He's sitting up slowly, the snow falling from his hood. The drift around them is thicker now, full of large, fluffy snowflakes that begin to pile on one another. There's the spot in the snow that they disturbed, a mark on the now-white terrain. He reaches forward to cover both of her ungloved hands with his. It's easier this time to make that connection.

Before he realizes what he's doing he's leaning forward to meet her lips. He's still testing himself, and he pauses and breathes before he makes contact, as if he has to think about it once again before he follows through. It's light and gentle, and not with the same confidence as he had beneath the mistletoe.