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The cold night air bit at Ogata like the teeth of a dog, hands tucked up into his armpits while his legs were as close as they could get to his chest. His sniper rifle is slung over his back still, not exactly comfortable as the soldier uses a tree trunk to keep himself propped up, the bark scratching through his coat surprisingly well. The area he picked to park himself in is devoid of snow for the most part, the heavy pine branches above keeping most of it from the space around the trunk, creating a nice little dry spot for the sniper to tuck himself into. Fat good it did though; even having somewhere dry to sit didn’t make up for the fact that number one, Ogata didn’t have any sort of blanket, and number two, didn’t have any sort of tent. Meaning that in the end, the man was still subject to the mercy of the elements with not much else to show for it.
Sleep’s something that’s been avoiding him since the sun set, the cold that’s settled itself in his bones impossible to ignore. He’s not freezing enough for it to be dangerous, his life certainly not at risk spending a night out in the cold, but it doesn’t mean Ogata has to enjoy himself at all. Not for the first time, he curses Sugimoto—the pseudo-immortal had to have been the one who destroyed Ogata’s tent. He’d found it earlier that day torn to pieces, Sugimoto looking incredibly suspicious, the other soldier blaming a bear that just so happened to only touch the sniper’s things. The tent had been enough to keep Ogata safe from the elements and moderately warm; he’d just curl up into a tight ball on the dirt and sleep like that—but now, Ogata didn’t even have that, leaving him to suffer.
Another chill runs through him as the wind picks up, digging his nails into his sides and shivering. Ogata’s exhausted, weariness picking at the corners of his brains like claws of a vulture, but sleep still eludes him—every time he gets even close, something wakes him, jolting the sniper into consciousness once more. It has to be past midnight at this point, the moon high in the sky, and honestly, Ogata’s sure that he’s not going to get any rest. He’s going to be a zombie tomorrow, trudging after the rest of the group with his head hanging, Sugimoto snickering behind his back at his oh-so-clever plan succeeding. Dickhead. He’s going to spit in his food next chance he gets.
“Ogata?”
The sound of his name has Ogata lifting his head, squinting his eyes into the darkness to find the source of the voice. There’s just enough moonlight sifting through the branches above to illuminate some of the clearing their group had made their home for the night. With it, he can make out the shape of who can only be Tanigaki, his body much too large to be anyone else in their band. Not for the first time, Ogata wonders how someone so huge can step so quietly, footsteps barely making any noise in the light dusting of snow that rests upon the earth.
“What do you want, Tanigaki?” he says, voice grouchy, “If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to get some rest here.”
The taller moves closer, crouching down in front of Ogata, able to see a soft smile spread across the matagi’s cheeks. Even in the dim light, the sniper can make out bags underneath Tanigaki’s eyes, clearly as exhausted as Ogata was, despite having all the necessities to rest. A nice tent, a thick blanket to wrap around himself… he should be fast asleep like the rest of the group, dreaming about… well, dreaming about whatever Tanigakis dreamed about. He certainly shouldn’t be sitting in front of the cat-eyed man looking like he was actually worried about Ogata.
“I was checking on how you were doing, sitting out here in the cold,” Tanigaki says softly, cocking his head to one side, “I… couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. How it wasn’t fair that no one offered to let you share their tent for the night till we make it into town tomorrow to replace you own after it,” he coughs, clearly glancing over at Sugimoto’s tent, “unfortunately broke.”
Ogata snorts at that, shaking his head tiredly. Seems like he isn’t the only one who suspects their neighborhood immortal. He is surprised however at Tanigaki’s worry; Ogata had been under the impression that the larger man didn’t care for him very much. But, he’s looking at the sniper like he does at anyone else in their band, like he was something to be taken care of and protected by the big bear.
He’s not sure if he should take it as a compliment or an insult.
“Well, as you can see, I’m doing perfectly fine. Checkup done, you can leave now,” Ogata huffs, voice tart and surly, trying the best he could to get across to the matagi that he didn’t want him tutting over him like some mother hen, “presence no longer required or wanted.”
As an emphasis to his point, he rolls over so he’s curled facing the trunk of the tree, hiding the front of his body from Tanigaki as if he was going to slip back into sleep. Which, obviously, wasn’t going to happen, but the other man certainly didn’t know that. Ogata’s more than content to spend the night in suffering—or at least, he would’ve until he feels Tanigaki’s arm coop under his bent knees and the other wrap around his shoulders, lifting up from Ogata’s little dirt nest into the matagi’s arms.
“Let me go!” he snaps, weakly squirming in Tanigaki’s cold, too cold and too tired to have much strength, “I said put me down, god fucking damnit!”
“You’re freezing cold and exhausted, Ogata, and as long as you try sleeping curled up under a tree like some sort of forest-cat, you’re not going to get any rest.” Tanigaki’s voice is firm and unyielding, starting towards where his tent was set up, grip ironclad. “You’re going to rest with me in my tent and that’s that.”
Dear god. Tanigaki’s going to force him to sleep in his tent? Start struggling harder, Ogata, start struggling harder god damnit, before you lose all your pride and sanity—but, humiliatingly enough, Tanigaki is too strong. With his wiggling, invigorated by desperation, Ogata can’t get free, stuck in this stupid oversized-bear’s arms until he sees fit to release the sniper. He hates the comparison, but he is essentially like a kitten being picked up by the scruff by his mother after being bad, dragged off to her den to be thoroughly licked down and judged upon. Tanigaki isn’t going to release him until he’s satisfied Ogata’s safe and sound for the night, something that’ll only happen once he’s cooped up in the matagi’s tent like some pet.
Ogata has to resign himself to his fate.
Tanigaki is ridiculously careful with Ogata as he ducks into his tent, settling the smaller man down on his blanket and turning to the tent opening, quickly pulling it closed to keep any more cold air slipping in. Ogata does have to admit, it’s a lot warmer in here than it was under his tree; Tanigaki’s body heat must’ve warmed it up, trapped by the hide that’s stretched over the poles that kept the structure erect. With the front closed, it’s pretty cozy, and Ogata can’t help but let his fingers dig into the blanket underneath, a shiver running through him as feeling begins to return to the tips. With his body starting to return to a regular temperature, the shivering begins, starting from his hands and feet, traveling up his limbs. It’s not long till he’s like a leaf in the wind, teeth chattering together. They sound like falling piano keys, loud and unnerving in his ears, and even clenching his jaw together can’t make them stop.
Guess he’d been a lot colder than he thought.
Tanigaki’s kneeling by him now, lifting him up a little to wrap the blanket around him, bundling him up like he’s some sort of newborn. He pushes Ogata’s knees against his chest and has him wrap his arms around them, essentially a ball, and his face starts to burn, uncharacteristically strong embarrassment running through him. Which isn’t helped when Tanigaki lies down next to him, rolling over and pulling Ogata to his chest, wrapping his arms around his body tightly and tucking his legs up under the lump of the sniper’s. His chest is burning hot behind him, the man acting like a furnace, and with or without meaning to, nuzzles his stubbly face into Ogata’s neck with a sigh.
Ogara doesn’t like the fluttering feeling he gets in his stomach. He doesn’t like how it makes his heart beat faster. He doesn’t like experiencing any other emotion besides cold, calculated indifference.
“Sleep well, Ogata. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this in the morning,” the other whispers against his skin, squeezing him a bit tighter, “I’ll keep you safe.”
The words fall of deaf ears however—because Ogata is already sound asleep in his arms, the warmth of Tanigaki and the safety he exuded too much for the sniper to resist.