His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face.

"Why did you stop?" He asks, perplexed and not bothering to--or incapable of--hiding it. He shoves his hands in the peacoat's pockets, glancing over at her as discreetly as he can.

"If I was allowed to, I'd go every day." Though he knows not everyone is him, and he already feels a little foolish, admitting it out loud. He decides to concentrate on looking at how white the snow is.