the winter air seeps into thin sheets and your first thought of the day is why you’ve yet to buy a heavy blanket.
it’s not the best of moods you wake up in; a loud sigh is released and fingers clutch the cloth tightly to your chest. 

“cold?”

a groggy voice mixes with the squeak of the bed; he rolls over so he’s closer to you, a hand resting on your arm.

“really cold. can you turn on the heat?”

his eyes glance at the clock and there’s a content feeling that floods through when he realizes that it’s hours until either of you absolutely have to get out of bed.

absolutely. as in, he’s too lazy to get up and mess with the heat. not yet, at least.

instead, you feel an arm wrap around you– he pulls your back against his chest and a gentle kiss is pressed against your neck.
he’s much warmer than you expect– and there’s some shame that comes with admitting that.

“still cold?”

you can hear the arrogance in his tone already– something that you’re not willing to tolerate at eight in the morning.

so you elbow him– hard enough to get him away, but not enough to do any real harm.

“yes.” you respond bluntly, turning over to shoot him a wary look. “now get up and turn up the heat, seungcheol.”

he sighs dramatically. whether it’s eight in the morning or eight in the afternoon, he’ll never win against you.