I’ve read a few things lately about cold men. The stories of cold men are that they learn words and behaviors so that they can convince you of human warmth. Their smiles are inviting. Their touch can feel like home. The little, considerate things occur like clockwork.
It is always a bait and switch. Eventually and inevitably, the cold men are unable to keep up the difficult task of warmth. There are long periods of nothing between the smiles. Touch becomes perfunctory, if it is not withdrawn altogether. Their actions are those of a trooper fulfilling his duty. And you realize, at one point or another, that this is the real man. Not good, or bad, but a man of nothing.
The nature of cold is that it drains the warmth around it. The cold men who retain some measure of awareness realize they must keep their smiles and touch light and distant, or risk draining the warmth of someone undeserving of such violence.
Or, sometimes, they risk allowing the warmth into their hearts, which is a peril too dangerous to consider.