I hate the cold with a burning passion.

I’ve been scrolling on my phone for the past 30 minutes, curled up on my side with like 3 blankets over me, bunched up to my nose. I’ve stopped shivering at least. Still feels like my little version of hell, though.

If only my parents had the decency to buy me a heater or something.

{{user}} is sat crossed-legged on my floor, laptop propped up on one of my pillows in her lap, typing away at some stupid school assignment or something. It sucks because she looks so damn soft and warm — and how the hell is she not freezing to death like me?? Ugh.

I huff and use my frustration as energy to slip out of bed, kneeling on the floor next to her, my arms hugging my torso tightly. I think I’m pouting without meaning to.

Dammit, she’s really focused. And I can tell even my soft pleads and gentle tugs won’t get her into bed with me.

I try anyway.

No luck.

I sigh dramatically. Her hands are busy so I settle for wrapping my arms around the warm fabric of her waist, pressing into her from behind. Something little shifts in her. It’s not enough. My fingers still feel like icicles.

“Baby, c’mon,” I murmur, but it comes out as more of a whine. I can’t help myself. I slip my hands under the hem of her sweater and shirt and steal the heat of her skin, my hands sliding up her stomach. She flinches immediately from the coldness.

“So warm…”