Chapter Text
“Mmm,” El murmured, her voice thick and velvety with sleep. She shifted, her back pressing more firmly into the solid warmth of Mike’s chest. “You’re… scratchy.”
A smile spread against her skin before she felt it. Mike was half-awake himself. His cheek dragged lightly against the smooth curve of her bare shoulder as he nuzzled closer, careful not to fully rouse her.
“Morning,” he whispered, the word a sleep-rough vibration against her. He pressed a slow, soft kiss to the same spot, as if in apology for the scratch.
She made a quiet sound of protest, a tiny, sleepy grunt, but her body melted back into his, a seamless fit perfected over thousands of mornings just like this. His arm, already draped over her waist, tightened its hold, his palm a familiar, warm weight. His thumb began to trace lazy, absent circles on her stomach through the cotton of her worn sleep shirt.
For a long while, there was only this. The synchronised rise and fall of their breathing. Mike left a trail of lingering, lazy kisses along the line of her shoulder, up the column of her neck, to the spot just behind her ear that always made her shiver, even in her sleep.
El hummed, a contented, drowsy sound. She reached a hand back, not to push him away, but to sink her fingers into the messy dark curls at the nape of his neck, holding him close. Time dissolved. There was only the warm dark of the blankets and the feel of him, solid and real, wrapped around her.
But El felt the internal clock that years of routine had etched into her bones begin to chime. With a monumental effort of will, she shifted again, this time with purpose.
“Mike,” she said, her voice clearer now. “I have to get up.”
A groan, this one of genuine, profound despair, vibrated through his chest and into her back. His arms became bands of steel. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“Tell her you’re sick,” he mumbled, nuzzling into her hair.
“Mhmm,” El said, a smile in her voice as she pushed weakly at his arm.
“It’s very contagious,” Mike continued.
El laughed, a soft, breathy puff of air that seemed to brighten the dim room. She turned her head, finding his mouth in the half-light for a proper, if brief, kiss. “You are a terrible doctor,” she murmured against them. “And a worse liar.”
“I’m a fantastic liar,” he argued, but he was smiling, she could feel it. “Tell her it’s a rare condition. The only cure is all-day bed rest with mandatory cuddling.”
She kissed him again, a little longer this time, feeling him start to relax his hold, before she finally, hesitantly, pulled away and sat up. Cold air rushed to fill the space between them. Mike’s hand slid from her waist, his fingers trailing as if trying to pull her back.
“Noooo,” he whined, burying his face in her pillow, which now smelled like her shampoo and sleep. “Betrayal. Abandonment.”
“You’ll survive,” she said, her voice fond. She swung her legs out of bed and her toes touched the cool wooden floor. An immediate, happy shuffle-scrape sound came from the foot of the bed, followed by a warm weight leaning against her calf.
“Good morning, Sunny,” El said, her voice dipping into the special, gentle tone she reserved for their dog.
She leaned over, sitting on the edge of the mattress, and ruffled the thick, golden fur of the dog's head. Sunny pushed into her hand, tail thumping a steady, happy rhythm against the floorboards.
El had found him, or he had found her, during one of the winters of her separation from Mike. He’d been a skin-and-bones shadow, all wary eyes and flinching movements.
Mike had found the name ironic. But El had just shrugged, running her hand over the dog’s warm back. “He is warm,” she’d said simply. “Like a little sun.” And Mike had understood. In the cold, those years, both physical and emotional, the dog had been a source of undemanding warmth. He’d come to love him for that.
El showered him with affection for a minute, scratching behind his floppy ears until his leg thumped in ecstasy. Finally, with a pat, she stood. “Go keep him warm,” she told Sunny, nodding towards Mike’s still-form under the blankets.
The dog, ever obedient to her, hopped up onto the vacated warm spot with a contented groan, circling twice before plopping down, his head on Mike’s leg. Mike grunted but didn’t protest, already reaching a hand down to stroke the dog’s back.
