and stall going home” kind of errand. he hadn’t protested joining you, even though he knows you take the long way everywhere, like you’re afraid of endings.


“i don’t think you’ll like this gift,” you say abruptly as something spills out of your mouth. there's nervousness there now, an uncharacteristic edginess as you stare straight ahead to avoid his reaction—because all at once, your bag feels stupid and your hands feel cold.


he doesn’t say anything right away. the snow crunches under his boots, a monotone rhythm punctuated only by the faint whistle of wind slipping through the telephone wires.


“you didn’t have to get me anything,” he finally replies.


"yeah, but i wanted to," you shoot back quickly. you’re frowning at the snowdrift on the edge of the alley now. “and i didn’t want to just… not. you didn’t expect me to, right?”


“no.” his voice is soft. it trips over your ears, low in the way that makes your face warm despite the cold. “but you didn’t need to.”


your eyes flit toward him, just for a fraction of a second. his breath fogs the glassy air again as he turns his gaze upward—a deflection, something habitual. a string of colorful lights, fat bulbs glowing proud red and green and gold, spans the street a block ahead. they aren't enough to drown out the silvery moonlight, though they're warm. he catches you looking, and the corner of his mouth turns up slightly, teasing.


 "what is it? a cursed object disguised as a scarf? should i be worried?"


“as if,” you huff, tossing the heavy weight of your bag so that it thunked gently against his arm for emphasis. “c'mon. we’re almost at the park. i’ll show you.”


the small green space, bordered with bare-limbed oaks and thin benches frozen with frost, is as empty as expected. you lead him to a sheltered corner, where a blue lamplight flickers half-heartedly through the shadow of an ancient metal playground. the swing set creaks loudly as the wind passes through. you’re not sure why you feel like you’re about to hand him something embarrassing—you figured you'd passed this stage with megumi a long time ago. he's known you too well and too long to be surprised by much.


you pull out the paper-wrapped box and hand it to him, eyes dancing between his hands and the old, frozen jungle gym behind him. “look, it’s—it’s not a big deal. but i thought, you know. even on christmas eve, you just… you don’t seem like the kind of person to do anything for yourself. so…”


“thanks,” he interrupts, quietly sincere. you blink, startled by the swiftness. he's already tearing open the paper by the time you step back, heart unexpectedly caught in your throat like static. he’s quick about it, meticulous but uninterested in making it some sort of “moment”—the way you figured he would be.


when the box is finally peeled back, the little black cat sitting inside causes something in his face to slacken, stop. it’s ceramic, glossy with paint, about the size of a flip phone, with sharp ears and a delicate gold ribbon tied around its collar. you figure it's cute without being over-the-top (or so you hope). the kind of thing that suits him. you knew if it took up too much space, his first instinct would’ve been to pretend he didn’t have room for it—so you’d gone with something small enough to sit on his windowsill beside the succulents he hadn’t quite managed to kill.


he looks at it for a long moment before meeting your gaze. a little frown tugs at his face. not an angry one, but the kind when somebody feels something they weren’t expecting to feel.


“you think i’m a cat person?” he murmurs, his voice the subtlest shade warmer, like this chewed-up christmas eve cold isn’t even touching him.


“you are,” you fire back instinctively, crossing your arms, though all at once the warmth in your chest makes it harder to look him in the face. you glance up at the night sky instead. the snow is starting to fall a little heavier now, gathering like thick down on the swings and benches. “i know you secretly feed the strays.”


he doesn’t respond, but in the low glow of the lamplight, his head tilts slightly to the side, and you catch that fleeting expression. his smile lingers this time—just long enough for you to hold onto it like some unspoken promise neither of you has the words for yet.