✧ “ 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖓

“Cold”

It was a particularly cold evening.

The sky was changing from its’ unnaturally bright red color; melting into deeper shades of crimson until it was nearly black. If you looked hard enough, you might have been able to see a few scattered stars—lost in the dessert with only the sole purpose to provide light.

Camping was never that much fun for you. As you lay on the cold, hard metal in the bed of Sanford’s truck, clutching at your clothes in a desperate attempt to stay warm; you remembered why you never liked the outdoors much.

Sanford and Deimos were asleep inside where it was a little more sheltered from nature conditions. It was still cold in there nonetheless, but you would have picked that over being actually exposed to the nippy weather.

You never really handled the cold well—you remember being this way since you were little. You figured you must have run at a lower temperature than most.

You glance over at the sleeping giant that was Hank. His legs were splayed up and over the side of Sanford’s truck; one arm hanging off the opposite side, the other arm resting on his chest that moved up and down, slowly. He seemed so peaceful—quite different from when the brute was actually awake.

A shiver made its way down your spine and you let out a shuddered breath, curling in on yourself tighter.

“Damn,” You whisper to no one, watching your breath collect in transparent clouds in front of you. How was Sanford even alive if he refused to wear shirts in this weather?

You close your eyes briefly, brow furrowed as you try to focus on getting warm. You feel Hank rustling in his sleep, and crack an eye open to see them turning over on their side facing you. The way their body twisted did not look comfortable.

Cringing, you observe Hank’s clothing more closely, eyes settling on his large trench coat. It must have been warm for Hank not to be responding to the cold like you were—plus his size, and all.

Your fingers tighten around your sleeves, and you briefly think about taking it from him.

“Hank,” You whisper. They don’t budge. “Hank,” You try again, a bit more forcefully. Still sound asleep.

You bite your bottom lip. Should you try a different approach...?

Cautiously, you crouch forward in a squat; taking all but two steps to sit beside them. You hesitate before gently placing your hand on his bicep, shaking him slightly. “Hank, wake up.”

Nothing.

Damn, was this dude a log or something?

Sighing in defeat, you retrieve your hand. You gaze over him for a minute before biting your lip again, another bold idea coming to mind.

Accepting it as your last resort, you slowly lower yourself onto your side facing Hank; shimmying as close as you could to them. The bed of the truck was freezing under your arm, but you could already feel the warmth radiating from Hank drawing you in like tendrils towards him.

You press as closely as you can to their chest, curled up in a tight ball. Your backside is exposed to the chill, still; and you shiver, but this is much better than before.

Sighing gratefully, you close your eyes.

“Cold?” Hank’s deep, groggy voice jolts you awake not a minute sooner, and you tense. You can’t even respond you’re so petrified, heart hammering in your chest.

“Uh—“ You stammer, not moving from your position. Hank only stares at you with one eye cracked open behind his goggles before using his right arm to drape their cloak over you like a makeshift blanket; tucking it underneath you and pulling your pelvis, hips, all the way up to your chest flush against his.

One, Hank was really warm—like, really really REALLY warm. It felt so good you could cry. Two, your face was burning from the predicament, providing a heat to your cheeks that actually helped tremendously with the cold.

“T—Thank you,” You sputter, not being able to meet their eyes. Hank grunts, simply settling himself back to sleep while you remain wide awake.

If it weren’t embarrassing enough, the position you curled yourself into began to make your bones ache, though you dare not move after Hank so generously wrapped you up in his cloak.

...But damn, were you uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift only your leg a smidge, and that was enough to wake Hank up again.

“Comfortable?” He rumbles, scaring you again.

“Um...” You murmur, which Hank takes as a no.

“Move if you want to,” Hank mumbles. You gratefully accept the offer, sliding one arm underneath his while resting your left leg over his hip, Hank actually moving to allow your right leg to slip between his, creating a closer proximity. This was much better.

Hank’s arm drapes over your waist, pulling you even tighter against him as you both settle back down. You take the liberty to snuggle your face against their chest, sighing gratefully at the sheer difference it made to share body heat.

Suddenly, you feel nails running along your scalp, and you shiver, pleased.

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also, examples of "painting-style", as the samples in price sheets don't show much (right one is unfinished, sorry):

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Deimos, on the floor: listening to my conscious

Hank, fucking relieved: what's it saying