"I can come up with stupider questions, if that was a challenge," Dan says, laughing. He feels the awkwardness, feels that something's unspoken, feels the two of them testing out familiarity and boundaries with each other as the conversation goes. Miguel's aloof and Dan's gentle; neither of them are rushing to force closeness.

He holds his hands out. "They're doing better. It always hurts when the blood rushes back in, but it's the kind of hurt that passes. I'd be real fucked if I ever lost a finger or something to frostbite, though, and I know I'm susceptible. I don't reckon a cushy desk job's ever going to be in my future, what with my pedigree, so I need my hands."