"Small mercies," Gleb agrees, the same trace of humor in his voice. He suspects that they're both accustomed to being out in nights far colder than this one, or than most of the people here in Darrow are used to; this is chilly but mild, not such a terrible night to be out in at all. Still, there's a part of him that wishes he could draw her close, wrap an arm around her shoulders to keep her warm. If an arm or a hand seems to have the potential to be overstepping, though, he's sure that would be, and then there would be no taking it back. Better to stay close at her side as they walk, getting a glimpse of her profile as he glances over towards her, then gesturing down towards her feet. "I can't imagine those would be very fun to walk in if the roads were covered in ice. Skating may be one thing, but that..."

He'd call her a cab if it came to it, but then he wouldn't have the excuse of keeping her company for a little while. Selfishly, no matter how awkward it might feel, no matter the nearly overwhelming uncertainty when he's around her, he's grateful for this. Besides, however capable she may be, he wouldn't have wanted her to be out walking alone dressed like this, the risk of drawing the wrong sort of attention too high. He doesn't really have the right to feel protective towards her and he knows it, but there are a lot of things he could say the same about, and none of them have made a difference so far. Loving her, for example, is something to which he isn't entitled in the least, but all of his attempts to stop that in its tracks have been utterly useless. There's really no sense in trying any further, which he's already resigned himself to, as much a fact — as much a part of him — as his name or where he was born.

"Besides," he adds, emboldened just slightly, perpetually trying to balance on some careful line between going too far and overstepping unclear boundaries or holding her at too much of a distance, "then I might not have gone out, and then I wouldn't have run into you."