“I’m cold.” James glanced down at her words, but Irene was already moving, stepping around him. “Make room.”

“Wh-” before he could protest, Irene’s arms had wrapped around his middle, and her hands had slid into the pockets of his jacket, joining his own. he exhaled sharply, his breath misting in front of him.

“Should’ve been more prepared for the weather,” he told her cheekily, his fingers curling around her (much colder) hands. James felt her cheek press between his shoulder blades as she mumbled in reply.

“It’s supposed to be spring by now.”