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The sun is almost below the horizon when you, a keen adventurer, step foot into Snezhnaya for the first time. The snowfall is harsh, and the temperature will only drop with the sun. You waste no time continuing against the snowstorm, determined to reach the first town available. The wind bites your cheeks and tousles your hair.
It’s growing late, and your legs threaten to give under you. You stopped feeling your fingers in your gloves a while back; you don't even notice how badly you’re shaking until you attempt to tug your scarf higher and miss a few times. How much farther must you trek? You contemplate how your body would look, on the ground and covered in snow, as you stubbornly pursue the path. You imagine being found in the aftermath, lifeless and cold as ice. Your blood hums at the thought.
“Hey!”
A voice. Your saving grace.
“What are you doing out here? The storm’s worsening!”
You can barely see in front of you, but you squint your bleary eyes in a weak attempt at making out the figure approaching you. You lift one heavy boot in front of the other.
“What?” you slur, trying to call out to the person in the howling wind. You can barely hear them.
The figure becomes more clear as it quickens its pace, reaching you. You feel a firm hand on your shoulder. “Oh my…”
You can barely make out the face of a man. Despite the unforgiving storm, snow almost seems to glimmer in his pale green hair, and his yellow eyes search yours in what you believe to be worry. The pink on his cheeks and the warmth of his breath grazing your face makes you believe irrationally that he must be warmth. He must be sun and fire and two stable hands on your shoulders. He might even be a figment of your imagination, your brain's absurd last attempt at trying to keep you alive. A handsome man with warm breath and warm features. Here to accompany and send you off to your death.
Your heart tugs, and you reach out to him. His kind face shifts into a wince, and he pulls you forward with him. A dog barks continuously somewhere near you. You must be going insane. It takes the last of your efforts to keep yourself conscious, but you’re shivering so bad and breathing so loudly you can’t hear anything he’s saying to you.
The man takes you into his lodge, asking questions you can’t answer and murmuring reassurances you can’t hear along the way.
When he closes the door behind you, all the noise seems to fall away. You can hear your own heart pounding in your ears, and you rub your arms in a desperate attempt at warmth.
“All right, all right. Easy, now,” the man says in his gentle voice. He helps you take off your jacket and immediately wraps a heavy blanket around you. You pull it tight.
Your mind fights to make sense of this. You’re alive. Not only are you alive, but you’re safe and gaining your heat back. All thanks to this mysterious man.
“Who are you?” you ask at the same time as he demands, “What were you doing out there?”
You both pause and stare at each other before he chuckles softly. “Sorry. I’m Alyosha.” He brings two of his fingers up to press into the side of your neck, where your pulse fought. You can’t help but flush, though you’re sure your face is already red from the blizzard. “Now, what were you doing out there?”
You breathe out a shaky exhale. “I’m an adventurer,” you manage. “I guess I arrived at Sneznhaya at a bad time…” Your voice is so quiet he has to lean in to hear you.
“You’re lucky I was there,” he says, his eyes scanning your face and body as if to make sure you were all right. “Your breath is shallow and your pulse is weak. I think you might have hypothermia. Why don’t you sit down there while I make you some soup?”
You mumble your gratitude and take a seat on his plush couch, bringing your knees up to your chest and covering your legs with the blanket too. As he sets up the stove and begins moving around in his small kitchen, you find your eyes drawn to his back.
Your breathing begins to regulate. “What were you doing out there?”
He hums softly, turning a knob on the stove. “I was just coming back from hunting.” His head turns, and you follow his gaze to see, for the first time since you met him, a husky. The husky was lying on its bed, like it was ready to sleep.
“Cute dog,” you murmur.
“Isn’t he? Tugarin’s great at hunting.” You sense his tone grow fond.
He leaves the pot on the stove and turns to bring you another blanket, which he drapes over you himself. “You never told me your name,” he says, securing the blanket around you.
You give him your name, watching as he sits next to you on the couch. “I like it. Suits you.”
A short silence stretches between you. You drop your gaze sheepishly before bringing it back up to his eyes again. “Thank you for taking me in.”
“Of course. Snezhnayan climates are harsh, especially for foreigners.”
“You didn’t have to bring me into your house.”
“What kind of man would I be? Plus, it’s no trouble, really.”
“…Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it.” He places the back of his hand on your cheek, trying to gauge your temperature. “You can sleep here for the night. I have an extra bed.”
“That’s very generous,” you mumble.
His hand on your face is hard to ignore. As if he wasn’t just in the midst of the storm with you, his fingers are warm to the touch. He even strokes your cheek absently as he speaks to you. You couldn’t believe your luck. You’d probably be dead if it weren’t for this man—Alyosha—who saved you from dying of the cold. The touch was comforting. Grounding. You resist the urge to lean into it.
He brings you a bowl of steaming soup, and the two of you eat together. Your hands fumble with the wooden bowl at first, but you manage to hold onto it. He tells you about Sneznhaya and the Archon and his small town which you stumbled into. You learn about his day-to-day life; how he hunts with Tugarin; how he works at a theatre to make ends meet; how he contributes in his town and made close friends with an elderly woman. The sound of his voice begins to lull you, but you listen as attentively as ever.
He takes your dishes and shows you to your bed. It’s a single bed, but you’re not picky at all. You thank him again for his hospitality, and he smiles his soft grin at you.
“I’m glad you’re improving. Your breaths are fuller and you’re shivering less.” His hand brushes your arm. Ironically, a chill goes through you.
