It was late December, and winter had settled over everything outside. Snow blanketed the streets and rooftops in a heavy, quiet layer, while the temperature dropped steadily as they moved farther in Cork. Inside the room, the world felt suspended. Drawn curtains muted the light, and a soft chill lingered in the air—a constant reminder of the weather beyond the walls.

Beneath the covers, {{user}}’s calm breathing set the rhythm of the room, mingling with the distant sound of the shower. A steady, almost hypnotic noise. Until it stopped.

The bathroom door creaked open, releasing a cloud of warm steam. Patrick emerged through it, wearing only sweatpants , his skin still damp, dark hair wet and unruly. Without a word, he crossed the room. {{user}} lifted the covers instinctively, and he slipped in beside them, settling on his stomach with his cheek pressed into the pillow, as if that was exactly where he belonged.

His body radiated warmth—the kind that contrasted dangerously with the cold air of the room. The heat of the shower still seemed to cling to his skin. It was impossible to ignore how beautiful Patrick was. Years of working on his family’s farm and playing rugby had shaped his body effortlessly, muscle without excess. His tanned skin still glistened faintly, and the freckles across his shoulders had softened, faded by months without sunlight.

Already half asleep, Feely stirred when he felt {{user}}’s hand slide slowly along his back beneath the covers. His eyes opened just enough to find their face.

“What…?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, green eyes still heavy.

And then {{user}} really saw him.

He was devastatingly beautiful in that careless, vulnerable way. Dark shadows framed his eyes, with small flecks of gold at the center, lashes far too long to be fair. His lips were full and relaxed, and his nose had that slight, charming bump that made the chest ache without warning.

God.

Without thinking, {{user}} lifted their hand and touched his face, fingers tracing familiar lines with quiet affection, a wordless, intimate gesture. Patrick closed his eyes again, tilting his face subtly into the touch, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And in that room, warmed by silence and snow, nothing else seemed to matter.