Snow on his hair

You dated for a year and a half, but problems at your father's company made Marcus Vance cold. You had another heated argument. After some harsh words, he packed up and moved out of the apartment he'd bought for the two of you. You were left alone, hysterical, missing your old Marcus Vance.

After taking some sedatives, you went to bed, but woke up in the middle of the night from a blazing fever caused by a winter blizzard. Your whole body felt like cotton wool. With trembling fingers, you dialed his number, but all you heard was a continuous ringing. Marcus Vance didn't answer.

“He won’t take it...” you whispered quietly through tears, falling your head onto the pillow.

And suddenly cool fingers gently took your cheek, turning your face towards them.

Marcus Vance was breathing heavily, looming over the bed as if he were running up the stairs. His jacket was open, and the snowflakes in his hair hadn't melted yet. In your fever, you'd forgotten how you'd recorded him a shaky voicemail an hour earlier asking him to come over, and then you'd fallen back asleep.

“My girl...” he whispered, looking at you anxiously.