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Crunchy. Wet. Sticky. Fluffy. Slushy. Light and airy. Heavy and punishing. Always cold. Always.
Snow was, Dorian had found, more a part of life in the South than he’d thought. When he’d left the Ruined Imperium he’d known it would be cold, had prepared himself for that, but he’d never expected it to be so cold all the time. Even when it wasn’t snowing it was cold, but it seemed to snow three times as often as not. He’d been unprepared for that. Long gone were the days of leaving windows open to take in the air off the sea to cool his skin. Now those windows were often boarded up and covered to keep out both the elements and possible surprises. If only it helped keep the snow outside.
Haven had been a subdivision once upon a time, which meant plenty of houses to pick through and refurbish into something mostly liveable. They had electricity for a few hours a day, clean water, and a working fireplace that helped heat the house when things got too unbearable. It was, in Dorian’s opinion, unbearable far too often. No amount of rugs or furniture over broken tile and worn hardwood made it perfectly liveable, but there were always other ways to keep warm.
Or, at least, there were usually other ways to keep warm if they were actually inthe house. Nights like this, where visibility was low with snow falling, usually meant more people on watch. Dorian hated nightwatch. Hated it. He didn’t like the dark as it was, and being stuck up on a watch stand for the better part of the night by himself really wasn’t his idea of a good time. It made his heart pound, and while he wasn’t jumpy exactly he did tend to see what he thought were shapes in the trees and snow that weren’t anything. In this weather, however, they could never be too sure.
“East Five, status?” came the voice over the radio that was clipped to Dorian’s hip. That was for him.
He pulled the radio from the clip and sighed before fumbling a bit to press the call button through thick gloves. They were Cullen’s, so much thicker and bigger than his own but much warmer, and made him feel a bit like he had fingers made of thick sausages. “All clear,” Dorian answered finally.
“How’re you holding up?”
That wasn’t one of the usual militia. Dorian smiled to himself and shook his head. Cullen. Of course Cullen was up and doing the check ins at this hour. Maker help him, though, it was good to hear that voice instead of just wind and…nothing.
“Freezing my arse off,” he replied into the speaker, “otherwise alright.”
“Yeah, you look it.”
Dorian cocked an eyebrow. The Main Hall, where the radio station was housed, wasn’t visible from where he was. Big old subdivision as Haven was, they had watch posts set up all along the rather huge perimeter. There was no way Cullen was looking at him. Not unless…
“Are you using the main line for personal business, Commander?” Dorian teased into the speaker, but all he got in reply was the click of the other end signing off the channel. He blinked twice, partially to clear the snowflakes from his eyes, then looked back down at the radio. The man was a strange one, that was for sure, but there was something endearing about it. Cullen was all business, all military regiment and seriousness, a lot of the time but he did manage to have a good sense of humor and a romantic streak a mile long. That was something Dorian hadn’t expected when he came South.
Behind him the ladder creaked. He tensed, turned and pointed his flashlight at the trapdoor with one hand on his pistol, but when it opened Dorian rolled his eyes as curly blond hair poked out from under a red knitted hat. Of course. Fucking of course. He let out an exasperated kind of sound, one that was half amused and half annoyed, but smiled as Cullen climbed up onto the watch stand and closed the trapdoor behind him.
“And what do you call this?” Dorian asked with a light chuckle. His words were punctuated by fog from his lips and him putting the radio back on the clip on his belt.
Cullen shrugged once he got back to his feet. His cheeks were pink, windblown and cold, and it was adorable. Even in the low light Dorian could see just how boyish the other man looked in his knit hat and thick jacket. Under that layer there’s be some terrible Ferelden plaid number that Cullen seemed to have so many of, and that look always seemed to make him look years younger than his thirty-four years. Dorian loved it. That, and the way his eyes practically twinkled made him look like the love-struck romance hero. It meant he was up to something.
“You looked cold,” Cullen pointed out, and unzipped his coat enough to pull out a thermos, “so I brought you this.”
Maker save him from good hearted Chantry boys with their kind eyes and good deeds. That said, whatever was in that thermos was probably warm and would make the rest of his night a lot easier to stomach. “Wasn’t it you that said we’re not to be disturbed when we’re on watch, Commander?” Dorian asked as he leaned in on the last word.
