Gt one shots

The Warmth Between Us

PART II —

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Faye woke to warmth.

For a few long, hazy seconds, she stayed very still, not opening her eyes, letting herself drift somewhere between sleep and waking. There was a soft weight over her, heavy but comforting, and the air around her wasn't biting anymore. Her nose wrinkled as she inhaled—wool, old couch fabric, the faint, familiar scent of Roman's soap and coffee that always clung to things he touched.

She exhaled slowly.

Then the memories drifted back in.
The draft.
The radiator.
Her foot wedged in the baseboard.
The cold wrapping around her like a hungry thing.
Calling his name.

Her eyes flew open.

Instead of cracked baseboard and shadowed metal, she saw the textured weave of a blanket wall inches from her face. Soft gray wool, the threads huge compared to her tiny hands. She was burrowed in a folded corner of it, like a nest. A strip of morning light cut through the room from the window, a pale, icy beam that stopped just short of her little cocoon.

She could still feel warmth on one side of her—strong, steady heat that didn't belong to the blanket alone.

Faye shifted carefully and peeked out from the fold.

Roman was slumped against the back of the couch, head tilted slightly to one side, eyes closed. His dark hair was a mess, falling into his face. His robe had come loose a bit at the front, showing the collar of the t-shirt he'd apparently pulled on at some point in the night. One arm lay along the back of the couch. The other was curved loosely near her, hand resting on the cushion, fingers relaxed.

He'd stayed right there.

She swallowed, her chest tightening with something she didn't really want to name.

His hand was close enough that she could see the faint lines on his skin, the tiny scar near the base of his thumb where he'd cut himself on a can lid once. Every now and then, the muscles in his fingers shifted just a little, like he was dreaming.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, wincing at a stiff tug in her left ankle. Right. The baseboard. That was going to complain at her for a while, she guessed.

Her movement must've made a sound. Roman's eyes snapped open.

Not slowly. Not groggy.
Just—open. Alert. Fully there.

His gaze went directly to the blanket. To her.

"Faye?" His voice came out soft and rough, still edged with sleep.

She blinked and gave him a small, sleepy smile. "Morning."

The tension in his shoulders eased visibly. He exhaled, the sound caught halfway between relief and a laugh.

"Morning," he echoed. "How's the frostbite situation?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed the blanket back enough to sit up. "Don't be dramatic. I was nowhere near frostbite."

"You were turning into a Faye-sicle," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Pretty sure that qualifies."

She snorted, then flinched as her ankle twinged. Roman's head tilted the slightest bit, eyes narrowing.

"Where?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but his gaze had already dropped to her legs. She was still basically swaddled in wool, but he still somehow zeroed in on the exact spot that hurt.

"My ankle," she admitted. "Left one. It just... twisted funny when it got stuck."

He hummed under his breath in a way that sounded suspiciously like I knew it and shifted closer. His hand came in, huge and careful, stopping just beside her.