He watches him go up the building with an expression of wat and mutters something quiet about monkeys. But when he gets up there he takes his hand and finishes pulling himself up, along with the stock of whatever he'd accumulated and their meal.

"It works out for me most of the time." Most of it, anyway. Be a distraction, use a distraction, whichever. If it meets the endgoal, it's done its job.

It's up here that he can better see the day two light show against the dark sky. That he can see bright spots of the strange snow stuff still landing softly, soft spots of illumination before they disappear. And he realizes that he might have played himself once again, because through no particular effort of his own Tobirama looks beautiful right now. That snow hitting pale hair and fur lining, that lining also catching light from the fireworks and at the right angle haloing him. Those red eyes near his own shade, but somehow much less raw on that face in his opinion.

A marble statue sculpted to look soft. You could look at it, but not touch it.

Oh right, he has food. "Alright, let me get us set up here and figure out whose food is whose."