This is an autobiographical piece. It was drawn whilst I was doing exactly what you see here: Curling up over the vent with a blanket.
Ever since infancy, I have loved sitting over forced-air heating vents and letting the warmth wash over me. It's not that I'm cold, necessarily. It's just that it's one of those comforts unique to winter, like hot cocoa or snowball fights.
It's also addictive. I look forward to cold weather just because I know the heater will be on.
As kids, my siblings and I had rituals revolving around the heater. We would fight for the best vents and had quilts that we specifically used for heat gathering. We even had a name for it. It's embarrassing in retrospect, but in my innocence I never realized that until I tried to tell someone about it years after the fact. We called it 'The Blow.'