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It’s familiar, the cold press of Alhaitham’s skin against his own. It’s a coldness like that of ice, but ever so warm inside the comfort of their blanket. Kaveh drapes his arm over his pillow and feels the coldness of Alhaitham’s arm over his stomach and he sighs contently. The brush of fluffy hair tickling his back is ever so comforting.
But when he wakes up, the room is warm and the sheets are tousled. He doesn’t feel the cold press of skin against his own warm skin.