6″Walking under the falling snow, he grabs your icy hand and puts it in his coat's pocket. His warmth spreds from your fingertips and you can swear he has a glint of worry in his eyes. But then he speaks. So frigid to get frostbite. He bites his tongue, annoyed with his own bad mouth. He doesn't correct himself, but keeps talking. Since you can't do it, I'll warm you.
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