Raidou glanced at Genma and felt his eyebrows draw down sharply, not so much at his friend's shivers--they were shinobi, they could handle a little cold--but at the way he'd drawn his hands in, curled against the fading heat of his skin. Cold, Raidou knew, was one of Genma's particular triggers, and nothing could ruin an evening faster then an ache that bloomed into something a whole lot worse. "Yeah," he echoed. "Damn."

He pulled his hands from his waistband and stripped his thick sweater off, suddenly grateful he'd changed from a thin tanktop to a warmer button-down shirt. It rode up with his sweater for a moment, slightly frayed hem grazing his naval before he twitched it back down. He tossed the sweater to Genma. "Here, before you go blue enough to match your shirt." He didn't wait for a protest, already hooking his hands back into his waistband and striding off down the street.