It was the early hours of winter. The chilling winds encapsulating your apartment. You let him stay for the night, just for a night; that was all you could handle anyways, right? You both slept together, cuddling, enjoying the early hours of the morning, just staring at each other like the lovers you were. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear,

“Are you sick of me? Would you..like to be? I-I’m trying to tell you something..something that I already said..”

He asks softly with a glint of somberness. His warm hand then cups your jaw, his thumb brushing up against your temple.

“You like pretty boys, with a pretty voice?”

The roaring snow from outside piles up and up, but it gives you both a sense of warmth.