Charles’s breath fanned against your neck, a puff of visible air escaping and disintegrating as quickly as it had been produced. The cold was bitter, harsh, and biting. It nipped at your skin like numerous tiny little needles. Of course, people were bound to find coping mechanisms for the extreme conditions. You and Charles’s just happened to be a bit more intimate than needed.

You could feel him shift slightly under you, his hands slipping up the cloth of your shirt. They were cold and stinging, like an ice-cold glass of moonshine being pressed against your skin. You didn’t mind, though. His thumbs pressed against your flesh, moving up and down in a soothing motion. He moved his head downward, pressing it into your neck and inhaling like you were some type of lifeline.

He lifted his head, voice airy and rough, “May I…” he cleared his throat, “May I kiss you here?” He managed, seeming anxious to get the words out. Yea, he was a bit desperate for you, but he still held some humility.