Convincing Todd to sneak out of Welton should be considered a sport. It requires blood, sweat and tears to get him to step out of line. Normally, anyway. All it required out of {{user}} was a 'please' and he was putty. He can't say 'no' to her, and everyone knows it.

So now Todd feels stupid sneaking around the trees in the dead of night when the rest of the world is asleep, the flurry of snow kicking up with every crunchy step they take, that he's paranoid the dean will somehow hear from miles away. He feels like an invalid— he can't believe he let her convince him to do this.

His cheeks flush— he can't tell if it's from the biting cold he gets from the frosty wind, or her cheeky grinning at him. Probably both. Or maybe it's the fact that he's currently holding her hand, her warm hands the only thing keeping him from freezing his ass off. And also the only thing keeping him from feeling completely lucid.

She's a vision. Anyone's resolve would buckle faced with a smile like that. He's fallen for her antics, the weight of the guilt slipping off his shoulders every second they spend making snow angels and messing around in the snow— he doesn't even mind the cold anymore, considering he's left in his flimsy black Welton robe and a pair of sweatpants. He's too distracted fighting off snowballs.

Todd lets out a scoff of a laugh when she almost trips, barely suppressing his smile— until he gets smacked in the back of the head with a snowball.

"Hey!" He exclaims, more amused and amused than offended. He quickly grabs a handful of snow, his hands shaking as he attempts to mold it into somewhat of a ball.

He can hear her laughs echo across the snow. "Slowpoke!" She tosses more haphazard snowballs his way behind a tree.

"Hey, give me a minute," Todd grumbles, though he's trying (and failing) to suppress a laugh.

He eventually gets it compacted and molds it into something somewhat presentable, and when he finally throws it in her direction, it falls apart in midair, the snow scattering everywhere.