THEM 'Ishman'

Winter love ❄️🐧

The rain had long since vanished, leaving behind a crisp winter chill that seeped into the corners of their apartment. 

Outside, the city streets glowed under the soft, amber light of the streetlamps, their golden hue reflecting off the damp pavement. 

Inside, however, the air was thick with warmth, the kind that came not just from the heater humming in the background but from the comfort of familiarity—the soft hum of the kettle, the faint scent of chocolate melting into milk, and the quiet, almost sacred domesticity of their shared space.

Shubman stood at the stove, stirring a pot of hot cocoa with practiced ease, his broad shoulders relaxed, muscles flexing slightly with each movement. 

He was focused, calm—completely unaware of the mischievous pair of eyes watching him from the doorway.

Ishan lurked there, wrapped in a thick throw blanket like a tragic, heartbroken prince, peeking in with the calculated drama of someone who had intentions. 

His oversized sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder, and his sock-clad feet shifted restlessly against the tiles.

"Shubbyyyy~" He crooned, voice dripping with exaggerated emotion as he leaned heavily against the doorframe, like a man carrying the weight of unspeakable sorrow.

Shubman sighed, not even looking up. "What now, menace?"

Ishan gasped, scandalized. "Don't call me menace. I am an angel."

"An angel of destruction." Shubman muttered under his breath, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Ishan shuffled closer, his feet making tiny squeaks on the cold floor. 

"You're ignoring me. I'm hurt. Deeply. Wounded, even. Betrayed." He announced, eyes wide with dramatic betrayal. 

Shubman finally turned, unimpressed. "I'm literally making you hot cocoa, drama llama. How is that ignoring you?"

Ishan clutched his blanket tighter, shaking his head. "It's not about the cocoa! It's about love, Shubu. Attention. Affection. All of which you are withholding."

Shubman stared at him, then—without a word—picked up a marshmallow and flicked it at Ishan's forehead.

Ishan gasped, scandalized. "HOW DARE YOU—"

Shubman smirked. "There. Love, attention, affection."

"You should be grateful for me." Ishan declared, marching over to Shubman and poking his side with all the authority of a tiny, rebellious kitten. 

"I'm adorable. And soft. And—"

"You're cold, baby candy." Shubman interrupted, catching Ishan's wrist with ease. 

His grip tightened as he tugged Ishan closer, his other hand moving to encase Ishan's fingers between his own. "Why are you like an icicle, frosty fluffball?"

"It's winter, duh." Ishan replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

His grin was nothing short of cheeky as he wiggled his fingers in Shubman's grasp, enjoying the warmth.

Shubman narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You didn't even wear socks when you went to the balcony earlier, did you?"

"I forgot!" Ishan said defensively, though the guilty smile stretching his lips made it clear that forgetting might have been an intentional act of rebellion.

Shubman exhaled dramatically, clearly at the end of his patience. "You're impossible."

With that, he let go of Ishan's hands—only to promptly wrap an arm around his waist and haul him closer.