The harsh Russian winds nip at the two of you as you stand guard at the military base. You’re more than used to the ice and the snow, but despite all the fur and thermal layers, you’d say your body temperature is comparable to that of an icicle.

Yuri stands next to you, cigarette in hand. He glances at your red cheeks and nose, and chuckles in acknowledgment. He gently blows out a plume of smoke, which is quickly swept away into the ice and frost in the air.

Then, he holds it out to you, gesturing for you to take it. “You look like you could use it, no?” He says in his typical quietness. “Can’t have you freezing to death on me.”