A/N: Gonna do my best to write something for each day of Februabba (prompt list by shoujojojos on tumblr!).

Tbh, it's kinda nerve wracking for me to write-and-post without leaving something sit at least a week before editing it, so like. Bear with me here, and please excuse any poor quality, haha.

This's also a day late, so I'll post the first two days today. :'D

Day 1: warmth

"Why do we have to go out in this, again?" Abbacchio does-not-whine, glaring out the window at each snowflake in turn, because each one of them is playing a part in ruining his day.

"Because, Leone," Bruno's chiding tone is infuriatingly light as he tugs on his coat, "we don't get snow days in our line of work."

That's a stupid joke, the delivery far too chipper, and Abbacchio should roll his eyes at it.

…Only, when he lets his irritated gaze slip over to Buccellati, he just can't. There's a tiny sort of smile tugging at the corners of Buccellati's mouth while he does up his buttons, and that face is always going to be Abbacchio's undoing.

"Besides," Buccellati continues, picking up a black scarf (that Abbacchio is pretty sure is his – not that he's about to ask for it back) to expertly wind around his neck, "it's not even that cold out."

Abbacchio grunts. His plan is to pout here by the window until the absolute last second. "Just wait until the snow gets us all wet."

It's absolutely not fair that Buccellati is the one who rolls his eyes, and it's extra absolutely not fair that he's still smiling. What's he so amused about, anyway? What's there to be excited about wandering around outside in freezing temperatures?

"I don't mind. I think it's pretty."

"Pretty my ass."

There's a thoughtful hum from Buccellati. "Yes, that's also pretty," he says, nonchalant as he digs his gloves out of his coat pocket.

Okay, yeah, fair enough, Buccellati must be in a good mood – but Abbacchio is not going to let it get him flustered. He can't get off task. He's got weather to complain about and a cold walk to put off (and a blush to tamp down). "It's a shame I'll freeze it off if I go out there."

"I don't think that actually happens," Buccellati says, with a huff of laughter. His eyes are sparkling. Dammit. And he's finished bundling up. "I'm more worried about your fingers. Don't you have gloves?"

"I've got pockets," Abbacchio shrugs.

"Hm." Stepping in close, Buccellati uses one of his gloved hands to pluck one of Abbacchio's ungloved hands out of its coat pocket hiding place. He rubs the long fingers between his own, brows furrowing a little. "You need gloves," he decides.

Not anymore he doesn't, with Buccellati sufficiently warming his fingers like that.

"So you admit it's too cold out there."

This time, when Buccellati laughs, his hot breath ghosts over Abbacchio's hand. And Abbacchio almost manages not to blush – at least until warm lips press a couple of kisses onto his fingertips.

"Nice try, but we still have to investigate the pier."

"Fine." Abbacchio bends his fingers around Buccellati's hand, certain it'll do just as good a job as gloves would have. "You're thawing me out when we get back, though."

"Fair enough."

Now Buccellati's leaning up to kiss Abbacchio's mouth, and wow maybe he won't need thawing after all.

It's kind of hard to freeze with a heart this warm.