A/N: Hello! Just a little person who occasionally likes to write. It's been a while since I last wrote—apologies for being rusty. Short works will be uploaded here. Hope you enjoy!

i want hold your [hand]

Anna doesn't think much of the way her hands find Elsa's whenever they're together. It's almost instinctual how they slip into Elsa's palms (cold to the touch, no velvet to bar the warmth of Anna's), fingers intertwining and lips pressing to a cool cheek.

and i will try to [fix] you

Some days, when meetings are long and snobbish royalty is wearing down her patience, Elsa's hands are colder than usual. These are the days Anna makes sure to dote on Elsa (finally, Anna thinks—it's always the other way around), bringing her favorite plate of chocolates and whatever book Elsa is reading at the moment.

Sometimes the chocolates frost over when Elsa picks them up, and before her face can redden, Anna dangles teal gloves in front of her face. A thankful smile and soft kiss later, the two enjoy their chocolate together.

lost in [translation]

"La petite mort," Elsa whispers, tracing a finger around Anna's navel. Elsa's pleasant warmth isn't underneath her tonight, and Anna delights in their role reversal. She breathes in, biting back a moan when Elsa's tongue traces her collarbone before giving attention to her neck. "Little death," Elsa says between kisses. Her hand trails downward, and Anna's breath hitches. "I'll show you what it means right now."

we wasted all our free time [alone]

Anna is five when the door closes. She sits in the hall, playing make-believe with her two dolls.

("You two are best friends," she says as they build snowmen together. "The bestest of friends.")

Anna is eight when the she falls off their bike and scrapes her knee. The door stays closed when she asks if it has a band-aid.

("Go away," says a muffled voice. What does she even do in there, Anna wonders.)

Anna is fifteen when her world falls apart. This time won't be any different, but she tries regardless.

(She's met with a locked door again, but if she tries hard enough, she thinks she can hear crying.)

Anna is eighteen when she sees another closed door. It's made of ice (like her sister, she thinks bitterly), and Anna hesitates. Thirteen years of confusion, of uncertainty, of waiting. Thirteen years of loneliness.

She takes a breath and knocks.

(It opens.)

the [better half] of me

I could write a song about it, Anna muses one day, when Elsa is away at some boring meeting. (She smiles at the image—the droll tone of Mr. Diplomat's voice and the corners of Elsa's lips, turned up just enough that she doesn't look too uninterested or too happy.)

Elsa's a scholar, has books stacked upon books on her bedside table, subjects varying from Arendelle's history to classic literature to scientific discoveries of the seventeenth century. ("Elsa, can you please go to sleep now," she remembers mumbling into the pillow. There's silence—Elsa is probably smiling at her, amused glint in her eyes and all—followed by a book softly shutting, and at last, the candle is blown out.)

Elsa's a poet, and Anna blushes as she pets the duckling by her lap. (The blanket lifts, accompanied by Elsa sliding underneath the covers. Anna snuggles into safe arms and tucks her head under Elsa's chin. "I have named you queen," Elsa whispers, and Anna presses a kiss to Elsa's neck.)

The duckling hops onto her lap. Anna looks up at the clouds, finger tapping her chin. Elsa is a lot of things. She's intelligent, she's charming, she's... athletic? Well, Anna reasons, she did run across an entire fjord. And climbed a mountain. In flats.

Yes, she nods to herself, Elsa is a lot of things—good things, wonderful things.

Anna turns her attention back to the duckling and smiles.

("You are the queen.")

la petite mort is a French euphemism for orgasm.

title - "the envy of a billion little snowflakes" / i wrote this for you

"i want to hold your hand" / beatles

and i will try to [fix] you – "fix you" / coldplay

we wasted all our free time [alone] – "tidal wave" / owl city

the [better half] of me – "come home" / onerepublic

elsa's poem – "la reina" / pablo neruda