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Sonic, the speedster is of the opinion, got a great tolerance for cold climates. Snow, ice, howling winds and frosty waters: he can brave them no issue, racing through at top speed and finding himself generally unbothered by subzero temperatures.
But at the same time, even Sonic has to admit that hoisting himself around through snow and cold and icy gales for hours on end without being able to run does eventually become a bit unpleasant.
With a hum the speedster blows a breath into his hands, rubbing them together. It helps heat them up… for three seconds max, and then the fledgeling warmth has been blown away again by the wind tearing around through Holoska. Sonic’s fingers send out icy stabs every time he curls them into fists and stretches them out after…
This blows, Sonic grumbles inwardly. And it blows even more that it’ll take quite a while until he’s out of the cold again, since he’s traversing to a next Zone that’s still miles and miles away. And what blows most is that it’s night, in the middle of a snowstorm, and with no sun in sight to help warm him up the tiniest bit. He can barely see where he’s going while walking; blasting off in a run would basically guarantee him ending up right in the ocean.
But that does mean he’s got no way to keep himself as warm as usual through movement. A few hours more of this and he’ll have become a hedgehog popsicle, the speedster starts deeming more and more likely.
At least Sonic’s got company, flying ahead with a hand thrown up to block the snow howling about. Except that company makes Sonic only grousier, because Silver seems to have none of the problems Sonic is experiencing right now. Apparently psychokinesis touching cold surfaces doesn’t translate to freezing temperatures nibbling away on his hands, and having the world’s fluffiest mane around his neck means Silver must be feeling far less chilled than Sonic does. At least, those are the only reasons Sonic can think of for why his pal has been looking altogether focused for hours on end now, unbothered by the nightly snowstorm they’re in.
Oh well, Sonic shrugs to himself next. Complaining inwardly won’t make him feel any warmer, and he can only be happy that Silver is doing better than he is. Though as the speedster draws a deeper breath to try and stave off the stabby feelings in his fingers for at least four consecutive seconds this time, the psychic does turn around, peeking over with his honey-gold eyes.
“Are your hands cold?” gets hollered out over the wailing wind.
“Just a little, but it’s fine!” Sonic cries back with the usual trademark grin of assurances and confidence easily pushed on his face. It’s just some cold in the end; he’s been through way worse. “Nothing I can’t handle!”
Of course, such an answer would never satisfy Silver. A deep frown forms on the psychic’s face as he floats over, cyan colouring the nightly world in a lovely glow. It forms a protective bubble around both hedgehogs, and Sonic heaves a deep breath of relief at the windshield it forms. It’s already warmer around him immediately.
...What helps with that is the scorching intensity of Silver’s glare, though. “Don’t be silly! It’s not nothing,” the psychic huffs back as expected, arms crossing. It makes Sonic laugh, blowing some more air into his hands again and rubbing them together anew. With a wink he opens his mouth to tell Silver it really will be okay, and they gotta keep going…
Only for his mouth to go slightly slack-yawed instead as Silver follows up with: “Let me warm them up for you!”
It gets spoken with zero hesitation. And the cool cyan that wraps itself around Sonic’s hands does so altogether firmly, too. And before he can protest or utter or even realise anything, Sonic’s already gotten yanked forwards...
As both his hands get pushed right into Silver’s mane.
Sonic blinks, slowly. Silver puffs up his chest, standing tall and strong. And soft. His mane is incredibly soft; even softer than Sonic had ever deemed possible from just looking at it.
It’s also right on top of Silver’s torso, and Sonic’s fingers are pressed most snugly into the fur and skin underneath.
“There we go,” the psychic of course has to add; Sonic can feel the minute twitching of Silver’s muscles against his fingertips as he speaks. “If you’re cold, you can just tell me, you know. I’ll help you warm up; I don’t get cold that quickly myself.”
“…Because of your mane...?” is the only, not-very-suave thing Sonic can think of inquiring, probably because his fingers are lightly wriggling through that very part of Silver’s being right now. It’s so silky. And warm, too: Sonic’s fingers ache as that warmth floods into them, enshrouding them on all sides.
The rest of Sonic’s body, especially his face, also feels rather hot.
If Silver notices that, though, it doesn’t show in his fond chuckle. “I guess. I like the cold sometimes, even.”
“Usually I don’t get affected by cold that much,” Sonic finds himself prattling. “But I can’t run safely now, so… Can’t warm myself up like that, basically. You know.”
“That makes sense. I haven’t seen this bad a snowstorm in ages,” Silver hums sympathetically. It gets accompanied by a gentle draw of his powers over Sonic’s hands, snuggling them lovingly. And Silver’s powers usually feel cool to the touch, but Sonic’s hands are colder than them still, and that makes it actually quite a nice sensation.
What makes it all even nicer is Silver’s heartbeat underneath.
A pensive quiet falls, the wind that howls by outside dampened by Silver’s thrumming psychic orb. The psychic breaks the quiet first, Sonic’s fingers given an incorporeal squeeze. “Are your hands feeling less cold already?”
Yes, very much so, but Sonic figures it’s not just the mane that made that possible. His cheeks are also quite burning, and so are the tips of his ears.
…But Silver stands tremendously illustrious, eyes on Sonic’s hands held against him so snugly. Which means he mercifully doesn’t see the various radiant colourations Sonic’s face surely holds… “Yeah! Ah-haha, th-thanks, it worked… worked great! Absolute wonders,” the blue hedgehog responds, or rather stammers, giving Silver’s mane a final squeeze before pulling away. He regrets it almost immediately; the air around them feels even chillier than before, even if they’re still in Silver’s protective psychic bubble. But his hands (and face) do have a far more pleasant temperature now: his individual fingers contain life once anew, the stabby sensation gone.
Gratefully Sonic flexes them, using the one second of acceptable silence that action gives him to come up with something more decent to say next. “Really; thanks, Silver,” that becomes. “You’re a lifesaver. Definitely a finger-saver, at the very least.“
“Anytime. Just let me know when they’re cold again, and I’ll warm them right up for you,” Silver nods at him. Glowing psychokinesis pulls away from the bubble around both hedgehogs to smooth out that warmest, silkiest, softest, and fluffiest mane in one swift motion, before Silver’s head rears up anew-
Which for Sonic is the perfect cue to whip around and dart right back to making his way through the snowstorm and the cold, because he will get questions about why he’s blushing so bad otherwise.
…But a mere few minutes later he finds himself scooting back to Silver with a request to heat his hands up once again, which gets granted most promptly.
He should totally just make use of this more often even when not in a snowstorm, the speedster concedes as pleasant warmth seeps into his fingertips all over again, and if the minute rumbles of a purr in Silver’s chest that Sonic’s ears pick up on easily are any indication, his friend readily agrees.