FLUFFCEMBER
Day 28 Snowmelt
Floyd Leech
Reader runs super warm, like warm enough to melt snow on their own in surprising quickness, so like living furnace warm. And because eels are cold blooded, when they hold hands in the snow they cause a bit of steam because of the snow clinging to their hands.
Ah, esteemed patron! Welcome!
You have placed a Fluffcember reservation for Day 28: Snow Melt, featuring Monsieur Floyd Leech.
The "flavor profile" here is exquisite. The biological contrast between a cold-blooded eel (who becomes lethargic and cold in winter) and a "living furnace" Reader? And the visual of steam rising from joined hands? That is top-tier sensory writing.
The kitchen has prepared this Manager's Specialty Pasta with a side of thermodynamics. We do hope this meal is to your satisfaction!
Serving: Snow Melt
"Ngh... it's freezing~."
Floyd Leech was miserable. He was draped over a park bench like a discarded wet towel, despite being bundled in a massive, puffy coat. His mood was as grey as the sky.
"I can't move," he whined, his voice dragging. "My fins are frozen. I'm gonna turn into an ice sculpture, Shrimpy. Then you'll be sorry. You'll have to carry me back to the Mirror."
"You're being dramatic, Floyd," you said, standing in front of him. You, in contrast, had your coat unzipped. You were radiating heat like a walking stove.
"Am not," he grumbled, burying his nose in his scarf. "Merfolk aren't built for this. It's a design flaw. I need a heater. Or a squeeze."
He reached out a gloved hand, wiggling his fingers demandingly. "Hand."
You smiled and pulled off your own glove. You didn't mind the cold; your circulation was aggressive. You reached out and took his gloved hand.
"Ew, no," Floyd complained, using his other hand to rip his glove off with his teeth. "Skin to skin. I need the good heat."
He grabbed your bare hand with his large, freezing cold one.
The reaction was immediate.
"Whoa," Floyd breathed, his eyes widening.
It wasn't just warm. It was hot. Your skin against his icy palm felt like he had touched a mug of coffee fresh from the microwave. The shock of it zinged up his arm, waking up his sluggish nerves.
"Shrimpy..." he murmured, staring at your joined hands. "You're burning up. Are you sick?"
"No," you laughed. "Just warm-blooded. Extremely warm-blooded."
A few snowflakes drifted down, landing on your joined hands.
Usually, snow would sit on Floyd’s skin for a long time before melting. But the moment the flakes touched the back of your hand—and the places where his cold fingers pressed into your hot skin—they didn't just melt.
They evaporated.
A tiny, faint wisp of white steam curled up from the space between your palms.
Floyd leaned in, fascinated. He watched another snowflake land, turn to water instantly, and then seem to sizzle into mist.
"Haaa~?" A wide, delighted grin split his face, his lethargy forgotten. "Look at that! You're steaming! You're actually steaming!"
He squeezed your hand tighter, interlacing his long, cold fingers with your hot ones, trying to absorb every joule of energy you were emitting.
"It feels... tingly," he purred, the sound vibrating in his chest. "Like holding a hot rock from the vent. Or a kettle."
He tugged you closer, wrapping his other arm around your waist and burying his freezing face into the crook of your neck (which made you yelp).
"Ahhh~," he sighed contentedly, practically melting against you. "That's the stuff. You're melting me, Shrimpy. Literally."
He looked up at you, his heterochromatic eyes half-lidded and happy.
"I'm not letting go until I stop seeing steam," he declared. "You're my personal heater now. Don't turn off."
A "dish" served with scientific wonder and leech-style clinginess! The kitchen is delighted to confirm this reservation.
— Manager Seru