We used to build snowmen a lot during middle school, Elsa and I. Sometimes they were simple three-parters, with loose pieces of gravel used to make the mouth and eyes and such. Sometimes we went all out, giving the snowman legs, and arms, and even a carrot nose.
It was an art, to us, and one that we both enjoyed immensely. We would laugh and play around outside at break, unlike everyone else who seemed to have "outgrown" recess. Then again, we had spent our entire childhood worth of recesses in the school library, reading encyclopedias.
After "recess", especially during winter, our teacher would give us some form of snack—which was typically hot chocolate.
We would both sit in our seats, isolated from everyone, sipping the warm and sweet liquid, and simply enjoying each others' presence.
I remember one time, I accidentally spilt quite lot of hot chocolate on myself (so much, so that it soaked through my shirt). The teacher had sent me to the bathroom to change into something dry, and sent Elsa to "help" (for whatever reason).
I stripped off the wet t shirt, wincing at how discolored my wet skin beneath my shirt looked. I began to unwind the paper towel, moving for the sink, when Elsa's hand darted out, catching mine. I turned, looking her in the eye.
She was blushing madly, her lips pressed thinly together. When they parted, a few seconds later, an uneasy laugh drifted out.
"Um...we don't want any of that to go to waste, right?"
I stood there petrified, as Elsa moved closer. She bent down, slightly, her tongue darting out of her mouth, gliding gently and easily over my skin, lapping up the left over liquid.
I felt my face heat up, and my palms start sweating. I felt scared...but in a good way? I felt sick to my stomach, and oh-so very nervous.
And I loved every second of those feelings.