𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 has freakishly cold hands, beyond normal. holding his hand was like holding ice cubes, they melt and seep, leaking through your fingers, the cold numbs the muscles making it harder and harder to articulate what little movement is left.
like now, you extend your arm so you can take his hypothermic hand in yours. it collides with your warmer complexion, heat is transferred from you to him, and chill is transferred from him to you—creating thermal equilibrium.
“your hands are so cold,” you say, shivering from the raw chill.
megumi only give you a brief, unreadable look before turning back to his phone. you decided to cup his hand in between your palms; one flat against his, and the other rubbing gently at his knuckles.
he feels a small breath of warm air make contact with his skin and directs his attention back at you. “what are you doing?”
giving you a questioning look when he sees you blowing warm air onto his hand, again. “warming you up, of course,” you look up at him, offering him a smile you know he favours.
he looks away for a moment when his face blooms with heat. speaking more quietly this time.
“i’m not cold.”
“whatever you say.” your smile persists and you chuckle as you blow onto his hand once more.
