via Daily Prompt: Cozy
The sky is dark and cloudy, making it impossible to see the stars. The ground is white- coated in snow that no longer falls. Everything is still. (An everlasting kind of still. A frozen in time kind of still. A broken watch, whisper-talk, it all stops kind of still.)
She wishes that her brain would stop. Huddled over a tiny heating vent in the corner of her shoe box-sized apartment, shivering under a thin comforter, she prays her thoughts away. The couch only a few feet away from her sits unused. When her room was too cold, the woman moved to the living room and sat down on the heater. At this point, it feels like too much effort to move. She shivers once more and breathes out a sigh. Then she hears footsteps pad down the thin hallway. A short pause.
She turns to face the voice. Her roommate stands there, tangled blonde locks flowing over strong shoulders. Her sweatpants hang loose and her old T-Shirt is almost a crop top at this point. The woman wears a face of concern, years of being the “mom friend” coming into focus. Striding across the room, she sits down next to the other. “What’s wrong?”
A shrug in response. “I don’t know… just cold.”
“Hm.” Her friend doesn’t know if she can believe her, but decides to go along with it. “Well… come on sweetie, we can share my bed.”
She lets herself be pulled along, soon entering a familiar room. Efficiently, the blonde woman adds her comforter to the pile of blankets on her bed and grabs an extra pillow from her closet.
“Here,” she says, gesturing at the perfectly made bed. “I need some water, but get warm, okay?” After a small nod from her friend, she leaves the room.
The woman pushes back her dark hair, a stark contrast to the younger woman’s blonde, and lets herself curl up under the covers. There is a kind of comfort in the apple scented sheets and flat pillow. It’s an early morning kind of comfort. A melting snow, orange leaves, rain on windows kind of comfort. A first love kind of comfort.
Soft footsteps enter once more as the woman places her half-empty glass on the bedside table. “Good night,” she whispers once comfortably under the blankets.
“Night,” she responds into the dark. But when the younger tangles their legs together, she could swear she sees a shooting star.