Alexus exhales and relaxes, as though my touch is all he needs to unwind. Though we’ve been pressed against one another for days, I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel good to touch him outside the mode of sheer survival, just like it felt good when we touched at the stream. His hands are big and calloused, scarred in the way of a swordsman, strong and warm in ways I shouldn’t be thinking about. Delirium. It must be.
Whatever you say girlie