El padded to the bathroom, the floorboards creaking under her feet. She turned on the shower, letting the steam begin to fill the small room. As she undressed and stepped under the hot spray, she heard Mike finally, grudgingly, leave the bed. His footsteps were heavier. She heard the cabinet open, the clatter of his shaving kit.
Mike stood at the sink, spreading cream over his jaw as the mirror fogged at the edges. He could see the blur of her shape through the curtain, and could hear her humming.
A moment later, the curtain rings screeched on the rod, and El emerged. She was shivering violently, her skin flushed pink and covered in goosebumps.
He saw her shiver and immediately reached for her thick, terrycloth robe from the hook behind the door. He held it open for her.
“Come here.”
She turned, a silent offering of her back, and slid her arms into the sleeves. He wrapped it around her, pulling her back against his chest, and tied the belt snugly in front. Then he rubbed his hands up and down her covered arms vigorously making her lean into him.
“Better?” he asked, his chin on her damp hair.
“Much.”
He released her and went back to the sink to finish shaving. El plugged in the hair dryer, the roar filling the small space. She worked diligently, sectioning her long brown hair, her face serene in the mirror.
She paused occasionally, glancing at Mike with a small smile. He caught her gaze and winked, and she laughed a bright, happy sound that made him grin from ear to ear.
Once done, he took a moment, running his hands over his jaw, feeling the smoothness, and letting out a satisfied breath. He crossed the short distance to her, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead before heading to the kitchen.
The chill in the main room was more pronounced, and he quickly flicked on the heater and warmth began to seep through. He filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
By the time the coffee was made El joined him. She was dressed in her standard work outfit, sturdy dark trousers, a thermal layer, and a simple, cream-coloured knit sweater that brought out the warmth in her eyes. Her hair was tamed into a loose braid over one shoulder.
Mike poured his black coffee into a heavy mug and filled a glass with apple juice for El.
El opened the bread box and took out two leftover pastries from her bakery the day before.
They sat together, knees touching under the small table. Sunny settled at their feet, a hopeful eye on the pastry, his head swiveling hopefully from one to the other.
“No, buddy,” Mike said. “That was a one-time deal.”
“You spoil him too much,” El said, but she was smiling.
“He has your eyes. It’s impossible to say no.”
She kicked him gently under the table.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. El finished early and stood, collecting the plates. Mike stayed seated, nursing the last of his coffee, watching her as she moved to the sink. She washed the few dishes quickly, her hands capable and swift in the hot water. She dried them and put them away. Then she went to door and began layering up: her heavy, down-filled coat, a wool hat she’d knitted herself in a stormy blue, and her leather gloves.
Mike got up then, his coffee abandoned. He came to her at the door. He didn’t say anything, just pulled her into a long, tight hug, his smooth cheek against her temple. She hugged him back, her arms around his waist, breathing him in
“I love you,” he said into her hair, the words muffled but fervent.
“I love you more,” she replied automatically, the old, comfortable refrain.
“Impossible.”
She pulled back just enough to smile up at him. “I will be home by five.”
“I’ll be here.”
He kissed her then, one last time. When they parted, he reached for the scarf coiled on the shelf, a thick, grey one he’d bought for her on a trip to Reykjavik, and wrapped it carefully around her neck, tucking the ends into her coat.
Then he opened the door.
A blade of freezing air, sharp and immediate, sliced into the warm cottage. El squared her shoulders, gave him one last, small smile, and stepped out into the dull morning. Mike stood in the doorway, the cold gnawing at his bare ankles, watching her sturdy figure grow smaller as she navigated the icy path toward the village road. He watched until she turned the bend and disappeared from view.
Sunny whined softly beside him, nudging his cold hand with a wet nose.
“I know, pal,” Mike said. He gave the dog’s head a final scratch, then slowly, reluctantly, closed the door on the cold.