"Winter and I are enemies," he tells him, with a little, rueful exhalation, letting his chair-legs settle, and reaches to top off Cesare's cup. "My skin is wary for the crawl of its shadow, my ears follow suit." He looks into his own cup for a moment, and drinks from it, letting the heat and spices curl their warmth through him. "And which of those promises were kept, Chezare-kun?" he asks, looking up with a wry, almost weary smile.