Irene's cold, Wendy notices.

The five of them are standing onstage in thin, form-fitting jackets and tiny skirts, and Irene is cold.

It starts with a slight twitch of the shoulders, fog escaping in quick breaths. Wendy hops in place, hoping the movement will get her blood moving, keep her warm.

Irene quietly sneezes.

Wendy shifts closer and takes Irene's hands in hers. They're freezing. Wendy swears Irene's fingertips are slowly turning blue.

Are you okay, Wendy asks.

Irene nods.

Wendy takes off her jacket anyway and drapes it over Irene, because Irene is a terrible liar.

Wendy spends the next day with three layers of padded jackets and packets of cold medicine.

Worth it.

*

Irene's blanket is too small, Wendy realises.

It's only big enough to cover the petite woman's milky-white legs, leaving her upper body freezing.

This is why Wendy especially hates waiting times for events.

She shuffles over to Irene, moving in so their noses are nearly touching.

Irene blushes at the sudden proximity, but leans in when Wendy draws her blanket around the both of them.

Wendy smiles when Irene rests her head on her shoulder.

She can almost feel Irene's body going lax from the warmth, and hugs her a little tighter.

Perfect.

*

Irene has her hair tied up in a bun as she poses in a black sleeveless dress.

Gloved fingers tip sunglasses as Irene angles her face, effortlessly looking like the goddess that she is.

Wendy feels ridiculous in her loose, vintage suit, and regrets the fake moustache she had drawn on for kicks.

Maybe that's why she can't really bring herself to stand next to Irene.

But Wendy also knows Irene's about to feel cold really soon, what with the air-conditioning on high.

The cameraman takes his sweet time taking perfect shots; the final bright flash derails Wendy's train of thought.

A thumbs-up. They can move on to find their seats.

Wendy smoothly navigates her way to Irene, her suit jacket already halfway off.

She sweeps the jacket onto Irene's bare shoulders.

Wendy doesn't catch Irene's startled but pleased expression, because she's already striding ahead.

But her hand reaches back to take Irene's, fingers interlocking.

Nailed it.

*

Wendy's lying on her side, phone in hand.

The news article that pops out at her makes her pause.

She frowns at the picture featured, then starts to chuckle.

Of course Irene would have an article about her.

Of course she so happens to be wearing Wendy's jacket.

Her grin grows wider and wider as she reads the comments below.

Wendy has a mind to add one of her own, just to feed the mayhem that is crazed fan shipping.

She begins to type, but suddenly stops.

Ice-cold fingers trace circles on her and up her spine.

Wendy shivers, but pretends not to notice.

A pair of small, firm s press themselves against her skin.

Warm breath tickles the nape of her neck.

The fingers have made their way to Wendy's stomach, and slowly make their way down.

Teasing, ice dipping into heat.

Wendy gives into a moan as she arches in pleasure.

Irene's awake.