“ The... inspiration always comes at night... till now. ” — zima / gn reader, for @st-pavlov-foundation winter event
Day 18 — Sweaters / Blankets
“There’s… snow,” says he.
His nose scrunches up as a snowflake tickles his skin upon its wake, and almost instinctively does he bury half his face under his scarf. And that’s when the presence of his garment makes him realize that it is something you lack—a source of warmth to shield you from this growing cold. Zima hurries to push you back inside, shutting the door in a panic.
He’s only recently begun to become considerate.
Twenty-nine years of being beguiled by Earth’s nature, and yet it’s taken him this long to truly notice the little things. Little things, such as the slight goosebumps lining your arms, or the pajamas you still wore, or the lack of warm clothing on your body. Years ago, he might’ve not noticed how warm he was compared to you, or even how your neck did not carry a scarf like he did. He might’ve been inconsiderate.
“The first snowfall,” you hush excitedly nevertheless. “No wonder it’s colder now, even inside.”
You shiver from an opened window, and he stays silent, the slightest of pouts ghosting upon the line of his lips. That was when you almost toppled over, a sudden weight dropping down on your shoulders with no remorse as a spread of heat enveloped the back of your body. It seemed almost like an attack if not for the scent of pine filling your nostrils, as well as the pale arms that carelessly dropped the coat onto you.
( Good intentions, truly—but that execution of his might’ve been terrible. He’s certainly more observant than he was before, but there might be a few more things he still needs to learn… )
Your hand dashed to your shoulders to quickly catch the top of the coat before it slid off your body, Zima not realizing he actually had to adjust the piece of clothing before leaving it on you. The shyness of his fingertips proved hesitant as they stuttered in its movements just to help you; he only figured the warmth of his coat would help you, but only ended up cursing himself for not anticipating this drawback.
“But,” you muttered closer to him, burying half your face onto the top lining of his coat, “Won’t you be cold?”
( His heartstrings strum, just an ever-so slight melody in the air. It’s as he buries half his face in his scarf, just as you do the same in his coat. You’re matching. He finds his lips smiling inside his scarf. )
He hums in incoherent thoughts, muffled words reassuring, “‘M fine… I’m… Used to snow.”
Zima catches your eyes lower to the flush of his cheeks. He wonders what you’re thinking about. Surely, it’s something more interesting than him.
“Let’s get blankets and hot chocolate?” you propose.
“Hm?”
“So that we’re both warm.” There’s a smile on your face: One that he can see clearly from your eyes alone, and not your lips that still his themselves under his coat. He’s never thought a person could smile like that before. He needs to write this down.
But he stays silent, stringing words of rhyme and of natures in love that you’ve so dangerously planted in his mind. And he blanks out, comfortably indeed, mindlessly allowing you to pull him along as you prepare blankets and hot chocolate mugs for him to learn even more about warmth.
This blanket… It suddenly felt lovelier shared with you.
201 notes
·
View notes