It became a small game to them. Lying in the calm darkness, they would gently touch the other person's arm or cheek and create patterns of ice and snow across the exposed skin. She kept it light-hearted, making little hearts or animals appear on his pale skin. He would play along, making frost rabbits hop down the length of her arm.
On bad days, either his or hers, the patterns grew more meaningful. If he were having a tough time, she would place her lips to his chest, right above his heart. An icy moon would appear, reminding him of who he was and how important he was to the world. If she were the one struggling, his gentle fingers would trace across her skin, just above her left breast and heart. His name would appear in chilling letters, reminding her she was no longer alone and never would be again.
She would take his hand, raise his palm and slowly write across it the words, I love you.
They both were yet to have said it out loud to the other, both their hearts being so newly opened and vulnerable. But it didn't matter. He would smile at this tiny gesture that meant everything to him.
He'd kiss her then, softly, sweetly, but full of the words he couldn't say to her.
Before the morning comes, he'd have to slip away, duty calling. She'd watch him replace the oversized blue hoodie on his body and grab his shepherd's crook. After redressing he would come to her, burying his hands in her hair and giving her one last good-bye kiss. She'd trace his jawline and smile.
"I'll see you soon," he'd whisper, dropping a kiss on her brow.
"Work hard," she'd answer back. Then he'd swing lithely out the window and she'd watch the wind carry him away.