𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. | 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐛𝐮𝐫 ♥

" 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 "

The balcony railing was cold, cold in the way that would coil around your hand, the grip of the wind painting your hand deathly white, and flaunting bright indigo and lavender veins to the world from your pale. The breeze would trickle down his spine, burying itself deep into his boots, he would look over, to see his and his only nestled deep into the blissful warming walls of his coat, nose and ears a peaceful scarlet as he breathed out smoke from the cold into the nighttime view. Schlatt would feel a petty frown tug heavy against his lips, his body feeling hollow from the sweater he wore, with no jacket, no jacket at all, "I'm cold." He'd note to Wilbur, who only responded with a gentle, knowing, grin lathering his cheeks, inching closer to his man who would shiver, trying to sink deeper into his thin sweater. Schlatt's beloved would drape two arms around his waist from behind, nuzzling his starch red nose into the crook of Schlatt's neck, Schlatt flinching from the piercing cold of his cherished's red, red nose, "Wilbur, I'm freezing my ass off." He'd grumble again, though he turned in his adored's arms, pressing himself as close as he could to the cozy, homey heat of his worshipped's hold that could only scorch souls.

"This jacket sure is warm and cozy, gosh-" He paused to kiss the top of Schlatt's head, "I might just melt-" A melodic kiss to the brow "Wow, I'm so warm-" An angelic peck to the shell of his ear, "-and comfortable right now." A kiss sullen against his lips, only for a moment, a ghost of what could really be, but they were too lost in their banter to feel the surge in their chests from each other's lips. Schlatt would hang his arms over Wilbur's shoulder's, clawing his hoodie from the back, now hiding his face in Wilbur's warmth, too cold to bother biting back, though only for a moment, as banter would ensue soon. As Schlatt could feel blood rush to his face once more, banter was quick on it's toes to be afoot them.

Wilbur would run warm, sultry palms up under Schlatt's sweater, exposing his skin to the cold, trickling goosebumps along Schlatt's spine as he traced figures into every groove and crevice of his man's flesh, Schlatt could only feign a grumble of dissatisfaction, "If you're gonna' be an ass, go piss off, and get me some hot cocoa while you're at it, ass wipe." He sneered, no bite nor fangs to his tone, truly, only known by the two of them as they breathed heavy, breeze weighted, breaths against each other's necks. Wilbur would mesh his fingers into the muscle of Schlatt's back for only a moment longer, before drawing back, reluctantly, poutily, shuffling his jacket off his shoulders, and cloaking his dearest in unfiltered warm, the cotton only reminding Schlatt further of Wilbur's arms.

Wilbur would snicker, laughter blistering the night sky, and Schlatt was sure he was hearing seraphs hum melodies to the stars rather than the man he could only sinfully call his own trotting off to their kitchen bumbling with laughter, his jacket encasing Schlatt to the brim of his chest. He sat in wait for his paramour, inpatient against the not as warm as Wilbur jacket, the not as strong of a scent as Wilbur jacket, the not Wilbur jacket, an impersonation that would not do in place of his love. He would come back to the balcony, as he always would, two steaming mugs in his hands, thick in ceramic and clouds of faint smoke from their warmth, their warmth that could never replace Wilbur's. Schlatt would offer a small kiss to his hand as he handed him one of the mugs, as a small, unspoken thank you, one that only resulted in what was only to be his for eternity beaming brighter than the stars, though no one would be able to see how he beamed like Schlatt did.

Schlatt would look to him slowly, easily, fondly, hot chocolate coating his lips as the toothachingly sweet liquid burned his tongue, causing him to snatch his mouth away from his mug, "How do you not get cold without a jacket? Or are you just so edgy that it doesn't bother you?" He found himself asking, almost not noticing his own words through the comfortable invading silence that captured the two of them and their midnight lathered balcony.

His darling would crow, his lips upturned in that pretty way they always had curled, "Knowing you're not cold anymore warms me up." He husked sleepily, as he always had, Schlatt would note through the years. He was sure he could hear the pound of his heard began to pitch, and his stomach would churn in swarms of lavender and lemon painted butterflies that could only remind him of his prized man. His man. His.

"You are sickly romantic, ya' fuckin' dork." Schlatt would spit, though he only fluttered further as he spoke, his own dopey smile that would hug his facial hair lining his lips, Wilbur leaning down to press their foreheads together, pressing them closer together once holding the back of his lovely's head, who quite idiotically thawed in reply. Schlatt couldn't think of a better moment to live, a better place to be, a better person to have, no, not ever when he and his Wilbur were against the world, kissing on their midnight balcony, and tasting the chocolate tainting each other's mouths as if it were the only thing they'd ever known.