Surprise! I missed this story and write this for fun. It was sort of supposed to be part of NotaGhost3's Christmas concert but THAT didn't happen. So anyhoo. Here's a clip of their life after they moved to Sweden.

Also, side note. I was checking the statistics of this story and weirdly enough there is ALWAYS a spike of reads in chapter 4. I'm not sure why. It's not a particularly significant chapter. *shrugs* Do any of Ya'lls have any ideas why?

He tired, really. He tried to keep himself from touching her when it was so late and so cold and no fire could keep it out. Most days the temperatures went down to fifty below.

He knew he was cold, he always was cold. It was so hard not to brush her warm, soft, cheek when he felt the knot of cold in his stomach tighten and twist.

But he was used to the cold. He would resist.

She was beautiful when she slept, she was always beautiful, but he liked watching her. Laying beside her.

Her mouth in a small smile, head sunken against the feather pillow, her braid spilling out from her head. It was coming loose, as it always was. A single curl rested against her forehead. He scolded himself for wanting to push it away. If he did so, then he knew he would kiss her forehead, and if he kissed her forehead, his arm would sneak around her waist and she would be pressed against him, sleeping in his arms.

In the summer, he had dared to stroke her silken cheek. Dared to reach under the covers to touch the ring at her hand and remember the pleased hum she had given when he had kissed her at their wedding.

Wedding. He shook himself.

But it was far too cold now. Now, she could not afford to share her warmth with him, it was bad enough that he was in the same bed with her. He did not need to have her in his arms every night as well.

If only she'd stop reaching for him...

She shifted in her sleep, and he shuddered, her hand reached out from her side and settled next to her head. Where his would be if it was summer.

Her pale lips parted, and a small sigh escaped them.

Were they too pale? Was she too cold? He didn't dare look closer to check. Instead, he slipped out from underneath the three quilts and feather blanket and went to the fire place at the other end of the room.

He gripped a log from the stack by the fireplace, and tossed it into the fire, then took the poker and stoked it.

The fire was warm, he let his hands hover over them for a few moments. But the thought of his lovely one brought him back to her bed. He slithered into the covers beside her and watched her again.

Soon, he was cold again. The fire's heat only lasted so long, he shivered silently under the blankets, a habit he had cultivated young.

There was a pop as the log burned, and Christine stirred. He tried to calm her, she needed her sleep, but her eyes opened and found him. She smiled, her two darling little dimples showing in her cheeks.

He stared at her. He'd always heard stories and poems about beautiful blue, green or even violet eyes. But to him, the height of beauty would always be her dark brown irises. He worshiped the way they danced and lighted when she was happy, and even the storm they became when she was angry. It wasn't often she was angry with him, more often her eyes would flash as she had to resew a seam for the third time, or when she read about some injustice from the letters her friends sent her. Yet there were times when he could see the clouds in them when she was exasperated with him, but then her eyes would close, she would breath deeply for a few moments and when she opened them again the seas inside would calm.

But they didn't look angry now, only merry at being awoken so late. "What time is it?" She whispered, shifting to her side, and sinking a little father below the heap of blankets.

"Three seventeen." He whispered back, his eye on the clock at her bedside table. The fire crackled again, the log he had put on was burning in earnest now.

She sat up at her elbows and looked at the fire. "You should be asleep." She whispered. "Not tending to fire's."

"But it is so cold..."

It was cold. He had warned her, when she wanted to move to the far north of Sweden. He had told it was cold, and for much of the year the barely shone an hour a day. Why did she want to go somewhere so cold and dark, when she was so full of warmth and light?

And yet she had said she would be fine, she had visited the north before, she knew how cold it was.

"Erik, I have so many blankets I hardly need-" She hesitated, then reached out to touch his hand. He jerked away as soon as she brushed his pale skin.

"Darling, you're freezing!"

"You don't worry about Erik." He said, falling backwards as she tried to take him into his arms. "Erik is warm enough, see? The fire-"

He crawled backwards in the bed to run away and she caught him. Pulling him down into her arms, he gave up, and rested against her chest.

Her warmth tingled against him, sunk beneath his skin and into the very depths of him. He was warm, from his head against her chest to his feet, brushing against hers, and she was so, so soft. He shuddered and moaned, and her arms tightened around him.

"You really should come to me more often if you are cold." Christine reminded him.

"You need it. It is so very-"

"Nonsense." She insisted, her lips came down and brushed against his head, sending a fresh wave of heat through him. "We had a deal, remember? You cool me in the summer and I warm you in the winter."

Yes, and he had agreed to it. Still, he shook his head, and pushed away, leaving her little cocoon of warmth. "No no. You must keep your warmth." He smiled, trying not to look like he would give anything to crawl back into her arms like the pitiful thing he was. The warm was already leaving him, he trembled in his thin clothes.

She looked at him, her lips pressed together and she shook her head. "No, darling, I like sharing my warmth with you. I want to-" She sat up and opened her arms. "Please, Erik?"

His hands, curse them, reached towards her before he could stop them. She caught him and pulled him again.

He was weak, he did not stay strong. He collapsed into her arms, didn't dare pull away. Suddenly she laughed, it danced across the air like light and he wished that he could catch the sound and use it in song. It was so easy to coax beautiful sounds out of instruments, ones he could replicate again and again.

But her laugh... her laugh...

"You're always so cold." Christine whispered. "I wish I could keep you warmer." She looked to the window, where the curtains were drawn. "Maybe we should have moved somewhere warmer. Italy, or-"

"No, no. Sweden is fine. Sweden is warm enough." He protested. It was where she had wanted to go, and he could bear it for her. It was easy, in her arms, and her warmth, it was harder when she was asleep and he would not allow himself to touch her. But he would bear a thousand cold nights for her company.

"I- very well." Her chin settled against the top of his head, and she began humming. He wasn't sure what, but it sounded familiar.

He listened to her beautiful voice for a few moments, perfectly backed by a crackling fire and the wind blowing outside.

"I love you." He whispered against her neck, his eyes closed so that he might focus on the wonderful evening.

"I love you too." She whispered back.