consent, to a minimum

A muted rustle of leaves, a howl from some miles away. The two of them stand in deadlock a meter away from the outside, uncaring of any predators that may come. Yang Rong has one arm propped on the wall and his other injured arm (still untended to) is lax by his side. Noah is merely staring at him with a blank expression on his face, not indicating anything else sans confusion.

“Hm? Did you hear me?” Yang Rong leans forward, intruding into his personal space. “I’d like to go with you.”

Noah snaps himself back to lucidity. “…Go with me? Your meaning is unclear.”

“It is quite clear, no?” The colonel rephrases for him. “If you’re unwilling to go with me, then I’ll go with you instead.”

“Where?”