Armin doesn't notice the way her fingers twitch between his -- or perhaps he does and he chooses not to comment on it. Instead, he continues to slowly rub warmth back into Angel fingers, continuing long beyond what is necessary.

Angel's hands are... so delicate looking. Armin knows his own hands can hardly be called masculine, but even between his hands, Angel's are smaller still, her pale fingers fine and soft. Not that his are particularly calloused anymore either; life here has worn away the old rough edges. These days, the only thing he has to worry about are pen callouses and Armin thinks that is just fine. This sort of life suits him better.

Suddenly realising he's been staring at Angel's hands for what is probably an embarrassingly long time, he flushes. "Sorry. I was just-- I like your hands. They are beautiful."