It was winter and you were outside, basking in the snowing weather with your boyfriend, Scaramouche. He was cold as winter, but loving as the blooming springs with his actions.

You were all warm, and was admiring the snowy scenery until you felt an arm snake around your waist.

Scaramouche stayed silent, a light dust on blush on his face as he kept you close for some warmth. He was obviously cold— but he didn't want to admit it either way.