Cullen put a finger up to scarred lips and leaned in as well, “Shh, I’m hardly that tonight,” he chuckled, “right now I’m your thoughtful lover who brought you hot chocolate.”
“Oh, my hero,” Dorian practically fawned as he put a hand over his heart, “my knight in shining flannel.”
“If you don’t want it, I can always take it back and-”
Dorian reached out and snatched the thermos from Cullen’s glove hand and cuddled it to him like a baby, “Don’t you dare,” he warned playfully, then smiled over at the other man, “thank you.”
Again, Cullen just shrugged. The man was insufferably sweet sometimes. He leaned in, probably to kiss Dorian’s cheek, then paused, “Are you wearing my shirt?” he asked, then started laughing. One gloved hand lifted to poke at a visible patch of green flannel that poked out between Dorian’s scarf and coat, “one of the ones you ‘wouldn’t be caught dead in’ wasn’t it?”
“And your gloves. And my gloves. And a pair of your pajama bottoms under these pants,” Dorian answered with a grin, “your stuff is warmer.”
“You’re never living it down now.”
“No one would believe you.”
Cullen groaned softly and rolled his eyes, “Cheeky bastard,” he teased before he did kiss Dorian’s cheek, “right. I’m going to go before anyone sees and thinks this kind of thing is okay during watch hours.”
“Is it not?” Dorian asked as he set to unscrewing the top of the thermos so he could pour himself some of the hot chocolate.
As he opened the trapdoor, Cullen looked back up and grinned, “By the Void, no,” he laughed, “didn’t you hear the Commander?” Then he was gone and Dorian was left to drink his hot chocolate.
–
Dorian’s shift was over just before sunrise. Cullen had made sure of that. He’d also not really slept since coming back in from Dorian’s watch post earlier that night. There was too much work to do in the house. Dorian would come back cold and tired and grumpy, probably covered in snow, and Cullen knew that it was going to take a nice gesture to make him happy again. So he’d worked through the night on something. The hot chocolate had been the first thing, but this? This was…well, it was something out of their ordinary.
By the time the other man pushed open the door, grumbling the whole time, Cullen had stoked up the fire and got the room as warm as possible. He’d gotten some water hot enough to make coffee too, and he smiled over at Dorian as he unceremoniously stripped out of his cold, wet clothes. he hadn’t even noticed yet.
“Never again,” Dorian muttered to himself, “fucking never again at night. No one can make me.”
“Good morning to you too.”
Dorian turned and looked over at Cullen, a scowl on his face at first before he took in the sight before him. He blinked a few times, let out a confused sort of sound, and folded his arms as he stood there in nothing but a pair of boxers and his socks, “What…is all this?”
Cullen had pulled the couch up closer to the fireplace and strung up some of the sheets through the old hooks that held up a light fixture once upon a time. The sheets helped keep the heat in closer to the couch with was covered in all their bedding and blankets and pillows and on the floor before the fire Cullen had layered the extra bedrolls and cushions. Back home with his brother and sisters they’d done much the same when it was too cold to move away from the fire. It was enough to make it private, even in their already private house, and Cullen just gestured toward it.
“I thought it might be fun to sleep in here where it’s warmer,” he offered, “you know, strictly speaking as your Commander who commands you to get warm and get some sleep.”
“So you set up this…magical land of pillows and blankets?” Dorian asked, though the scowl was gone and a small smile had replaced it, “how thoughtful.”
“As thoughtful as sneaking up hot chocolate during watch hours?”
Cullen was fishing. He knew he was and he knew Dorian knew he was. The other man pretended to think about it by cocking his hip out a bit and tapping at his now damp and mussed mustache. “Maybe,” he drawled after a long moment, then padded over to wind his arms around Cullen’s shoulders, “I still want to know what you call all this: the hot chocolate and this…giant mess of bedding we’ll have to clean up eventually. As much as I love it.”
“Well,” Cullen began as he leaned in and rested his forehead against Dorian’s. His face was cold and still a bit pink from the wind. It was endearing, though dorian would never allow him to say as much. “I think a long time ago they called it a Snow Day, where you stayed home and didn’t go out in the bad weather.”
“Maker take me, can we bring that back?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”