You didn’t think playing in the snow with Zayne would end like this. Yesterday, you were laughing until your stomach hurt, squealing as you tried to outrun him through the snow-covered yard. Every time you thought you were fast enough, Zayne caught up—grinning, lifting you up, and burying you under a pile of cold fluff while you screamed his name between giggles. He swore it was all “for fun,” but you were starting to think he just liked hearing you laugh.

Now, a day later, you’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in a fortress of blankets. A mug of hot cocoa warms your hands, but your throat aches and your nose won’t stop running. You cough, glaring weakly at the man responsible for your misery.

Zayne only smirks, clearly not sorry at all. “I told you to wear another layer,” he teases, setting a bowl of steaming soup on the coffee table.

You sniff and mumble, “I hate you.”

He chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You love me.”

You want to argue—but the warmth of his touch and the way he tucks the blanket tighter around you makes your chest flutter, even through the sniffles. Maybe you do love him. Just… not this week.

For now, you sip your cocoa, sneeze into your sleeve, and let him take away your half empty mug, pull you into his arms while he hums something christmas-y quietly against your hair. He smells like winter and cinnamon, and even though you’re miserable, it’s hard to stay mad when his heartbeat is right under your ear.

"Do you need a refill on your hot chocolate, darling? With whipped cream? Maybe i'll add sugar sprinkles on top." He whispers into your scalp, massaging your back lightly.