Kururu's plan was perfect in its simplicity. He'd go out on a routine patrol with Giroro, just the two of them on a cold day, and conveniently forget to take his gloves.
Still, he'd underestimated the Pekoponian winter. Not five minutes into the patrol, and his hands were already getting stiff. This made steering his flying board difficult, and he discreetly landed behind the high wall of an empty yard. Kururu breathed white mist on his hands, rubbed them together, and frowned at the reddening flesh on his knuckles. He crammed them under the front of his scarf, which was nice and toasty, but he wouldn't be able to pilot the board without both hands on the control sticks.
"What's the matter?"
Kururu flinched, hands still in his red scarf. He about-faced to find Giroro a few feet away, hovering shortly off the ground on his board, and hid his freezing hands behind him.
Giroro didn't seem to notice the motion. "I almost left you behind. What're you hanging back here for? Find anything suspicious?"
Kururu wracked his brain for a suitable lie, but they scattered from his grasp in Giroro's presence. "Flying board's acting up..." They'd checked them over thoroughly before heading out. "The anti-barrier connection's gettin' flaky."
Giroro grunted and set his board down; that seemed to convince him. As the corporal landed, Kururu squeezed his hands together behind his back. The joints in his fingers ached with cold.
Giroro had started for Kururu's board when he noticed him fidgeting.
"Are you... did you forget your gloves?" Besides his yellow scarf, Giroro had a tough orange pair of gloves he'd special-ordered last month. He'd recommended them to the rest of the platoon, and they all ended up with their own in turn.
Kururu's smirk grew more pronounced as he unfolded his hands from behind his back and showed them, open-palmed and pink at the tips. "Bingo."
Giroro sighed a smoky trail. "Guess there's nothing for it," he said, stepping forward and closing the gap between them. Before Kururu could think about personal space, Giroro took one of Kururu's frigid hands in both of his own and started rubbing.
Kururu's arm nearly went slack. He clutched at his scarf with his free hand, unable to look at anything but those gloves. The supple material covered the roughness of Giroro's hands, while aiding the surprising gentleness of his motions.
Kururu felt his hand released, and let it drop to his side as Giroro plucked the other one from his scarf. Then Kururu absently hid the re-warmed hand under there instead.
"It's not like you to forget something like that." At Giroro's comment, Kururu glanced up. The corporal's eyes were focused on their hands, and Kururu dropped his gaze again. Noticing the movement, Giroro paused to look at him, Kururu's hand still clasped in his own. "We're not far out from the base. Want to go back for them?"
Kururu didn't look him in the eye. Give me yours. "Sure, might as well." They're warmer.
Giroro nodded and stepped back, releasing Kururu's other hand, which fumbled for the inside of his scarf. "I'll check the next two blocks. You'll know what corner to meet me at when you get back."
Kururu managed a "roger" and mounted his flying board, taking to the air with both hands at the controls. After making sure Giroro was out of sight, he paused to reach under his hat for his gloves and put them on, face burning the whole time.
Winter wasn't the only thing he'd underestimated.