The room smells like expensive aftershave and the rain drying off your coat. The radiator’s been clicking for an hour but hasn’t warmed a thing. You’re curled under the covers on Wilson’s narrow bed, blanket pulled to your chest, legs tangled somewhere beneath his.

He’s lying on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting low on your stomach — fingers drumming absentmindedly through the fabric of your shirt.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, almost surprised. “Like. Cute warm.”

He nudges his nose against your jaw, barely brushing your skin.

“…I like it.”

Then a pause — and a grin you can feel without looking.

“Not sure if I like it more than the way your thighs are pressing up against me, though.”

you giggle as he teases you more and more, it’s become a comfort to you.

“You’re so beautiful..” he mutters against your skin, peppering soft kisses along your jawline.