It was dark and damp, and cold in their little complex, the small square room given to them as living space. The plethora of books used most of the room, but it was to neither's chagrin—both loved the collection of stories. Shion regularly showed it, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a warm felt throw, his toes curled into his fuzzy socks. Much as he was doing now, reading a collection of tales and poems from the famed Edgar Allan Poe. He was relaxing after a hard day's work; two of Dogkeeper's bitches had laid litters—and not the relaxing two or three puppies.
He heard the ratchets of the door squeak open and shut, and a shivering Nezumi entered, throwing his scarf onto the nearby chair under the piano. He sighed at Shion.
"Hey, airhead, why didn't you turn on the stove?"
Shion tilted his head perplexedly at him.
"I already made you dinner if that's what you want—"
"No, I mean, turn it on for heat, damnit! It's freezing!"
Shion shrugged momentarily into the warmth of his covers, and then stood.
"Sorry, I'll turn it on now."
Nezumi shrugged out of his coat and flopped onto the bed, waiting for the heat of the stove to radiate throughout the apartment.
And he waited, and waited.
He flopped onto his side.
"It's so—cold."
He shuddered silently to himself.
Shion sighed loudly and smiled at the taller boy.
"Nezumi, this cover is warm, don't you want to share?"
Nezumi rolled his eyes at Shion's innocence.
"No, I don't—I wouldn't want to catch your stupidity."
Shion just sat in the silence, flexing his toes in the couch.
Nezumi sat without moving until he felt a cover being thrown over his head.
"If we can't share, you can just have it, Nezumi. I'm warm enough already. "
Nezumi's eyes widened at Shion's selflessness, and he suddenly felt like such a jerk for leaving his majesty to be cold.
"Ugh," He moaned, rolling off of the bed and over to the couch.
He sat next to Shion and fluffed the cover over the both of them.
"It would be rude for me to leave the Princess in the cold." He smirked.
Shion smiled, flipped the page of his novel, and leaned against Nezumi.
Macbeth gingerly leapt off of Shion's shoulder, leaving the two alone in their warmth.
"You're so warm, Nezumi," Shion sighed, the book slipping from his fingertips and his eyes fluttering shut.
Nezumi went rigid at that.
He had thought that only alive humans were warm.