Work Text:
Thanks to the horrible weather, the electricity in their house has been out for most of the night.
Neither are stranger to this occurrence; buckets of water lay in the bathtubs and every candle they own is gathered on the kitchen counter for ease. One is lit by the couch, partially for any potential warmth and partially for light.
Øystein is not one for casual conversation, and neither is Pelle. The silence between them has been pleasantly respected for at least an hour; Pelle, with a napkin from the kitchen and a pen, sketching by candlelight and Øystein with a dying curiosity to know what he's so fixated on capturing.
"I'm freezing," Pelle says, quiet for his focus on the napkin.
Snapping from his trance, Øystein clears his throat. "We don't have any thicker blankets," he replies with remorse.
It's a silent promise that if they did, Øystein wouldn't mind getting one for him; his pride won't let him say such a soft thing outright, but it's the implications that matter. They both understand this.
Pelle pauses his scratching with the pen to pull the sleeve of his sweater over his hand. He stares into nothingness for a moment, thinking, and then lays his artwork down to move closer to Øystein's side.
"Pelle?"
"Body heat," is all Pelle says.
They've huddled for warmth before, when the electric was out for days and there was no other way to avoid their fingers turning blue while they slept. Pelle doesn't have any concern — or, at least, has much less than he rightfully should have — for whether such a thing would happen to him or not; in fact, the chill makes him feel in tune with himself. But if he's cold, then so is Øystein.
Øystein lets Pelle put his arm around his shoulders. Physical contact is not something either is superb at sharing nor usually intent on, and so he allows Pelle to direct his limbs into place. It is little more than an awkward, tangled hug. Øystein realizes how cold he'd gotten now that he is enveloped by even Pelle's faint warmth, and buries his face into his hair to catch more of it. He barely notices the way that Pelle's arms seem to relax around him, or how his expression softens when Øystein moves the thick blanket that had been over Pelle's lap to cover the two of them.
"Better?" Øystein asks, half playfully.
"You're very warm," Pelle says, and tightens his hold on him.