The cold gnawed at your fingers, clinging onto the skin of your flesh. You could feel your hands frantically shaking as you sat at the edge of your bed. You couldn’t find your gloves anywhere. The feeling of touching anything disgusted you.

You were at the verge of tears when you heard your door creak open, Fyodor’s dark, ebony hair peeking through. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in an attempt to have you calm down.

“I’ll get you new gloves later, don’t cry.”