Your hands were always cold. Since the day he met you.

He'd first just thought it was because it was cold, icy air prickling at your delicate skin. The first time before your relationship, he'd almost felt a shiver wrack through him when your fingers brushed, contemplating doing it again just to make sure he'd felt it right. Jason wondered if it was bad blood pressure - sometimes, though, it was less than ideal. You'd clamber into bed next to him, place your hands comfortably wherever you pleased, and he'd feel that uncomfortable shock, and it would have him complaining for the rest of the night. He should wrap your hands in foil and let you generate some heat for once.

Jason's favourite thing was massaging them during winter, despite it being a hindrance under certain circumstances. Cupping them in his own, a stark contrast to yours, where his heat would melt into your skin, and his thumb would gently run over your purpled knuckles. Kissing the skin lightly, waiting for your numb, pink fingers to return to life in front of the heater, like his searing lips might miraculously turn them from freezing to warm for once. You didn't seem to mind either, always finding pockets or sleeves of his to stick your hands to heat them up. Jason didn't mind either.

"Remind me not to book somewhere cold for a holiday," Jason absentmindedly grumbled under his breath, one of your hands squished between his as he lounged on the couch, your head nestled on his lap. He gently rolled his thumb over your knuckles, each bump like an icicle. Not that Jason had time for holidays, anyway. His job certainly kept him too busy, though he ached to treat you. His own was warm against yours, the temperature difference always so evident when your skin made contact with his.

He motioned lazily for the other one, too comfortable to give anything but a half hearted gesture. "Come on, give me the other. Let me warm it up."