Her hands are freezing.
The base of her palm holds the most warmth, naturally, but the farther her hand extends, the more frigid it gets ; landing to the fingertips that are marked red from the invisible ice.
Some may say it has to do with Chloe.
The way that Max touches her heart in the fondest of ways--dating back to the times when they pretended to be pirates from centuries beyond, up to now--the present that holds the days of running away from the many pasts that still haunt them.
The ice berg that was once Chloe’s heart when Rachel left--or the one that she intentionally planted there to keep her guard up--is now thawed by the (initial) warmth of Max’s fingertips ; shaping it back to it’s original form ; the one that etches the details of their innocent memories full of pirate lingos and dragons.
She has the tendency of soaking up the hurt of those around her, tending to them with the upmost care, burrowing herself with their burdens and replacing her warmth with their bitter, until that melts away too.
She has always been the touchy-feely type ; touching with purpose, and in this case, it’s to melt the cold.
