Peter was fucking freezing. Had been for the past two hours as he and Claude stalked the New York streets. He definitely hadn't been prepared for the sudden cold snap that had engulfed the city the previous night; hadn't even been tipped off when Claude, the day before, had inexplicably shoplifted a red cashmere scarf and thick leather trench coat (that, frankly, looked rather fetching on him) that was much warmer than the navy blue one he'd been wearing. He figured Claude just wanted a new look.
Nevertheless here he was, freezing his ass off. His jacket, plenty warm enough during the previous weeks, now seemed painfully thin.
He was so wrapped up in trying to figure out if his toes were actually frostbitten or just numb when he felt Claude cuff the back of his head. Hard.
"Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head, glaring at the other man. "What the hell, Claude?"
"I've been talking to you for the last five minutes, and I'm willing to bet you haven't heard a word I said." Claude folded his arms, glaring at Peter right back. "You wanna learn how to control your powers or not?"
"Sorry." Muttered Peter. "It's just…" Then he stopped. Claude had this thing about Peter complaining. Apparently it was a bit of a pet peeve. Last time he'd griped about having to train in inclement weather he'd found himself tied up in his underwear on the roof of the Devaux building, in the rain, while Claude watched from the doorway and snickered. In the end, he'd figured out how to use his telekinesis to un-knot the ropes, so it had, he grudgingly admitted, been a useful lesson. He still didn't understand why he'd had to be in his underwear, though. Whenever he asked, Claude just changed the subject.
"It's just what?" Claude demanded, bringing Peter back to reality.
"Nothing." Peter sighed.
"Don't 'nothing' me, Pretty Boy. What's the matter with you?"
"It's just cold, okay?" Peter snapped. "It's fucking cold and it's ridiculous that we're even out here." There. He'd said it.
The invisible man's eye darkened and his lips tightened, a telltale sign he was angry. Shit. Now Peter was in for it. Claude moved towards him and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a punch, or at least another cuff.
Instead, he felt something warm and soft settle around his neck. The red cashmere scarf Claude had been wearing.
He opened his eyes to stare wonderingly up at his mentor, who seemed quite preoccupied with Peter's neck rather than his eyes.
"S'no wonder you're cold." Claude growled, adjusting the scarf with several quick movements of his hands. "Did no one ever teach you to how to dress for the weather? There." He gave a final tug on the ends of the scarf and turned away from Peter, renewing his walk. "Now keep up. And pay attention! Or else."
Peter, suddenly feeling nowhere near as cold as he had been (and not just because of the scarf that was wrapped snugly around his neck), hurried to catch up.