Remus wakes to his nose frozen numb and his back warmed by a boyfriend-sized furnace. The light is still the pink-and-grey of early morning, only just tinted by sunlight, and the frost on the window is illuminated like an ancient manuscript. He lies on his side under red, cocooning blankets and lets it paint pictures in his mind – treasure maps and winter forests and lacy fabrics and dancing sugarplum fairies the colours of ice and pink and gold.
A puffy breath comes from just under his ear, Sirius’ nose wedged against his neck for warmth, and, What time ‘s it?
Remus can hear James snoring and Peter turning over in his bed. Outside the room the world is still with the hush of early chill and soft white pillows.
Just dawn, Padfoot. Go back to sleep.
An endearing Padfoot wuffle, and, Its cold, innit? But you’re all warm. Mmm. Warm Moony, and Remus tilts his head backwards uncomfortably to see Sirius. His boyfriend has a warm hand tucked under Remus’ belly, the sleeve of the jumper he is wearing (James’) tickly where Remus’ sleep shirt rides up. His eyelashes are black ink dashes across his pale skin and Remus thinks, I will never stop falling in love with you. He’s still half asleep and the ice-lace-fairy maps now have words like precious, sleepy and adorable scrawled across them in gold and ice and the pretty pink of Sirius’ cheeks in their dorm room that’s been frozen by autumn’s first frost.