It’s a rare day that finds them together like this. It’s not the whole batch (that would be something of a miracle), but it’s enough of them to begin stitching together some of the loneliest wounds the last two years have left.
Earlier in the evening, they’d pushed some of the mattresses together, creating a space big enough for the five of them to sleep on. Not that they were using the whole thing.
Fox is wholly on top of Cody, clinging for dear life even in sleep. Pressed up along Cody’s side, Bly snores into Wolffe’s shoulder. Neyo, somewhere by their knees, sleeps with his head on Bly’s thigh.
It would be nicer for all parties involved, Cody muses, if Fox wasn’t insanely feverish. He’s burning up on top of Cody, hands two points of sweaty heat on Cody’s shoulder and the back of his neck. Every inhale is wheezy and he shakes with fine little tremors, just inconsistent enough to blend with the way he twitches in his sleep.
Nothing contagious, the medics had told them. Nothing at all, really, just another stress reaction. Psychogenic fever. Not dangerous, nothing to worry about.
Nothing to do.
Fox twitches, harder this time than his usual restlessness, and mumbles something into Cody’s sleep shirt. He’d abandoned his blacks just this once, needing to feel something that wasn’t fabric entirely too close to his skin. It gets claustrophobic after a while, and he’s gotten some nasty rashes on tropical planets.
“Easy, vod,” Cody murmurs, pressing a hand to the back of Fox’s neck. He relaxes, nosing into Cody’s shoulder and huffing an over-warm breath against his neck. “There you go.”
Cody squeezes his neck once, gently, before letting go and settling back into a more comfortable position. He glances to his right and—oh.
Neyo, still breathing as though asleep, still quiet and motionless and lax against Cody’s leg, is wide awake, watching him with clear eyes. Cody blinks at him and he blinks back.
“He alright?” Neyo rasps, voice still rough with the smoke of an explosion that had sent the 91st home for recovery and reinforcements. Under him, Bly snuffles and shifts. Neyo turns his head with the movement of Bly’s leg, never breaking eye contact.
Cody considers. “Now?”
Neyo just blinks again.
“Fever’s not dangerous,” Cody concedes. “He’ll need to be on his feet in the morning.” It’s not an answer. Cody can’t stand the taste of lies and Neyo doesn’t need them to know what he’s not saying.
“Hmm.” On top of Cody, Fox twitches again, then breaks into another bout of shivers. Before Cody can move to comfort him, Neyo is up on one elbow, crawling across Cody’s legs and gathering Fox in his arms. “Turn over,” he says to Cody, pushing gently until Fox is between them, wrapped in Neyo’s arms and leaning his back against Cody’s chest. A gold-tattooed arm appears around Neyo’s waist and Cody can hear Wolffe’s half-waking grumbles for just a moment before he’s up on his knees, moving over them and settling down on Cody’s other side.
“Stop movin’, assholes,” Wolffe says into Cody’s back.
“Fox was cold,” Neyo offers up as an explanation.
“No, he’s not, he’s burning the fuck up,” Wolffe huffs as he makes himself comfortable draped over Cody and Fox.
Cody smiles into Fox’s hair. Neyo shuffles forward and presses their foreheads together, a gentle keldabe as they both drift off.