Imagines

warm hands, cold night

The wind was brutal tonight, the kind that clawed at any bit of exposed skin and made the world feel smaller, quieter. (Name) shoved her hand deeper into her pockets, trying to keep the cold from sinking into her bones. She had been waiting outside the gym for Sam longer than she had planned, but she didn't mind. Not when it came to him.

The doors swung open and there he was-- Sam Monroe, hair messy from practice, cheeks flushed pink from the heat inside. His eyes instantly landed on her, that soft little look he only gave to her.

"(Name)?" He called, brows knitting as he jogged over. "What are you doing out here? You're freezing."

She shrugged, trying to play it off, as if she thinks if she stands out here any longer she would get frostbite or even lose a finger from how cold it was. "Wanted to walk with you."

Sam huffed a breath that sounded like it was supposed to be annoyed, but he was already shrugging off his hoodie and draped it over her shoulders, it was still warm with his body heat. His fingers brushed the sides of her neck as he adjusted it, and she swore she could feel her pulse trip over itself.

"You're gonna catch something," Sam muttered, standing closer than necessary. "Next time just text me. I would've come right out."

"I'm fine," she whispered.

He deadpanned her, not believing a single word she said.

He always did that-- cared harder than he meant to.

Without warning, he took her hands, his palms warm against her cold skin. He rubbed slow circle with his thumbs, trying to bring them back to life. His head dipped a little, eyes flickering up at hers like he was scared to look for too long.

"Your hands are freezing," he said quietly.

"And yours are warm," she shot back, a small smile pulling at her lips.

Sam's jaw tensed, but not in a bad way-- more like he was holding something back. A thought, a feeling, an urge that he wasn't ready to say out loud. He squeezed her hands gently and brought her hands up to his lips, kissing them gently.

"Come on," he muttered. "Let's get you home."

They walked side by side, his shoulder brushing against hers every few steps like he couldn't help it. Halfway down the block, he stopped and turned to fully face her. there was something in his eyes-- something that made her breath catch.

"(Name)," he said softly, "don't wait out in the cold for me anymore. I don't... I don't like this idea of you standing there alone."

Her brows lifted. "You don't like it?"

He looked away for a second, then back at her with a shaky exhale.

"It's not that... I.. I just worry about you," he admitted, voice barely above the wind. "More than I should."

The streetlight buzzed above them, bathing him in a soft golden glow that made his eyes even warmer. She stepped closer, close enough to see the nervous twitch in his fingers.

"Then don't worry," she whispered. "Just.. stay with me."

Sam blinked like he was processing the fact that she said it out loud. Then a slow, real smile spread across his face-- not the sarcastic smirk he gave others, but the one that cracked him open.

He lifted his hand and pressed it against his chest, letting her feel the quick, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat underneath her palm.

"I've been trying to," he said, "Trying not to screw this up."

"You're not," she promised. "You're doing perfect."

Sam leaned in, forehead brushing hers for a moment that felt like an eternity-- warm breath, warm hands, cold night forgotten.

"Good," he whispered, thumb brushing against her cheek, "Because I don't really want to let you go."

And he didn't.

Not that night.

Not ever, if he had a say in it.