Warm Side of the Bed
Winter had settled over the city like a thick white blanket, covering rooftops in snow and frosting the corners of every window. The wind outside rattled the glass with soft whistles, but inside your little home, a fire crackled lazily in the hearth, painting the walls gold.
You sat curled up beneath a blanket on the couch, enjoying the warmth while pretending not to notice your husband glaring at the flames.
Armin was wrapped in two sweaters, a scarf, thick socks, and enough blankets to survive a blizzard. Despite all of that, he still looked offended by the temperature.
"You know," he said, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders for what had to be the tenth time that evening, "I'm beginning to think this house is colder than outside."
You looked up from your book. "The fire is literally right in front of you."
"Exactly. And I'm still cold."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Years ago, when you'd first started dating, you'd thought Armin was exaggerating. Surely no one could be that cold all the time.
Then you'd held his hand for the first time during winter.
It had felt like grabbing a snowball.
Now, years later, nothing had changed.
Armin was still perpetually freezing, and you were still somehow warm no matter the season.
The universe, apparently, had decided to make the two of you complementary opposites.
By the time bedtime arrived, you already knew exactly what was going to happen.
The moment you slipped beneath the covers, Armin followed.
No.
Pounced was probably a more accurate description.
You had barely adjusted your pillow before a familiar weight settled beside you. An arm slid around your waist. A leg slipping between both of yours. A cold hand found its way beneath your shirt and pressed against your side.
You nearly launched yourself off the mattress.
"Armin!"
His laughter immediately filled the room.
"You're freezing!"
"I know."
His voice contained absolutely no remorse.
You grabbed his wrist. "How are your hands this cold? Are you secretly dead?"
"In this weather? Possibly."
"You were sitting beside a fire for three hours."
"And yet."
You groaned dramatically while he buried his face against your shoulder.
He always knew exactly how to win.
Every single time.
Because no matter how much you complained, Armin would eventually sigh, relax into your embrace, and unconsciously snuggle closer.
Then your heart would melt.
A few minutes passed in comfortable silence. Outside, snow drifted lazily through the darkness. Inside, the room was filled with the quiet sounds of settling wood and distant wind.
You felt Armin's body gradually warming beside you.
Success.
Your human-heater duties were working.
"Better?" you asked softly.
"Mhm."
His voice was already sleepy.
You smiled and brushed a hand through his hair.
The blond strands were softer than they looked. Armin immediately leaned into the touch without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut.
The gesture made something warm bloom inside your chest.
No matter how many years passed, moments like this never stopped affecting you.
Maybe it was because you remembered the boy he used to be.
The nervous cadet who doubted himself.
The young man who carried impossible responsibilities on shoulders that seemed far too small.
The person who always worried about everyone else before himself.
Now, lying beside you, he looked peaceful.
Safe.
The lines of stress that sometimes appeared between his brows had vanished entirely.
For once, he wasn't thinking about politics, rebuilding efforts, diplomatic meetings, or the endless responsibilities that came with helping shape the future.
He was simply Armin.
Your Armin.
His fingers lazily searched beneath the blankets until they found yours.
The moment they did, he intertwined them automatically.
You doubted he even realized he was doing it.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
"You're clingy."
One blue eye cracked open.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It's not."
"Good."
His eye closed again immediately.
You shook your head.
"Not even a little embarrassed?"
"No."
"Not even a tiny bit?"
"No."
"You practically attach yourself to me every night."
Armin shifted closer.
As if to prove your point.
"You're warm."
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The real reason."
His lips curved into a sleepy smile against your shoulder.
"You caught me."
"I always catch you."
"Still worth it."
The answer came so quickly and so sincerely that it stole the rest of your teasing before it could leave your mouth. He simply said things as he felt them, and somehow those words always found their way directly into your heart.
You huffed and looked away, pretending the sudden warmth in your face had nothing to do with him.
A soft chuckle vibrated through his chest. He knew.
Of course he knew.
Years together had made the two of you experts at reading each other. Armin could identify your moods from the way you folded laundry. You could tell what he was thinking just by the way he held a book. Neither of you had much luck hiding things anymore.
The room gradually fell quiet again.
Outside, snow drifted past the window in lazy spirals, illuminated by pale moonlight. The world beyond the glass looked distant and muted, as though winter itself had wrapped the city in cotton. Inside, however, everything felt warm. The blankets were heavy, the mattress dipped comfortably beneath your combined weight, and Armin's arms remained firmly around your waist as if he had no intention of ever letting go.
Not that you minded.
