The room is silent apart from the soft sound of the window rattling with the wind, the glass vibrating. There's a snowstorm outside, Elena can feel it: that penetrating cold that can freeze your limbs and blood, leaving you numb in minutes. A shiver runs down her back, but it's not because of the cold.

Tseng's fingers are moving, soft and delicate on her back, like feathers, going up and down, lingering and caressing the scars that they encounter on their path. His body is pressed against hers, their legs tangled, a warm blanket protecting their otherwise naked bodies. Just the two of them and the privacy of their room.

One of her fingers plays with a strand of his hair, twirling and releasing it, the black a stark contrast with her rather fair skin, a testament to all the days she spends closed in an office, even after sunset.

Elena is cradled under his chin, her eyes wandering across his chest until they stop at the fine ring hanging from his necklace that's draped on the bedsheets. She smiles before the ghost of a thought crosses her mind, and it fades on her lips.

"Do you think we deserve this?"

"Hmm?" Tseng mumbles, remaining still while his fingers are still caressing her back.

"This peace, the warmth of this room..." She touches the big scar that runs across his chest. "Us."

"What do you mean?" He's frowning, Elena can tell by his voice.

"Some days I think we shouldn't have all this after everything we did to the planet, that we have to make amends for our actions; we have to pay a price."

"We did what we did because we thought it was the right thing to do. Making amends is accepting that it was what we believed in at the time." Tseng shifts under the blanket, both his hands on her waist now, pulling her to him.

Elena exhales, moving her head so she can face him properly. "All those people who died..."

"The price is living every day with the burden of what we did." There's a depth in his voice that makes her shiver, a pain in his eyes that she's rarely seen. "Paying is to remember the friends we lost."

And Elena knows what he means. She knows what it means to live in sorrow, in pain. It's a feeling that she's used to feeling, especially on those lonely nights when she's staring at the ceiling, hoping that sleep will come.

Tseng is staring at her and there are things she's thinking but she doesn't want to say. There are jokes she wants to make but that can't come out. Elena opens and closes her mouth, her eyes shifting and leaving his gaze.

Tseng touches his forehead with hers, closing his eyes.

"That's what makes what we have so important," he says. "Living the moments that we can cherish as memories."

His grip on her waist tightens. Elena exhales and closes her eyes too, her hands slowly working their way upward until they're caressing his cheeks, her fingers moving the hair that's on his face.

It's so unlike him to be so sentimental, so straightforward, so vulnerable. Elena understands him, more than she ever thought was possible. They share the same burden; they understand each other's thoughts; they know how hard it is to do the most despicable things for an ideal. How hard it is to live in the happy moments when your every waking moment is filled with pain and death.

He moves his head and his lips graze her palm, kissing it, and Elena relaxes a bit.

"I don't recall having signed up for this," Tseng says, and his tone has suddenly shifted into something that's hard for her to decipher.

Elena snaps her eyes open and frowns, moving her head backward and shifting her hand from his lips. He opens his eyes with his lips still pursed.

"You haven't signed up for anything at all," she says, probably harder than she meant to.

Tseng rolls his eyes and lets out a breath of air. "I mean the vacation." And then his expression shifts into something more mischievous. "Three days of hot springs and hot—"

"Sex," Elena finishes for him. "Yeah, I remember what I said." And she averts her eyes, a bit embarrassed because that was definitely not what she thought he was going to say. The vacation in Icicle Inn was her idea, after all.

"Then stop brooding."

"I'm not brooding."

"You are."

"I told you—"

Tseng's lips on hers cut her off in the middle of the sentence. It's a slow and delicate kiss, his hands still firm on her waist, holding her close.

It's one of those sweet kisses that can make her melt, so she closes her eyes and revels in the moment, pressing her lips against his own. There's no lust in it, just a silent conversation between them that goes beyond words; I'm here, I won't go away, I love you.

When they break contact, Elena slowly opens her eyes and sees him smiling at her. She can't do anything other than mirror him, feeling so stupid for having such dreadful thoughts when she should be enjoying some time alone with him.

"All good?" Tseng asks, raising an eyebrow.

Elena nods, and she gives him a quick kiss on the nose before disentangling herself from him and sitting up.

"Where are you going?" he asks, letting go of her.

"I was thinking of the hot spring. We arrived two hours ago and we still haven't left this room yet." The memories of the last two hours come to her mind, and she bites her lower lip, a warm feeling of happiness spreading from her chest. They still haven't left the bed, let alone the room.

Elena feels the bed shifting and a moment later Tseng is kissing her shoulder, his hands on her arms. A shiver runs down her spine.

"Is that a bad thing?" he hums, chuckling. "You never said we had to enjoy the hot springs first."

Elena turns and Tseng is smiling at her, his face framed by his ruffled hair. The corner of his eyes are wrinkled, his lips angled upward so she can see the glint of his teeth, his laugh lines softening his features.

Sometimes she wonders if she should be paying some kind of toll for feeling so happy. Like she should have to give something up in order to love someone so much, and be loved equally hard in return.

But when his hands pull her close, when she lands over him, laughing, when his lips close over hers again, she's reveling and living in that moment: in the warmth of their bodies, in the electric feeling of his touch.

And those moments are the only things that matter.