It's a cute little thing, splendid enough it makes the little glass statue of theirs quite pale in comparison, but Iris finds he's a little glad Wilhelm had had to settle — he doubts a real one would have enjoyed the winter of Thorne, no matter how cozy Wilhelm makes the fire in their room.

He would have said as much, were his hand not suddenly in Wilhelm's, and they are once again on the move.

"Aw c'mon," comes a soft whine Wilhelm is more than familiar with by now. Iris makes no attempt to pull his hand back, or even drag his feet, but he does slump against Wilhelm's arm slightly, as if the extra weight were emphasis enough he is Literally Dying Here, No Really. "Seriously? Again?"

At this point, he's complaining for complaining's sake. (Alright, maybe he reached that point far earlier on.) There's no real heat to his tone, just an amused sort of grief.

"Y'know If you're trying to tire me out so I stop talking, you're out of luck."