@saehete
Peter was almost glad there was no one waiting on him at home-- if there was, then he'd have gotten hollered at good for coming home from the cold without a hat or even mittens. Hunching his shoulders, he pressed his palms to his ears, trying to force some warmth back into them, but pressing hard enough that it seemed more like he was trying to press them back onto his head. Up until only a few minutes ago, it had been a very real fear of his that they would go so numb they might actually drop right off. He entertained the tangent that they would grow back, though, leaving him with some very strange frostbitten souven-ears, and he'd have liked the idea of showing them off to his friends if not for the explanations he'd have to come up with. He giggled to himself at the thought, stifling the sound to not disturb the cafe's patrons.
Secure in the knowledge that his ears would stay on his head where they belonged, he grasped again at his cocoa (smallest size, no fancy whipped cream or what-have-you, bought just to warm him up and give him an excuse to loiter around in the cafe instead of meandering outside.) Truth be told it felt better just to hold it, charging his hands back up with more warmth.
The sight of someone terribly familiar through the window made him sit up straight immediately, nausea already backing up in his throat. There was no mistaking him, not even through the darkness of nighttime, through a foggy window, through the snow. Just by the way he walked. Something about his brother always made Peter want to look taller than he really was, or at least, to look like the kind of person who Definitely Does Not Slouch. A twinkling door-chime sounded behind him and he twisted around awkwardly in his chair to give a greeting, faltering into silence and turning back again when his nerve suddenly and completely failed him. It was probably better off this way than any proper greeting he could have given.