Quietly, I begin to dream of being able to say out loud how I feel about him… effortlessly, of having the words flow out of me whenever I want, unforced, natural, and easy.
One day, I finally make that first move.
We make love. Snow moves slowly inside me, his face above mine, his violet eyes glowing like little stars. I regularly ask him to share his gift with me, and I watch as beautiful waves of color and light bloom in the air around us, like translucent flowers spreading across the space.
Happiness floods me, and then I simply whisper, "I love you."
Snow smiles and answers, as naturally as breathing, "I love you too, Summer."
And just like that, something new starts between us.
???
Life with Snow is sweet, unproblematic, easy.
It’s also full of intimacy.
We wake up together and start the day with a morning quickie, a little good-luck charm for the hours ahead. Then we make breakfast side by side, joking, teasing, moving seamlessly between laughter and the peaceful comfort of just being together.
Sometimes I play with him, pulling off little pieces of toast and letting them float through the air toward him, drifting lazily around his head.
He’s surprisingly good at catching them. Every so often I lift the juice from his glass and shape it into a wavy, snake-like ribbon in the air, so he can sip from it whenever he wants. Sometimes he jokes that he feels like an astronaut in space with all the floating bits of food, and I can see it genuinely amuses him.
He likes to say: "With you, Summer, life is never boring."
After breakfast, we go swimming at the pool. Snow pushes himself for a full hour, while I stick to half that, enjoying my lazy breaststroke. Then, he settles at the piano in our small living room—yes, it fits there perfectly—and works on a piece for a new epic fantasy video game.
Meanwhile, I sit at my laptop and write short stories about half-aliens falling in love with humans, which has somehow become my thing. Wonder why!
I’ve built a decent following, posting new mini-chapters every few days. Lots of smut. People love it.
It turns out to be the perfect hobby for me, giving me immense satisfaction, well, except for the hateful comments, which I try to mute out, since I’m well aware there’s not a single book or short story that would be loved by everyone. But this kind of humble passion fills something in me and fits perfectly for my homebody disposition. I’m not one to seek a big career,I’m indeed a basement dweller by nature, and I’ve come to fully accept it. Moreover, enjoy it!
After I’m done writing my little romances, I cook lunch, and Snow and I eat together, chatting about random, light stuff, watching together some funny shorts on social media.
Later on, Snow stays with me while I practice piano. It gives me a subtle kind of joy that only after a few months, I can actually see some progress and play simple melodies. Sometimes he joins in with his harmonica or guitar, and we end up in these nice, and cozy jam sessions.
They usually finish with half an hour of slow, sweaty, hot sex, when we’re deeply within each other, in our energies, in our closeness.
Then Snow goes back to work, and I take care of the house. Cleaning’s easy for me, my powers let me clear every speck of dust in seconds, so it never feels like a chore.
In the evening, we usually go to dinner at the Nolan mansion, where we share a meal with the rest of the family and exchange light, casual talk.
Afterward, we take a walk along the lake, swim for a while, laughing, splashing, and playing.
Sometimes we fly, just holding hands, soar into the sky, and relax in the soft gusts of wind.
When we come back home, we make love again, of course, Snow helps me with nipple stimulation and enjoys the effect.
Occasionally we watch movies or listen to podcasts about parenting. Then we go to sleep, often ending the day with yet another quickie.
It also becomes easier for me to initiate touch.
In the first few days we lived together, I sometimes hesitated when I saw him sitting at the piano, afraid to intrude on his private space. But relatively quickly, I started to push past that nervousness, seeing how well Snow responded to my littlegestures. I could feel how much he enjoyed it, I could, in fact,readit in him. He wanted it, he wanted more, and I gave it to him.
So now it flows smoothly.
When I pass Snow at the piano or by the kitchen counter, I brush my hand across his back. Or I thread my fingers through his white hair. When he makes tea, I cuddle up to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. When he sits on the couch, I perch close by, my side resting against him.
