At first, he can only stare, dumbfounded, at the sight of her hands so ungainly in those familiar gloves. The monochrome green filter through which he sees the world all too often, these days, doesn't help to settle their situation any more in reality - but he wouldn't dare remove his helmet just to put a little peace to his mind. He's shaking his head again before he knows it, anyway, breaking through the brief fog of uncertainty in his own mind and going straight to the easiest route. Denial comes like second nature, over matters of inconsequential self-indulgence, and by his judgement, this is nothing more than that. He'd give her the jacket off his back, too, if he thought she'd take it, now (if he had the guts to even offer, if he could just remember whether this one'd had his name printed inside the collar in blocky, black permanent letters when he put it on, this morning - the morning that might as well've happened some time in another millennium, now).
The point is- He won't take back the gloves, shifting back a fraction to cross his arms over his chest and tuck his bare hands between them and his sides. Almost equally as awkwardly, he mimics the motion of rubbing her back, in this way, to build up a fraction of friction; even just the lower half of his expression seems almost expectant in his cautious regard of her, now, as if to say See? They're warm enough. Not that they are, but it's the principle and so long as they don't go numb or black with frostbite beyond a Cure spell's restorative powers, he won't complain.
She doesn't have to make it up to him, either, but he can't find a way to articulate that in any measure of uncomfortably stiff gestures. As far as Cloud's concerned, he's done a pretty bang-up job here holding down the fort, and that's not worth the commendation. The best he expects to find waiting for him back in town is a double hit of Be more careful followed close on the heels by a little What were you thinking. Depending on where he drags himself first, he supposes, he might manage to skip about half of that - his mom, at least, doesn't have to know that he's been gone up the mountain getting caught in blizzards and trying to kill himself over a girl who probably doesn't even remember him.
Hopefully, sometimes, when the memory of that night on the well comes back to him like a big stupid mistake, embarrassing in the bone-deep way only ignorant childhood confidence can ever manage to be.
Another hesitant, assessing glance at her, sitting there pressed up close against him, doesn't help the passing thought to not linger, but it does give him half an idea. The jacket may be out of the question, but he's still got on a bit more than he needs. Accessorizing isn't exactly the Shinra infantry's forte (too may belt buckles and straps and every once in a while on an early morning after a late night, he still gets tangled up in the damn things), but Cloud's a little thankful for the overzealous flair when he starts to undo the scarf around his neck. The tight, high collar of his black undershirt will keep his neck warm enough. She doesn't have anything.
can this count as my first cast of final attack + phoenix, because i am reviving things all over
The point is- He won't take back the gloves, shifting back a fraction to cross his arms over his chest and tuck his bare hands between them and his sides. Almost equally as awkwardly, he mimics the motion of rubbing her back, in this way, to build up a fraction of friction; even just the lower half of his expression seems almost expectant in his cautious regard of her, now, as if to say See? They're warm enough. Not that they are, but it's the principle and so long as they don't go numb or black with frostbite beyond a Cure spell's restorative powers, he won't complain.
She doesn't have to make it up to him, either, but he can't find a way to articulate that in any measure of uncomfortably stiff gestures. As far as Cloud's concerned, he's done a pretty bang-up job here holding down the fort, and that's not worth the commendation. The best he expects to find waiting for him back in town is a double hit of Be more careful followed close on the heels by a little What were you thinking. Depending on where he drags himself first, he supposes, he might manage to skip about half of that - his mom, at least, doesn't have to know that he's been gone up the mountain getting caught in blizzards and trying to kill himself over a girl who probably doesn't even remember him.
Hopefully, sometimes, when the memory of that night on the well comes back to him like a big stupid mistake, embarrassing in the bone-deep way only ignorant childhood confidence can ever manage to be.
Another hesitant, assessing glance at her, sitting there pressed up close against him, doesn't help the passing thought to not linger, but it does give him half an idea. The jacket may be out of the question, but he's still got on a bit more than he needs. Accessorizing isn't exactly the Shinra infantry's forte (too may belt buckles and straps and every once in a while on an early morning after a late night, he still gets tangled up in the damn things), but Cloud's a little thankful for the overzealous flair when he starts to undo the scarf around his neck. The tight, high collar of his black undershirt will keep his neck warm enough. She doesn't have anything.