A/N I own nothing but the plot, it seems all I can write is a crack ship

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It's the cold mornings that are the hardest for her.

The cold nips at her nose and toes, her white comforter doing little to keep the numb from eating at her skin.

It's uncomfortable and draining, her head pounding with every chill thumping through her body.

Her bare feet pad on the wood while she makes the quick walk to the kitchen, pausing to peek around the corner hesitantly.

It's a habit she picked up for when she doesn't awake in his arms or if his presence isn't lingering in between the creases of the sheets on her bed in the mornings.

Especially the cold ones.

But he's there as always, messy pink locks and tired green eyes to greet her.

She's not used to the warm touches or tender kisses yet, shameless love for her filling him to the brim.

It's new and powerful, sweeping her suddenly into a fresh beginning.

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But it's the cold mornings that are easiest for him, a flow of blue strolling into his line of sight as the sun seeps through the window.

She's a small smile and a slip into the stool across from him while he grins and doesn't disturb the silence of the fresh day.

It's a small click as he sets a mug in front of her and steam rises from her favorite tea.

She'd always prefer it over the bitter taste of coffee and he remembered, because that's what he does.

She takes uncertain sips, the warm liquid sliding and soothing down her throat.

And it's like a fire has ignited in her belly that send sparks up her back.

Then she's thinking of the warm things, like sweet pancakes or the sunshine and how snug he leaves her bed to curl into.

And that's when she decides that she prefers the steam of warm fire then the chill of cold and bitter ice.