Notes:

Taking a break from my longer fic with this little ball of fluff. Inspired by my own partner's constant grumbles about sharing a bed.

Anna, it transpired, was a terrible, terrible bedfellow.

Nights in the mountains could be pretty rough – cold, uncomfortable, surrounded but no-one but snoring ice harvesters and pungent reindeers – but even that could not have prepared him for this.

She snored. She wriggled. She threw her arms above her head and left little damp patches of sleep-drool on the pillow. She loved to talk before they fell asleep, lying side by side and face to face, but when she got drowsy, her dreams seemed to mix with reality and she would continue the conversation half-lucid. She also had this weird need for constant physical contact (he assumed it had something to do with being so lonely as a kid) which often manifested itself in a very cold foot being thrust his way halfway through the night (her feet were cold when they went to bed and always, just as they reached what Kristoff would deem an acceptable temperature, she insisted on poking them out of the bottom of the covers).

Sure, she was soft and warm and her skin on his was smooth and intimate; he didn't think there was anything in the world as comforting as the feeling of his stomach against the small of her back – or visa versa.

But she hogged the bed. And sometimes that lovely soft warmness became absolutely unbearable and it was like sharing a bed with a furnace.

It was a never-ending struggle.

One night, about a month after their wedding:

"What about the sandwiches?"

They had definitely not been talking about sandwiches.

"Go to sleep, Anna."

"No no no, I'm still awake! We were talking about Sven's sandwiches."

He kissed her forehead and rested his nose on her hairline. "We really weren't. Go to sleep, Anna."

Despite her protestations, she was asleep in minutes.

It wasn't long before she rolled onto her back. Then the snoring began.

Kristoff sighed. They were quite gentle snores, really. Kind of sweet. He closed his eyes and snuggled a bit closer, breathing in time.

Whack.

An arm landed on his face.

Grumbling, Kristoff reached up for her wrist and lowered her arm. He lay it across her. Why she liked to throw her arms above her head and couldn't sleep with them by her side like a normal person was beyond him –

He wriggled back a bit. If he wasn't too close, he shouldn't be in range.

Her foot shot sideways to rest against his shins.

Her foot was, of course, freezing.

Another snore.

Kristoff shoved the foot away. This was ridiculous. Hoping to avoid another chilly appendage being thrust his way, he placed a huge gentle hand on her waist.

Immediately, she rolled onto her side, snuggling in, back against him. The snores stopped the moment she was off her back.

He made a mental note of this technique and pulled her closer.

Her hair tickled his nose, so he smoothed it down. His hand got lost for a second in its soft cascades.

There. No hair in his face, no snores, no cold feet on his legs. And a beautiful Anna in his arms.

He carefully positioned the arm that wasn't at her waist in the gap under her neck, beneath the pillow (he'd already learnt the hard way that having it anywhere else was totally out of the question if he wanted to maintain blood flow to his hand) and kissed the top of her head.

Maybe a good night's sleep was possible.

"Love you, Anna." He mumbled in her ear.

She was absolutely dead to the world – but when he awoke the next morning, entangled in her arms as she curled around him like a backpack, they shared a sleepy, stale morning kiss, and she mumbled it back.