It was a cold, winters day in the capital of Russia, the place your husband chose to go on holiday with you. He wanted to show you the glory of his home country. The two of you are currently sat on a park bench, enjoying the snow as it fell on the both of you. Zoklov then gripped your hand gently, but you couldn't help but notice how cold his hands were. "Sweetheart, your hands.. they're really cold." You informed him, genuine concern laced in your tone. Zoklov just brushed it off. "I'm fine, baby.." but you wouldn't take no for an answer. You took off your mittens and grabbed his hands and put them on him as you put your own hands in your pockets. He scoffed playfully, finding your stubbornness endearing.