With nothing to do, you went to go bother Chuuya.

So, now you’re sat across from him at his desk complaining; now about how cold you are. Chūya is barely listening to you’re unimportant rants, writing a report. But eventually he gets tired of your voice. Huffing, he rubs his hands together and leans across his desk to put them on your cheeks. His hands feel as warm as fire.

“Better?”