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    Summary

    This was often how you spent your evenings, quiet, tangled up in each other. One of you may read a book, or fall asleep, but you enjoyed the quiet refuge of your apartment in the loud bustle of Piltover.

    You leaned back to look up at him. You could always get lost in his eyes, in how softly they looked at you. “I love you,” you told him, and you meant it. You had once loved him so much that it hurt, but now you loved him so much that it healed you. It healed old scars you thought would never fade. It healed you when you hurt yourself — when your thoughts grew too loud and your quiet, peaceful apartment got a bit too quiet.

    “I love you more, lasko,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

    Your love for him, and, maybe more so, his love for you, protected you and warmed you. Warmed you from the inside, from your heart, in a way that radiated throughout the rest of your body. But today, when the wind howled like a wolf and stepping outside was like diving into a frozen lake, you wanted to be a bit warmer.

    Maybe as warm as the growing heat between your legs.

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