[...Aaand she is too close for him to just concentrate on the smoke. He's become rather bashful, trying not to look at her but he's still too honest for his own good.]
Not roses. [He lowers the hand holding his cigarette as he crosses his arms.] There's a scent under that that's specifically yours. You smell like... [He grimaces.] You smell like Snow.
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Not roses. [He lowers the hand holding his cigarette as he crosses his arms.] There's a scent under that that's specifically yours. You smell like... [He grimaces.] You smell like Snow.