aligncenterbOk, so I suck for not updating my other fic, Remember to Breathe. Trust me, I know. But I've just been going through a crazy time. I just had my Drama and Art GCSEs and the rest are coming up so I'm going a little mental. I promise promise to update VERY soon, though. The next chapter is typed up and just needs to be beta'ed.
BUT, I did do a very spur of the moment short little drabble. It's completely and only NH and set in the early part of their relationship in Season 1. I just thought we could all use a little NH during the hiatus.
Love you all!/align/b
It's a snow day in January. They lie in her bed, boy and girl. She wears his old Blue Devils sweatshirt and her boxers underneath. His hands are tangled in her hair and his shirt tail is out. Her hands play with buttons on his shirt and the snow falls gently, silently. It's about -3 degrees outside but his lips are warm as she trails her fingers gently across them. She watches them upturn slightly and then she feels hers do the same.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she should be writing her History essay and that she had promised Lucas they would hang out on the next snow day. But for now, she can't move. She revels in the way her legs are tucked under his and just how warm they are. She likes the silence, the stillness, too.
He speaks, then, though. But only in the slightest murmur. "You think we should get out of bed?"
She doesn't reply. She just hugs him close. His lips touch her forehead then, softly. She can feel him smiling and she knows he understands. But she does want to talk to him. "I love the snow. It's so..."
"snowy?" He laughs at what he, himself has said. A deep, throaty laugh, and it makes her giggle a little too. She swats at his chest gently but he grabs her hand, kissing it.
She blushes a little, still just that bit new to this, whatever this is. But she moves up a little bit, inching her face closer to his. When they are only a few inches apart, she stops. She can feel his cool, minty breath tickling her face. She smells his distinct boy smell, a little ashy, but very clean. She takes the plunge then. She presses her lips to his, their noses brushing ever so gently, as she tilts her head to one side. His hands hold the back of her face, the same way hands should hold a newborn.
She laughs a little, though, against his lips. "Your hands are cold."
"Are they? Should I stop?"
"No. Please don't."
They lie in her bed, boy and girl. And the snow falls gently outside.