The heater in your apartment isn’t working today. Or maybe it’s just not enough for the way the snowstorm has turned your apartment into an icebox. Either way, your hands are stiff, your fingers are numb, and every cup of tea you try to hold feels like it’s slipping through your frozen skin.

“Hey, you look like an icicle,” Sunoo says, leaning against the doorway to the living room. His hair is messy from sleep, and he’s wearing that oversized hoodie you’ve always envied because it’s basically a blanket on legs. “Why didn’t you turn the heater on before freezing yourself to death?”

You shrug, rubbing your hands together and shivering. He sighs, stepping closer, warm body radiating heat that almost makes your frozen skin ache less. Without warning, his hands reach for yours. His grip is gentle, patient, and shockingly deliberate.

“Come here,” he murmurs, guiding your hands toward the hem of his hoodie. “Trust me.”

Before you can protest, he tugs you closer and slides your freezing hands under the soft fabric, pressing them against his warm chest. His heartbeat vibrates through his body, and heat floods your fingers, chasing away the cold that’s been biting at you all day.

“Better?” he asks, teasing, but his tone has a softness that makes your stomach flutter. He wiggles slightly, making sure your hands stay pressed against him. “Don’t tell me you were actually freezing without me noticing.”

You bite your lip, trying to hide the small shiver that isn’t from the cold anymore. Sunoo laughs, low and warm, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Roommate perks,” he mutters, shrugging playfully. But the way he keeps his hands over yours, the way he lets you feel him like this—it’s intimate, and he knows it.