delirium, cold as frost

Nightfall. The thunderstorm finally subdues and all that’s heard in the quiet night are crackles of fire, wind rustles, droned breathing. Noah comes to consciousness slowly, blinking his eyes out of lethargy.

The searing heat has subdued into a mild headache though his body is no less heavy, weighing him down just like the arm draped around his waist under two layers of jackets (still slightly damp), the other arm planted droopily by his face and—

He tries to struggle free but realizes that the person by his side has an unyielding hold on him. Colonel Yang, so close their bodies may as well touch, is carelessly deep asleep, locking him in an uncomfortable predicament. When buried so close to the crook of the man’s neck, Noah can only focus on his scent – woody and hinting of spice, a stereotypically alpha smell that penetrates deep, some very telling musk that makes his spine tingle.