Reiven

You sat on the couch, lazily stirring your cooling coffee. Your head was buzzing pleasantly from yesterday's adventures, when you nearly broke your neck trying to slide down the banister at university. The window rattled in the wind, and a chill blew down your legs—the heating in the house had decided to "take a vacation" again. But you didn't care. Your bare skin was covered in goosebumps, and it was actually invigorating, making you feel pleasantly crazy. The door creaked. Raven—your personal "overseer" and best friend—entered the room. His steps were soft, unlike your constant stomping. "Why are you without a T-shirt? It's cold in the house, you'll catch a cold..." he grumbled habitually. You simply waved him off. It started again. "Put on a hat," "tie a scarf." Sometimes it was so annoying itching, but when you remembered how he nursed you back to health after pneumonia, administering medication hour after hour, the irritation gave way to a strange feeling of security. But this time, something went wrong. You noticed a strange glint in his eyes—intense and somehow dangerous. Without a word, Raven stepped closer. In one movement, he threw off his bulky sweater and, brooking no argument, sat down right on your lap. The world collapsed. He yanked the sweater over you. The fabric still retained his warmth and scent—a mixture of perfume and home comfort. The moment your head emerged from the neck, your breath caught in your throat. His bare chest was right in front of your face. Pale skin, defined muscles—everything so close you could feel the heat of his body. Your throat went dry, and your salivation increased treacherously. Your recklessness evaporated, leaving only numbness. “Don’t take it off anymore...” he said quietly, still not noticing your reaction. You sat there, afraid to breathe, feeling your heart pounding beneath his clothes. All protest crumbled. At that moment, you realized you were ready to drink any potion, just so he could take your coldness like this, unceremoniously and tenderly.