There's a reason why he started to wear gloves.
He would tell his fellow Asgardians that he'd rather not dirty his hands or that on some occasion, it suited perfectly with his attire.
The latter in which Thor would heartily laugh at and Loki would tell him to go be an uncultured buffoon somewhere else.
She flinches to his touch, rubbing her arm profusely, it stings.
His eyes blink, brows knitting together as his hand hovers over her, carefully calculating the situation.
His hands flex to a fist and retreats and she gives him unwanted sympathetic looks.
The next day, he finds a simple black box in her unoccupied apartment.
A small yellow note rests on top and reads:
Yo, I don't think I could date a guy with cold hands!
Totally laaaaamo, I'd hate to get massages from you.
Wear these next time we hang out, okay? : )
His expression remains still, digesting the Midgardian speech.
Taking off the top, inside he finds black leather gloves wrapped in dark green tissue paper.
He stares at it for a while before feeling a corner of his mouth pull into a smirk.