The wound still stings, but not nearly as viciously as it had earlier. The heat rolling off Karlach is its own kind of magic—slow, steady, familiar. It seeps into you until the ache quiets, retreating like a tide pulling back from the sand. The city outside hasn’t slept, not really; it never does. You catch the faint strumming of some bard lingering in the late-night tavern across the street, the notes drifting lazily through the damp air. Rain patters against the cobblestones, tapping on the inn’s roof like soft drumming fingers.

You shift under the covers—well, under the idea of covers. Karlach has somehow kicked the blanket into a useless heap at the foot of the bed. The half of it that survives is currently tangled around her tail like she fought it in her sleep and won. A cool breeze snakes across your shoulders, and goosebumps rise instantly.

Her hand is heavy and warm on your back, her arm slung over you in that protective, unconscious way she has. Your chest presses against her side, your cheek resting against her collarbone, and gods, she’s so warm it almost feels like a crime to move at all.

But the rain woke you, tricking your mind into thinking morning had arrived hours too early. The room is dark, quiet, and cold—except for Karlach.

You try, foolishly, to tug the blanket up, but the devil of it all is wrapped firmly around that tail of hers. After a few seconds of wrestling with it, you breathe out a defeated sigh. Fine. So be it. Freeze to death. Who needs blankets anyway when your girlfriend is a personal furnace?

Karlach shifts with a soft grumble, rolling over. In the process she drags you with her, hoisting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing more than a pillow. The blanket slips off entirely. Her plush bear hits the floor with a sad little thump.

You lean over to rescue it, placing it gently back beside her. Her arms loop around you tighter—much tighter—burying you against her chest. Her heat envelopes you instantly, chasing away the cold. You melt without resistance, exhaustion and relief pooling through you as the brutal day finally loosens its grip.

She nudges her nose into your hair, murmuring, “C’mon… s’too cold for you to be wigglin’ around. Lemme keep ya warm.” Before you can answer, she curls around you, her arms tightening until you’re engulfed in her warmth—wrapped up, contained, protected. Her forehead bumps yours as she settles, breath warm on your cheek.