It was cold.
The first thing she noticed was that it was colder here than it was in her apartment in Germany. It took her a moment to realise where she was, even though she'd slept here, in his bed, every night in over a week now. Searching hands reached out into the sheets to the cold patch his body had been keeping warm earlier in the night. Where had he gone? Dash got up slowly in the dark, brushing her long dark brown hair back from her collarbones and behind her shoulders. She searched for the cold floor with cold toes.
The clothes she'd worn here on the first evening were long lost into his cottage. They'd been absorbed into his laundry, or his wardrobe. It didn't matter which; either way, they were gone. She'd worn his clothes or nothing every day since. Right now she was dressed in one of his flannel shirts; open at the front with nothing underneath. Dash was tall, but slender. His shirts were like short dressing gowns on her. She adjusted the material as she made her way tentatively through his house. She felt a little off. It was a feeling that had been creeping up for the past couple of days; there was something dysphoric about it. Maybe finding him would help, she thought. Her emotions had always been entirely sweeping; had always carried her away. She'd done things among the swells of happy highs that she might not do otherwise. She'd done unexpected things in the undercurrent of her lows, too. Dash hadn't come here for a week of entwined bodies and high-impact closeness, but somehow it had happened anyway. Perhaps this feeling was just her coming down from the high of it all.
Sindri had cooked dinner that first evening. He'd made roasted vegetables with rosemary and olive oil and chicken. He'd made the garlic bread served alongside the meal. They'd eaten and chatted and smiled and Dash had felt that electricity again, fluttering around her chest in pleasant ways. When they'd been clearing the table, Sindri had approached her in the kitchen. Standing behind her, he'd run his fingers up her arms like matches against a matchbox and they'd both felt the air between them crackle with sparks. And that had been it. The past week had been like a moment frozen in time. A long moment, built from crisp white sheets and the smell of a cold forest and the warm patch of floor in front of his fireplace. More striking of matches. More electricity.
"Sin?" Dash spoke from behind a cracked door. She peeked out onto his porch, a little reluctant to go out into the cold. Her breath came out in misty puffs. He looked back at her from where he was standing. That familiar smile gave her goosebumps. Those dimples. "What are you doing out here?" she asked gently, stepping out into the moonlight and shivering as the cold air touched her skin.
