What it says on the tin; roughly 1,000 words per chapter, prompted by one word that I choose. I think I'm going to write these in present tense, like the action is happening now.

The characters and universe included in this work are the sole property of Disney. I am making no money off of this derivative work of fiction.

Habit

"Elsa?"

The queen jerks her head around, as though she didn't expect a familiar face attached to a familiar voice.

"Oh, hello Anna," she gives a kind greeting, flashing a smile reserved for Anna; the 'I love you with all that I have' smile. "What's up?"

The way Elsa shifts from formal to colloquial would normally be endearing, had it not been for one thing amiss.

"Are those gloves?" Anna already knows the answer, staring daggers at the teal satin. Her voice is soft; she's not angry at Elsa. The princess' ire is directly solely at the gloves. Why were they there?

Elsa looks down with a genuinely confused expression. It takes her several moments before she realizes that yes, there were gloves on her hands that she must have put there. How else would they have gotten there? Her eyes grow wide.

"Oh—oh, Anna, I'm sorry! I didn't even—it's just been a habit for me to put them on, I wasn't even thinking!"

"It's okay!" Anna puts her hands up to calm her sister's frantic babbling. "It's okay. I just—I was just worried."

With a flustered sigh, Elsa forcibly removes the offending articles, glaring at them as though they had done something wrong, just by virtue of existing.

"I'm gonna burn these damn things," Elsa growls, teeth bared. She shuts her eyes, and a thin aura of frost radiates from her clenched fingers.

"El—Elsa, it's—it's okay," the princess stammers, instinctively reaching out to touch Elsa's shoulder. She is not surprised, but hurt nonetheless, when the queen flinches at the contact. "Hey, it's just me."

Elsa's eyes open, and she stares down at her hands, regarding the glow with a grimace.

"Oh no, not again," she groans, squeezing the gloves in her hand.

"Elsa, it's okay!" Anna's urgent cry forces the queen's attention. The princess lays a warm hand on the queen's frigid ones. Even if she could pull away, Elsa finds she really doesn't want to. She doesn't want to flinch when Anna touches her shoulder or hugs her or gently strokes her hair when she loses control because there are so many feelings locked in her heart and she doesn't know how to deal with them.

"It's okay, you can feel."

'You can feel.' That's what Anna tries to drill into Elsa's head, to remove 'conceal, don't feel.' It's not easy, and half of the time, the queen is too deeply submerged in panic to even hear the words, but this isn't a meltdown.

It's a momentary lapse.

"You can feel," Anna repeats, in her tender, high-pitched voice that sounds like sunshine and summer all bundled in one. She looks down, pleased to see the ice receding. "There you go."

"I'm sorry, Anna," the queen finds her voice at last, looking into the aquamarine eyes of her sister with hers full of guilt. "I didn't even think, I really didn't mean to-"

"No."

The queen stalls. Anna's tone of voice isn't one she's heard before. It's authoritarian, but soft, not hard-edged like she expects from the word.

"I'm sorry, Elsa. I know—I know this is still new to you, I need to be patient," the princess hangs her head. The gesture makes Elsa want to take her in her arms and squeeze all vestiges of sadness out. "I just kinda freaked out when I saw them. I was worried we were-"

Anna doesn't have to finish. In the few days after the Great Thaw, the sisters maintained an invisible distance. One sister feels so much and expresses it freely, the other, taught not to feel, yet she still feels, just as strong.

"We're not," Elsa firmly states, destroying the unspoken notion. "No more shutting you out. I promised."

There would still be struggles, and Elsa couldn't divulge all that was on her mind all at once, but she wasn't rejecting her sister's love, tolerance, and patience. Not anymore.

"Okay," Anna nods. "I'm sorry for thinking that."

She shouldn't be sorry, Elsa thinks. Anna had been tossed the short end of the stick all her life, it will not continue. With a resolute frown, Elsa opens the first window she sees, winds up, then violently tosses her unwanted gloves into the unknown.

"Elsa, wait!" Anna is too late; God only knows where the gloves have landed, as they fell from the upper story of the castle. "You don't have to-"

"I wanted to," despite the fact that she had just chucked a perfectly good pair of gloves out a window like a lunatic, Elsa stands tall, shoulders straight. "I can't put the gloves on if I don't have them anymore."

She chooses to omit the steamer trunk in the attic lined with a least a few dozen pairs of the same gloves. It'd be too much work to go get them anyway, she didn't need them. Elsa makes a mental note to find some discreet way of getting rid of the duplicates, to banish the thought of even trying to fall back on them.

Anna gives a smile that could have lit the entirety of the castle by its sheer radiance. Elsa nods, and she can't help but smile back. The queen takes a few shy steps in her sister's direction, arms splayed low. It takes everything Anna has not to barrel into her sister and crush her in a powerful embrace. Anna follows Elsa's example, taking slow steps, gradually unfolding her arms as an invitation for contact.

When the sisters finally meet, it's Elsa who's squeezing, snuggling her face into Anna's neck, pouring all the love she can express through this simple gesture. She gives a sigh tinged with a chuckle, soaking in Anna's warmth, while the princess tightens her own hold upon a favorable reaction. It's like their hug on the fjord, but without the disbelief and desperation of an aggrieved young queen.

"I could get used to this," Anna pats her sister's shoulder.

"You'd better," the queen quips. "There's a lot more where that came from."

"I know."