Warm
...so I was meant to be working on something else but then after some long, unintelligible chain my brain ended up here instead so here, have some hastily scrawled Johnloch apropos of nothing.
“I cannot stand this!”
John glanced up; his newest friend, the young man from Eton, stood at the window, glaring with terrible venom at the snow-covered landscape beyond.
“You cannot deal the cold?” Vegobre asked with a smirk, standing up from his seat.
“Of course not, I am a Carolinian.” Kinloch pouted. “We are a proud people of warm sunshine and – what are you-”
Having approached the door, Vegobre opened it with a sigh. “Ahhhh – what wonderful mountain air!”
Francis swore and John snorted – but then, without warning, Francis was beside him, huddled closely against his shoulder. John swallowed deeply.
“You villain, this is entirely unfair!” Kinloch cried out, before turning this eyes to John's. “You suffer my pain, do you not, Laurens?”
“I-I do.” His face was awfully close, and John found himself strangely unsettled. He coughed, averting his gaze to Vegobre, the man groaning as though he could not imagine a better delicacy than air-borne frost. “It was certainly a shock, when I first arrived... Though after some years, I have grown somewhat accustomed to the winters.”
Kinloch grunted. “Years? I cannot last that – I will surely die on my own. No-” he tugged at John's sleeve; without thinking, John turned to him again. “I insist on a friend to warm me.”
John's cheeks went scarlet and Vegobre sniggered openly.
“You scoundrels...” Kinloch huffed. “I mean that I must have a friend to sit close to – and in addition, to warm me, to-night. You will do that for me, won't you, Laurens? As one Carolinian for another?”
His eyes shone the most delicious brown, brow furrowed in the deepest concern. When another tug came to his sleeve, John felt himself topple.
“...of course,” he managed.
The response was immediate; Kinloch beamed a smile that could melt winter entirely. “I knew I could count on you! Unquestionably, Laurens – you are the only man in this entire Boreas-cursed city who can truly understand me!”
“H-hah...”
Vegobre whistled; Kinloch stuck his tongue out childishly. John's arm was tingling.
“You are merely jealous,” Kinloch proclaimed, pressing himself against John's side, “of the fast friendship which has already blossomed between Laurens and I.”
John smiled, shakily. This year in Geneva, he could already tell, was certain to be warmer than his first.
