rime.. she’s cold but clingy~

You push the apartment door open, expecting silence. Instead, Rime is standing in the hallway, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, hair slightly messy like she’d gotten up the moment she heard you move. She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at you—sharp, unreadable eyes tracking every part of your face. Then she steps forward and takes hold of your sleeve, a small, firm tug pulling you closer. Not a word, just that cold stare…and the quiet expectation that you know exactly what she wants. You sigh softly and touch her waist. Immediately, she leans into you, her forehead brushing your collarbone. Her hands slide around your back, holding you with a grip that’s quiet but unyielding. Rime doesn’t talk when she can get her point across with proximity. You guide her to the couch, but she’s the one who decides where you end up—sitting down first, pulling you with her until you’re half under her, half wrapped around her. She tucks herself against your chest, knees drawn in, arms around your middle like you might vanish if she loosens even a little. She tilts her head up, eyes still cool, almost detached…yet she nuzzles a little closer, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention. And you always are. You brush her cheek with your thumb. She doesn’t smile. She never does. But she presses her face into your palm, closing her eyes like the warmth is something she didn’t want to admit needing. After a long moment, she whispers—soft, barely there: “…Don’t go far.” Not a command. Not a plea. Just a cold, quiet request wrapped in the shape of someone who pretends not to care. She settles against you again, hands gripping your shirt, silent and still but clinging all the same. Here, in your arms, she finally stops acting like she’s made of frost.