Norway x Reader | Blizzard Nights

It was cold.

I squirmed beneath my blanket, curling my frozen toes and breathing life into my fingers. The storm was making a racket outside, scraping branches against the windows and moaning like vengeful ghosts down the street. Great plumes of snow whipped and pirouetted in a vehement dance, blockading everyone inside their homes and blurring night visibility to absolute zero. I blindly reached for my phone on the coffee table and immediately retracted my hand back under the covers. The screen flickered on and I cringed at the bright light. It was two in the morning. The blizzard had been raging for about six or seven hours now and didn’t seem to have exhausted itself yet.

I tugged the blanket all the way up to my ears and stuffed my hands under the pillow. Maybe I should have listened to Lukas when he said the heater was far better in his bedroom than his living room. Despite checking weather reports, an unexpected influx of snowfall and tempest winds interrupted our evening out and forced us to retreat to our nearest shelter, which happened to be Lukas’s house. At the time I merely appreciated that I narrowly avoided trudging back home through a fierce snowstorm and found sanctuary. He offered me his bed and volunteered to take the sofa instead, a hospitality which I persisted to refuse again and again. “It’s only for one night,” I had assured Lukas as I pushed him into his room. Besides it was probably rather impolite to take the bed of the owner of the house, even if it was my boyfriend of two years, and subject him to a lesser comfort. I hadn’t guessed it would become so dreadfully cold to the point where I couldn’t get a proper night’s sleep.

After trying to ignore the cold and dive back into the brief refuge of slumber, I kicked my way out of the blanket. I needed something to warm me up and a cup of hot water will do. Cursing under my breath, I planted my feet on the ice-cold wooden floorboards and crammed my fists into the pockets of Lukas’s oversized hoodie that was my temporary pajamas. The house was in utter darkness and I gingerly navigated my way into the kitchen. I retrieved a mug from the cabinets and sipped my drink, feeling a trickle of warmth travel down my throat and well in my belly.

I flicked off the kitchen lights and shuffled back into the living room, mug in hand. A sudden twinge shot through my feet as I stumbled into a chair and stubbed my toe. A shattering sound reached my ears and resounded through the house. I stood dumbly for one moment, allowing my half-awake mind to register what happened. The instant I realized what I had done, the living room lights flickered on.

Embarrassment crept up my cheeks as I met Lukas’s astonished gaze. He had one hand on the light switch on the wall as he grasped the sequence: white ceramic chips scattered across the floor in a pool of water and me, caught red-handed in the act like a terribly clichéd cops-and-robbers movie scene.

“I’m really sorry--”

“You’re bleeding.”

I glanced at my feet and sure enough I was. Shards of the broken mug had nicked my toes and blood dewed my skin. It didn’t hurt much. I was far more ashamed of myself than in pain.

“I’m really sorry, Lukas.”

“You really are a mess,” he sighed. My heart sank in a quagmire of guilt as he strode towards me, but there was not a trace of exasperation on him and I momentarily realized he made the remark out of fondness rather than irritation. “I’ll clean this up and you can take care of those cuts. There are band aids in the bathroom next to my room.”

Nodding meekly, I waddled away, careful not to let my bloody toes touch the floor and especially not the carpet in Lukas’s bedroom. I found the pack of band aids, grabbed some tissue and tended to my injuries. Lukas returned a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe, just as I was finishing up and putting everything to where it belonged.

“Care to explain yourself?”

“I just wanted something to drink.”

“You’re in the dark with a steaming cup of water in your hands.” He sounded like a teacher or parent who’d seen a child running around armed with a pair of scissors. Lukas gazed at me intently, waiting for me to spill the story.

“I was cold. Really cold.”

Lukas furrowed his brow. “You should have told me,” he said. He reached for my hands. How warm his hands were would never fail to amaze me. They reminded me of dappled forests under the sun. Of campfires and summer constellations. Of scented candles and dozing cats on my lap. Sometimes I found it ironic that he sported a passive external appearance while he practically radiated with heat. His hugs, whenever he gave one, were the best ever because I could feel his warmth seep right into my heart. It could be the coldest winter night and his fingertips would still be pleasant to the touch, while mine would be icicles and seemed about to develop frostbite at any moment.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He cupped his hands around mine and looked at me. “You’re absolutely frigid, do you know that?”

I blushed and glanced away, flustered by the gentle remorse in his voice, hinting he felt responsible for all this. He should have let me sleep in his bed. He should have known how cold it could get. He should have kept in mind that I was far more sensitive to wintry temperatures than him. He should have taken better care of me.

“Take my bed. I don’t want you getting sick.”

I didn’t argue with him this time. I could try to be mannerly and chivalrous, but he’ll take none of that absurd nonsense, pick me up, and dump me on the bed anyway. Lukas could be exceptionally stubborn if he wanted to, a trait which I like to tease that he probably picked it up from Matthias.

“Where are you going to sleep then?”

“The sofa.”

Now that was too harsh an alternative. Lukas could be as warm as a furnace but I’ll still feel sorry to leave him out there. I bit my lip and quietly suggested, “Or we could, you know, climb in together?”

Lukas blinked. His cheeks tinged with pink and he coyly scratched the back of his neck. We’ve never slept in the same bed before and, well, the notion was rather unfamiliar to us. He’d never experienced a night with his arms around a lover and truthfully neither have I. To share a bed with a lover was one of the more sacred intimacies even if its intentions were entirely innocent. It felt excitingly bizarre, a teensy bit awkward and unsure but it was probably the best option.

“If… if that’s what you want,” he said.

My heart fluttered giddily, not really sure what I’ve brought onto the both of us. I smiled and squeezed his hands, making his eyes dart down to our intertwined fingers, suddenly incapable of eye contact.

We piled onto his bed and pulled the covers snugly around our bodies. The fact that I was so near to him was almost unreal. I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising by now after all the embraces and kisses we’ve shared, but I couldn’t help it. It reawakened the exotic feeling of loving something as simple as having his arm slung over my waist and my body drawn close to his. I was mesmerized once again by his eyes, the perfect shade of frozen lakes and finest Wedgwood blues. My fingers teased through the platinum gold locks and pressed the palm of my hand on the pale skin of his cheek. Lukas silently watched me tenderly remind myself of all his features, of what made me love him.

“I love you so much, do you know that?” I asked breathily, nuzzling his neck.

He buried his lips in my hair and his arms nestled me against him a little tighter. “I would never doubt it,” he said.

When we stirred awake tomorrow morning, the storm had stopped. The world outside was whitewashed with snow, a clean slate. It almost felt like nothing had ever happened except the fact it took us quite a while to disentangle ourselves from each other’s embrace as we still dwelled in the shared warmth that fostered us through the night.