Chenford + 4. lending them your clothes
"Lucy, you're freezing." Tim rubs his hands up and down your arms.
"Tim, it's fine, really," she argues, but still pouts when he takes a step back.
"It's not. You don't have to lie to me about this." He adds or anything, but the words are muffled by the layers of sweatshirt material he's pulling over his head. "Here."
"It's fine, you don't have to be cold on my accou-"
"Arms up." Tim's voice drops into the sort of harsh command she's hardly heard since her days as his rookie. When she complies, he works the sleeves over her hands and helps keep her ponytail from snagging on the neckhole.
When his hands have smoothed the hem down across her waist, he moves away again. The fabric is still warm from his body, and the combined scent of his body wash and their laundry detergent envelop her.
The sleeves hang over her hands, the word METRO emblazoned down each arm.
Immediately, she's warmer and cozier than she's been since their shared stakeout began.
But the warmest thing of all is the smile on Tim's face, watching her relax into his sweatshirt.
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