It's a strangely intimate position, the one they're in now. Even still, Angel can't bring herself to complain. She leans back against Armin, reveling in how -- despite his own diminutive stature -- he manages to envelop her so completely. He might have his doubts about himself at times, but there's never been any doubt in her mind that he could protect her.

Not that he needs to. Even with recent events, and the return of Jack, this world was a peaceful one. It's a peace they've both fought hard in their own respective worlds to earn.

Still, it's not a wholly innocent reaction, either. Even through fabric, the hand on her hip sends a faint thrill through her. It's foreign and electrifying, and she has to hope that the way she shivers is translated as a side-effect of the cold, rather than anything else.

With her free hand, Angel reaches up and over her shoulder. She knows without having to guess, really, where Armin is. Her fingers stroke gingerly over his cheek, then back into his hair. She combs her fingers through it as she lays her head back on his shoulder.