"Mel, my fingers are purpling as we speak."
"Mm."
The shorter man beside him exhaled and watched his breath swirl in the air.
"I'll have to get them amputated at this rate. Then how will I hack and game?"
Mello shot him an annoyed glare. "I'm almost finished, Matt."
"That's what you said more than ten minutes ago."
"Your hands look wonderful to me. Quit griping."
Matt crossed his arms over his chest, partly out of defiance, and partly in an attempt to retain heat. His best buddy, his amigo, his companion, completely ignored his suffering and continued to talk to some half-wit gangster.
He examined his fingers. They were completely bloodless and deathly pale.
Well, Mel was going to pay the surgeon's bill.
"Damn it, why didn't I bring any gloves?" he muttered under his breath.
"C'mon, Matt. I'm done."
They both walked down the street, Matt rubbing his hands together almost comically, Mello looking thoughtful. When they turned around the corner, he pulled off his left glove and handed it to Matt.
He stared at it before slipping it on and remarking, "It's going to be fun learning how to type with one hand."
His friend said nothing, merely smiled and clasped their bare hands together.