Mittens

She lays, tangled up in quilts and throws and sheets alike. Chill covers her pristine skin – white like the snow that is collecting on the window pane of their small, drafty, any-town apartment.

She pulls the covers above her head and breathes out deep; the air forced from her body kept at a warm temperature in its case temporarily warms her quilt. She stays beneath the quilt and breathes like this for more than a moment. The moisture collecting in her bangs tells her she is running out of oxygen beneath the tattered blanket.

Her head emerges and the cool air hits her harder now, instantly chilling the moisture that has gathered on her forehead.

She closes her eyes and lets the warm lamp of this room dance before her eyelids. The creaky wooden door opens, taking with it another quick and harsh draft.

She can feel his presence in the center of the room, but she continues to watch the way light comes through eyelids when eyes are closed but still alert. She hears him unbutton his shirt – silent, but the movements are familiar.

The quilt is still icicles as through the air sounds the slight resonance that follows the unbuttoning of jeans. The zipper separates as its metal handle moves down to release its binding.

She hears him breathe out, a shivery exhale while the air touches his bare skin for the first time.

She curls up in a ball and faces away from where he will lay. She hugs a bunched up corner of the quilt like a teddy bear as she feels the bed give a little, his weight taking its place on the half of the bed that he likes to dream on.

He lays down in the same direction she is, and she feels his body slip around her like a glove. His skin, radiant, warms her in way that is natural and incredible all at once. She is in this moment perfectly comfortable; comfort to a degree that always astounds her when she feels it.

Her eyes flutter open, and she sees the wall before her. It is big and white and she reaches a finger out to confirm how cold it is. The draft will have no mercy on the wall, but she is in their blanket, and she no longer has to feel cold.

Keeping her body wrapped in his, she cranes her neck to see his face. His cheeks are rosy and he looks beautiful – almost untouchable - when his eyes are closed. His lips are at first surprised and unresponsive to feel hers upon them, but they quickly understand.

Opening his mouth ever so slightly, he breathes warmth into her mouth. His breath is like the warm familiar steam that comes off of a mug of a hot chocolate after a numbing hour in the snow.

They will melt in this igloo tonight; the vitality between them is a secret that only they can keep, behind a drafty glass window, whose pane is filling quickly with beautiful frozen flakes.