"You're freezing! There's still snow in your hair! You're lucky there's no class today! Why on Earth were you playing violin outside for an hour in this weather?!"
Cheslock grinned through numb lips as Edward shoved him into a chair near the fire and thrust a warm mug into his hands. "'Cos Bluewer said I couldn't."
"Bluewer did not say you couldn't! He said you shouldn't, because it's snowing, and that Violet shouldn't ask you to!"
"Point is, I did." Fragrant steam spiraled up to tickle the musician's nose. "And Violet got his sketch." Mmm, tea. "And I'm not dead, so Bluewer can go and-"
"That isn't the point!" Edward insisted, grabbing an afghan from a chair back and tossing it over. "You weren't even wearing a proper coat! Put this on and drink your tea."
"Never took you for a mother-hen, Midford."
Edward promptly turned away to stack some books, likely to hide the pink rising in his cheeks. The tips of his ears were, unfortunately for his efforts, another story entirely. "I'm not a mother-hen, I just don't want you to freeze!"
An unnecessarily noisy slurp was Cheslock's sole communication as to what he thought on that matter.
