[This time, he hesitates, far more than he had when she'd beckoned him over. Kid looks at his hands, turning them in front of him, before crossing his arms and tucking his fingers carefully beneath the fabric. He was still adjusting to the feeling of coldness, the stiffness of chill settling deep into his bones--
--What he was used to, however, was what happened when he touched the hands of others.] I, ah--I usually make people cold. Probably not helpful here.
[He'll remember, in a moment's time, that he's not Death the Kid here but just Kid; not the next grim reaper but just another human stuck in this frozen hellscape. His hands are no colder than hers.]
no subject
--What he was used to, however, was what happened when he touched the hands of others.] I, ah--I usually make people cold. Probably not helpful here.
[He'll remember, in a moment's time, that he's not Death the Kid here but just Kid; not the next grim reaper but just another human stuck in this frozen hellscape. His hands are no colder than hers.]