Paris is white, covered in a frosty blanket that keeps drifting down from the sky. Snowflakes settle upon your shoulders, entwining in the strands of your hair — and Tangerine can't help but reach out to brush some specks from your coat.

Behind, someone gags dramatically, and you only have one idea who.

Eyebrows furrowing, Tangerine spins around to glare pits of fire at his brother.

"I've never seen you go so soft," Lemon teases; you know he's joking, but Tangerine seems uptight, like he can't bear the thought of being soft.