The Softness Between Us

The cold bites at my cheeks, a stinging kiss that should be unpleasant. But it isn’t.
He watches me from the doorway, doesn't move, letting me bask in this foolish moment, snow swirling around us like secrets we haven’t yet spoken.
My fingers are numb inside his worn gloves – they smell of woodsmoke and something uniquely *him* - a warm spice that settles deep in my lungs with each breath. He hadn’t said anything when I slipped them on, just watched the flush creep up my neck, the way my eyes lingered on his hands.
It's been months since someone touched me without it feeling like an obligation, or a transaction…just warmth. A slow thaw. The city feels miles away, doesn't it?
His gaze drops to where my lips tremble slightly from the cold and I can feel the heat of it—the weight of his unspoken desire—and I have to look away, back at the falling snow, willing my pulse to steady.
This quiet is a fragile thing, precious in its simplicity. A single touch could shatter it, or perhaps...
Perhaps it’s exactly what this winter needs.

Editor: Pulse