"Frigidity"
The best days of all were deep in winter. Normally, she would shy away from contact, from hugging and cuddling and all those sorts of things, speaking of how it wasn't proper, really, as if any of this were proper. It took him a while to figure out that it gave her a measure of comfort to not be decked with the trimmings of love, to make this into a strictly utilitarian thing – a straight-lined romance, almost military in its execution.
But on those lovely days in wintertime, her loathing of the cold would overcome her deep-seated guilt. On those days, she would wake and groan about her cold feet, then turn against his side and drape herself over him in an attempt to keep away from the cold air. Within a few minutes, she'd duck under the covers completely and curl up on top of him.
He'd join her a moment later in the heated darkness, and she'd mutter that he was letting the cold air in. He'd quiet her with a kiss. Then she'd wrap herself around him, she'd hold onto him almost with a desperation, and he'd kiss her eyes, her forehead, her lips, and she'd laugh, and then they would lay like that until the heat became too much and he stirred and let the cold air in, and she extricated herself with an irritable sigh.
She always started to frown around the time when reddened leaves began to drop. Roy noticed her annoyance, and so hid his smile.