Moonlight and Marshmallows
The attic was warm with the kind of hush only candlelight can conjure, soft, golden, secret. Books lay in little piles like lazy cats, and the window, slightly fogged with frost, framed the moon as it rose silver and whole.
The Elf was nestled in navy-blue pajamas stitched with silver moons, every button fastened with the kind of fastidiousness only an immortal could maintain. He sat cross-legged, barefoot but with thick socks that slouched rebelliously around his ankles. He was pretending to read a book, but his gaze kept drifting to the great, shaggy creature curled beside him.
The Wolf had commandeered half the blanket, of course. He always did. His fur was puffed out like a living cloud, and he had arranged himself with dramatic flair across the Elf’s lap, though he’d deny that later, with a huff and a swish of his tail.
There was cocoa in their mugs. The Elf had sprinkled tiny marshmallows into the Wolf’s, which had earned him an exaggerated blink and a slow tail wag of betrayal, how dare you sweeten my masculinity. And yet the mug was now mysteriously empty, and the marshmallow thief had the faintest foam mustache on his snoot.
“You have a crumb in your fur,” the Elf said softly, brushing at the Wolf’s chest. The Wolf made a pleased grumble and leaned into the touch, then flopped with a sigh so dramatic it rattled the nearest bookshelf.
The Elf chuckled. “Oh no. Death by snuggle.”
The Wolf shifted just enough to press his muzzle against the Elf’s ribs, letting out a little whuff of breath. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was a goodnight in its own way. The Elf rested his hand in the Wolf’s fur, threading his fingers through the soft silver strands with an idle, rhythmic motion.
For a while, they said nothing. Just the tick of candlewax, the slow blink of fairy lights, the heartbeat hush of the world being gentle for once.
“I like it here,” the Elf whispered finally.
The Wolf thumped his tail.
“I mean,” the Elf amended, smiling, “I like you here.”
A quiet pause. Then the Wolf slowly rolled to one side, just enough for the Elf to lie down too, face-to-face, forehead to soft furry brow. He sighed, all long limbs and tangled hair, and the Wolf nosed the edge of his jaw like he was checking for dreams.
The Elf whispered, “Don’t steal the blanket again.”
The Wolf absolutely did.
But the Elf didn’t mind. Not really.
Because warmth, after all, wasn’t just something woven. It was something shared.
The Elf was nestled in navy-blue pajamas stitched with silver moons, every button fastened with the kind of fastidiousness only an immortal could maintain. He sat cross-legged, barefoot but with thick socks that slouched rebelliously around his ankles. He was pretending to read a book, but his gaze kept drifting to the great, shaggy creature curled beside him.
The Wolf had commandeered half the blanket, of course. He always did. His fur was puffed out like a living cloud, and he had arranged himself with dramatic flair across the Elf’s lap, though he’d deny that later, with a huff and a swish of his tail.
There was cocoa in their mugs. The Elf had sprinkled tiny marshmallows into the Wolf’s, which had earned him an exaggerated blink and a slow tail wag of betrayal, how dare you sweeten my masculinity. And yet the mug was now mysteriously empty, and the marshmallow thief had the faintest foam mustache on his snoot.
“You have a crumb in your fur,” the Elf said softly, brushing at the Wolf’s chest. The Wolf made a pleased grumble and leaned into the touch, then flopped with a sigh so dramatic it rattled the nearest bookshelf.
The Elf chuckled. “Oh no. Death by snuggle.”
The Wolf shifted just enough to press his muzzle against the Elf’s ribs, letting out a little whuff of breath. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was a goodnight in its own way. The Elf rested his hand in the Wolf’s fur, threading his fingers through the soft silver strands with an idle, rhythmic motion.
For a while, they said nothing. Just the tick of candlewax, the slow blink of fairy lights, the heartbeat hush of the world being gentle for once.
“I like it here,” the Elf whispered finally.
The Wolf thumped his tail.
“I mean,” the Elf amended, smiling, “I like you here.”
A quiet pause. Then the Wolf slowly rolled to one side, just enough for the Elf to lie down too, face-to-face, forehead to soft furry brow. He sighed, all long limbs and tangled hair, and the Wolf nosed the edge of his jaw like he was checking for dreams.
The Elf whispered, “Don’t steal the blanket again.”
The Wolf absolutely did.
But the Elf didn’t mind. Not really.
Because warmth, after all, wasn’t just something woven. It was something shared.
