#gareval

The stars shine on a glistening white layer of snow. Snowflakes make the air hazy with cold outside of the tent. Percival’s hands are still cold even though he’s buried them in his pockets, but he and Gareth stand sentient because they are the ones who have to keep patrol tonight.

It isn’t till he feels an arm curl around him and pull him close that Percival realizes Gareth has moved closer. The snowflakes that fall are wet on his face and neck. Gareth has to bend down to observe him, dark red hair tickling Percival’s cheeks. It is the sensation of someone so close that makes Percival pull his hand out of his pocket and lace his fingers with Gareth’s—only for Gareth to pull his hand away.

“Lord, your hands are cold,” he mutters. “Here.”

He turns Percival’s face upwards so that his dark blue eyes meet Gareth’s warm brown. His breath condenses and comes out in translucent little puffs. Fingers gloved in scratchy wool wrap around his hands and bring them up to meet Gareth’s face. There is warmth now—warmth prickling against his hands that slowly unstiffen his fingers, warmth in his heart.

“There you go.” A tiny smile forms on his lips. “Feeling warmer now?”

“Not yet,” Percival says.

“Bah, you’re a demanding sort, I see. What’ll make you feel warmer?”

“This.”

Shaking a little as he stands on his toes, Percival closes the gap between their lips in a swift move. Gareth tastes bittersweet, like raisins in the pudding and red wine. He tastes like warmth, like safety tucked far away in the castle from the snow out here. He reaches up to comb his fingers through Gareth’s hair—soft and shining red against all of the white.

When he pulls away he wraps himself up in Gareth’s cloak. It is just as itchy as the woolen gloves he wears, but it is warm all the same.

“”M not so cold anymore,” he gazes up at Gareth, who flushes pink.