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Seth's hands are white where they rest on the railing, last hint of a weak tan all but erased from the skin. He wraps the fingers of his right hand tighter around the metal, seeing his knuckles grow a blurry red under the white, and pulls a strip of skin of his lower lip with his teeth without really knowing why.

Eugene's voice is unwelcome, stirring up flaring stabs of emotion in Seth's gut as he says "You really shouldn't be doing that".

Seth presses his lips together and turns his face down into his scarf and the snowflakes nestled in it. "I wanted to be alone", he mutters, finally releasing the railing and looking morosely at the way the flesh of his palm has gone a myriad of unusual colours – like a mural, he recalls.

Eugene shrugs, dirtied boots loud against the thin layer of snow on crusty leaves. "I know", he says, running a hand across his forehead to keep his hair out of his eyes. "But that's incredibly sad", Eugene continues, shutting the heavy metal door behind him, glancing briefly at the sign that reads "Only staff allowed" in bold print.

Seth feels hungry when Eugene starts walking toward him, his stomach aching and twisting convulsively. He leans into a metal pole long since abandoned and frozen into the ground, craning his neck to look at the few trees still bearing leaves. Eugene is slow and relaxed, hands shoved in his pockets as he comes up next to Seth, their arms resting a few feet apart. He turns toward the older teen, and Seth lets his gaze flicker across the exhalation of white from Eugene's mouth for a moment. Always just for a moment, then he turns his head away jerkily, like a puppet with a clumsy master.

Eugene looks at him, a question in his eyes, but he turns away silently, looking around and setting his eyes upon a few buckets resting a few yards away. Seth stubbornly keeps his eyes away and pretends like he doesn't notice when Eugene pushes a big bucket with peeling red paint toward him, sitting down on a smaller upside-down brown one, himself.

His toes go numb and he grudgingly admits (silently) that standing has become difficult, and heavily sits down, shifting until he can still lean against the pole with his upper back. Eugene sits comfortably, leaned forward towards the wind, his neck pale under the lack of a scarf. Seth can tell he's cold.

Seth can tell he doesn't mind, too, because he seems content with looking at miles of abandoned landscape and birds he probably can't name except for magpies and crows. Their cries and caws and screeches are familiar and welcome and distant all at once, and Seth licks his stinging lip absently, hissing quietly.

Eugene looks at him, face neutral, and then drops his gaze to Seth's hand. "You hurt your hand earlier", he states, catching Seth's eye and making him feel guilty without justification. Seth swallows the snappy reply rising in his throat, and instead lifts his hand a bit to give Eugene a better look. "The skin just got a bit messed up", he defends, looking at the blotchy patches still colouring his palm, keeping silent about the fact that he can't feel his hand in the cold.

Eugene looks for a moment longer and then leans forward a bit, shifting so that he's facing Seth so he doesn't have to crane his neck, and grips his wrist carefully in his left hand. Seth recoils a bit, making a pained sound as his head hits the pole with a dull thunk, and Eugene's eyes snap up to his face, alarmed and worried.

"Was my fault", Seth assures him, groaning, and lifts his uninjured hand to cradle the back of his head. Eugene keeps his eyes steady and apologetic for a moment more then lowers his head to look at Seth's hand again. "Why did you hold on so tightly?" he asks in mild inquiry, swiping a thumb along the veins in Seth's wrist and smiling warmly when Seth responds to the touch by twitching a bit, satisfied that he can feel it.

Seth ceases all motion, lowering his eyes and looking at the wall to the right, rusted and littered with holes. "Lost in thought", he answers shortly, and Eugene nods, working both his hands up Seth's wrist and palm, easing circulation back into it properly. "Okay, fair enough", he responds, amused edge to his voice as Seth presses his lips together and tries to keep from glaring.

"Can you feel your palm, yet?" he inquires, ceasing the rubbing motions and just holding Seth's hand between his own, lifting his eyes to look Seth square in the eye. "Yeah", he admits, the turmoil of his stomach starting to become more and more like starvation. "Can't feel my face, though", he complains quietly.

He closes his eyes with the intent of resting, and lets them fly open as a pair of warm, gloveless hands rest on his cheeks. The cold seeps into his neck as he lifts his head to look at Eugene leaning over him, face somewhere between turmoil and control, eyes bright in the late autumn cold.

"You should take better care of yourself", he murmurs, thumbs pressing solidly into Seth's jaws, hands trembling from the cold. "You must be numb all over."

Seth stares, face going bright pink from the wind and the churning sensation in his gut, and his lips fall open to answer I take care of myself, you stupid fuck, you have no right to care even if I don't, and get your hands off my face and stop staring at me like you want to take care of me because I don't myself-

"Can't feel my lips", he states bluntly, instead, and isn't surprised when Eugene presses his lips against Seth's own cold ones.

I can take care of myself, you dumb jackass. I just like it when you do, too.