The corner of his lip quirks as if he noticed, but he doesn’t say anything. “Goodnight. Sleep well for me, yeah? I’m right over there if you need anything.”
You nod and wish him goodnight as well. A sense of safety washes over you as you snuggle up to yourself in the bed, thinking of his hand on your face to help you sleep.
The cruel blizzard outside only gets worse throughout the night. It gets so bad, in fact, that it wakes you up. At least, it must be part of the reason you’re awake right now, because you’re also shivering like a wet dog. You immediately regret discarding the blankets before; you should’ve brought them with you into bed and slept with the extra layers. You force yourself to sit upright, rubbing your hands together uselessly.
You rack your brain, trying to remember where Alyosha kept the blankets, but you can’t remember. Did you even see him put them away? You just need to find them and then you can go right back to sleep.
Though the room is somewhat dark, your eyes find Alyosha’s sleeping body easily. A sliver of moonlight shines into the room, illuminating a part of his bed. You can see his chest rise and fall slowly, like he’s having the most peaceful sleep of his life. You envied him.
Honestly, you didn’t want to disturb Alyosha. Especially not after everything he’s done for you these past few hours. But, really, you couldn’t find the blankets, and it made you uncomfortable to be snooping around his house in the middle of the night. So, despite yourself, you silently walk to the edge of his bed and prod him gently.
“Hmm..?” he hums sleepily, lifting his head from the pillow. Slumber kissed his face and messed up his hair, and you couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him so vulnerable before you.
“I’m sorry, Alyosha. Where do you keep your blankets? I’m really cold.” You’re careful to keep your voice pitched low.
He furrows his brows. “What? Nonsense,” he mumbles softly, his words slow. He lifts the blanket, inviting you to join him. “Come here. I’ll keep you warm myself…”
You freeze, looking down at him. Though he was clearly half-asleep, he looked up at you with dead seriousness. “What, are you shy? Come on…”
Admittedly, you’re drawn to his soft voice and the warmth he’s offering you. “Oh, all right,” you relent quietly, climbing into the bed with him.
You lay with your back against him, stiff and straight. Nervousness radiates off of you, and you pray he can’t tell in his state.
But then, his arm wraps around you, and you feel yourself relax as he tugs you closer to him. “Warmer?” he asks softly.
“Mhm,” you hum back, not trusting yourself to form any real words at the moment.
“Yeah, good…” he mumbles, almost to himself. His face buries itself into your hair, and he inhales deeply. “You smell so good,” he slurs.
This was certainly warming you up.
His face moves downwards, where it finds a spot in the part where your shoulder joins your neck. He pushes his nose softly into your skin. Though he was sleepy, he seemed to be doing this almost deliberately.
“Alyosha…” you murmur, his name gentle on your tongue.
He groans softly at the call of his name, burying his eyes into your shoulder. He calls your name back quietly. “You’re so soft…”
His arm holding you shifts so he can put his hand on your bicep, tenderly rubbing your arm as if to warm you up. His movements are slow and careful. “Say my name again,” he pleads faintly. “Please.”
You pause for a moment, letting his words replay themselves in your mind. Again, you whisper, “Alyosha…”
He makes a strained noise, halfway to a moan, and moves his hand down your arm. It slips onto your waist as he breathes a soft request: “Face me.”
Slowly, you turn onto your other side to face him. His hand lifts and resettles onto your waist. Your faces are a breath away now.
Feeling emboldened by his actions, you tentatively bring your hand up to his face, placing it on his cheek. It’s as warm as ever. You should’ve expected it at this point.
Despite the cold of your hand, he pushes his face with a sort of urgency into your palm, trying to get even closer.
He opens his eyes, and in the dark, they find yours. You’re captured by the intensity of them, searching yours for something you can’t place. You move your hand down to his jaw, his neck, his collarbones. His face seems to crumble at the trail of your fingers, like he’s weak.
He shifts forward slightly and presses his face into yours, unexpectedly. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, kind of like a cat. A stupid smile grows on your lips, and your hand finds his cheek again. “Alyosha,” you admonish quietly.
“Hmm?” he hums immediately, continuing to rub his face into yours.
“Stop,” you giggle quietly, your laughs coming out slightly muffled.
“You want me to stop?” he asked, ceasing his ministrations.
“No…” you admit after a moment.
He laughs and pulls you closer to him, burying his face in the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair again. “You’re…” he begins, but stops himself and trails off.
“I’m what?” You tilt your head to look up at him. He, in turn, looks down at you.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you in the morning,” he says, grinning at you. His hand splays on your back for a moment before moving down to toy with the edge of your shirt. “You should sleep, hm? Are you still cold?”
Not even close.
“As if you can’t tell…” you murmur, hiding your face in his chest.
“You’re right… I am touching you an awful lot, aren’t I?”
“Certainly,” you respond, looking up at him again.
“Can you blame me?” He holds the side of your waist, rubbing absent patterns through the fabric of your shirt with his thumb. “Pretty woman in my bed…”
“I’m only here to get warm.”
“Is that what this is?”
“…Yes.”
“All right, all right…” He tugs you closer to him again, resting his face over your hair.
He nuzzles you with a comfortable sigh and shushes you every now and then, though neither of you speak again. You fall asleep in the tender embrace of a man you knew you were safe with, who found you in a brutal storm, and who nursed and took you into his home simply because you needed help. You fall asleep surrounded by warmth. By his faint scent. By your saving grace.