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The weather turned overnight. After a grey Christmas Eve, the night turned white when the snow fell hard, heavy flakes flurrying down like a tornado to settle on the hard ground. Icicles hung from the roof where hopeful drops of water had been frozen before they could plummet, majestic glacial spikes suspended over the windows.
They weren't the first thing saw when Tala woke up, though. Instead, she opened her eyes to the dark curls at the nape of Raphael's neck; she breathed in the scent of his sleepy skin and wrapped her arms tighter around his body. He was warm against her, his pyjamas soft, but she missed feeling his skin touching hers.
On Christmas Day, with an excitable five-year-old in the house, pyjamas were a necessity.
She was wrapped up a pair he had lent her. The bottoms fitted perfectly once she tightened the drawstring, the top only a little baggy, and now she smelled like him. She loved that. She loved waking up with him in her arms, her hand over his chest, and she didn't feel disorientated despite being in a strange bedroom.
Last night, Raphael had rushed in with red cheeks to clear a path, stuffing his clothes mountain into drawers and clearing mugs off his bedside table, and he had pulled off the quickest sheet change Tala had ever seen.
His breathing changed. With a sniff and a snuffle, he yawned and opened his eyes, shifting towards Tala. When he rolled over, his bleary gaze met hers.
"Merry Christmas," he said, his voice scratchy.
"Merry Christmas," she said. The sun that poured through the window highlighted every shade of brown in his eyes and the swirls of colour mesmerised her. His hair was a mess, fluffed up by the pillow, and his eyebrows were askew, but it only endeared her to him more.
"It's very quiet," he said. "What've you done to my son?"
"I think he's still sleeping," she whispered. "I never stayed in this late when I was a kid. Did you slip something into his food last night?"
Raphael chuckled. "What time is it?"
"Nearly nine."
As the flicker of a frown made its way over his features, there was a crash from next door, followed by the thudding of small feet. The door swung open and March raced into the bedroom like a shuttle, launching himself onto the bed.
"It's Christmas!" he cried, jumping on the bed before he dropped onto his father and Raphael choked when his son crushed his stomach. "It's Christmas, Daddy!"
"Happy Christmas, March!" Raphael said, rubbing his stomach where a little knee had dented him.
"Happy Christmas, Starla!" March grinned at Tala, who smiled up at him and returned the greeting, almost falling off the bed when he threw himself at her for a hug. He was high on the holiday before it had even begun, having only woken up minutes ago, and he nearly broke his father's ribs when he threw himself across the bed again.
