#frostmiaka

               It was freezing cold.

                Much to pyro demon’s expense (and the cyro daemon’s benefit), the heater in the house had broken earlier that day, for what it appeared to be no real reason at all.

                He had himself huddled in at least three blankets on top of the bed, hugging them close to his cold-blooded body as he shivered and shuddered rapidly in his spot. He was amazed on how he managed to not pass out yet.

                But he felt like he was about to.

                He felt light-headed and like his joints were beginning to lock up—not at all good signs. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he slowly opened an eye, piercing blood red meeting the icy gaze of the cyro.

                “Wh…what do you want?” he muttered out—slow and quiet, just like the current beating of his heart.

                “Well,” Frost began to murmur, walking over before slowly and almost hesitantly crawling onto the bed beside the demon. “I figured you were going to be half frozen to death. And, you’re in my bed.”

                “S-sounds like quite the personal problem, c-c-cyro.”

                “Even half dead you’re still snarky and rude, eh?”

                “Sh-shut the f-f-fu-fuck up.” Miaka hissed in reply, pulling the covers over himself even tighter and shutting his eye again.

                The daemon simply rolled his eyes before reaching over, pulling the demon into his lap and resting his arms around his waist. The pyro’s eyes quickly reopened at the sudden warm touch, an irritated blush appearing on his cheeks.

                “E-eh?? Why are you…touching me…” he muttered in quiet protest. But he was too drawn to the body heat of the other—he couldn’t help himself, he wanted it, he needed it. He simply pouted before resting his head against his chest, still huddled up in his pile of blankets.

                “You’re welcome…”