Liquified H.E.A.T.

Pinpricks of snow clung to my body, dotted my hair with white, but surrounding the man slouched and breathless before me, they were unable to find a resting place, turning to droplets of rain before they could touch him with their tiny icy appendages. 
"My... They.... They're mine..."
I was stunned, unable to twitch so much as a finger. 
I had been put into a dangerous situation - no - I had entered into something dangerous myself.
Loaded like a heavy rucksack over the man's shoulder was what looked like a beating heart, beating in unison with his, beating with that same fiery anger, but coated in a thick, white sheet of what looked like ice, but it couldn't be. What kind of ice could hold up against that kind of heat in the first place, one that melts the drizzling snow before it even reaches the ground?
My feet stammered backwards, dipping in and out of the crimson pools beginning thinly freeze against the pavement. 
One eye looked from beneath the matted curtain of hair, but just as it locked with my own erratic, bouncing irises, liquid began to drip down the locks of his messy almond hair, layering it like wet cement over his skin.
It was, in fact, melting - the ice that layered the evicted, thrumming heart.
Why wouldn't I run? My feet had been frozen alongside the pools of blood, my mind had been threaded by a mix of fear and awe towards that beating heart of his.
From behind me, my ear, finally able to twitch, picked up a short, metallic whisking. 
To my left there was a quick flash of white, followed be a groan.
Before me, the man had begun to march solemnly in my direction.
What the hell was going on? - That was foremost in my mind.
Thoughts of why this man seemed to hold such hatred for me, a stranger, and the likelihood of a misinterpretation weren't burrowing into my consciousness with the same ferocity.
I was overpowered with the sense of 'This is not normal'.
It was probably that overgrown, vibrating, humming like it was singing a despondent tune, grotesque heart that shocked me so much, even more than piles upon mounds of dead bodies licking at my feet. 
"Get up!"
It wasn't directed towards me. 
After it had flicked from behind my vision, the wispy glow, like an anthropomorphised shaft of sunlight, twinkled inside the bubbling pools of crimson.
Soon, I was backed up against the wall, having found my ability to move just when it was most dire, as is cliche, I suppose.
For better or worse, there were no longer any mounds, nor piles, of blood-caked, dismembered bodies layering the alley. 
Instead, they had raised themselves high up against the morning dew, staring meaningfully into the crisp azure sky, tears dripping where blood once had its rivers.
As if completely and utterly unaware of my presence, which was definitely understandable, considering I had done little more than freeze on the spot then fall back against a wall, long, neat (in juxtaposition to the burning man's dishevelled) milky white streams of hair fluttered against my nose. 
Suddenly, remembering something with a glimmer of resentment in his eyes, the regally adorned man, refusing to do the degrading motion of taking a step backwards, flung his hand out towards my chest, then simply spoke with a velvety hum,
"The paper"