"Yeah," he says after a few seconds, when he's damn sure he's not going to be the first man to choke to death on snow. He feels a bit winded, and he takes a moment to glance around at the newly made snowscape, spotting a single Jack Frost in the near distance, standing atop a pillar of snow, staring in their direction and looking pretty damn pleased with itself, if the stupid, teetering dance it's doing is any indication. His eyes circle back to Minako again, evaluating. He doesn't know how ruined her outfit is—though he can perhaps guess. His coat, however, has weathered far worse.

There's a sharp ache radiating from his ribs and back, but that will fade soon enough. It's nothing that he won't be able to ignore in a moment—he's had worse done to him in Tartarus. He's secretly glad, however, that she isn't trying to stand up, because at the moment he doesn't particularly want to try. "You fine?"