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The fire crackling in the center of the clearing is loud in the eerie silence of the night. The moon watches them all wisely, hidden in a cloak of clouds. They’ve found refuge in the depths of the forest, in a clearing where man once occupied—and occupies once more. Through the efforts of Till, Oliver, and Richard, they set up three tents; each one will hold two of their party. While the trio worked together to do so, the remaining three focused on making them all dinner, as well as fetching water from a nearby river. Beyond the cracking of the fire and the creaking of the forest around them, long after dinner has been consumed and goodnight’s were exchanged, Richard hears the faint sound of Paul’s whisper-talking. He’s not doing a very good job at whispering if Richard can hear him. Based on his snickering, he must be speaking with Oliver.
Till is snoring. Poor Flake.
To Richard’s right, Schneider lays silently in his bed made of blankets and archaic pillows.
As for himself, Richard is shivering relentlessly. It is cold tonight. Freezing, even. He’s bundled under four blankets, (still wearing his robes for they mustn’t undress as monks save for bathing) but even that isn’t enough. It’s a piercing cold, penetrative enough to meet his skin in an unwanted kiss regardless of his efforts to thwart it. He’s breathing harshly, rubbing his hands together under the covers, attempting to circulate blood. There is no way in Heaven he will get any sleep. Not that it matters. They always rise around five in the morning, when the sun begins to make its typical ascent. As they’ve been practicing for years now, they valiantly start their endless march at dawn. A lack of sleep isn’t uncommon among them.
For another ten minutes he shifts around in his blankets, attempting to obtain a suitable position to trap and maintain his body heat. He continues shuddering, sucking in breaths between locked teeth, until he hears a harsh sigh behind him.
“Will you cease your fidgeting?” Schneider’s monotone, irritated voice joins the snapping of the fire and Paul’s hushed giggling a couple tents down. Richard frowns.
“I will cease my ‘fidgeting’ as soon as I become warm,” he remarks sharply, “Go back to sleep, lest you wake up at dawn crankier than you already are.”
“I’ll be granted sleep if you, perhaps, sleep with the animals outside of our tent. I beseech you to.”
Schneider’s voice drips with dry sarcasm. Richard huffs.
“Oh, shut up,” he eloquently snaps, and then grumpily bundles his blankets tighter around himself. Another heaved sigh from the other man. He hears the shifting of blankets, and then Schneider speaks again, low and insistent.
“If you are unable to sleep due to the cold, there is no other solution than for you to join me. Combined body heat will solve the issue.”
A moment of silence passes. Richard hears Flake’s annoyed demand for Paul to shut the hell up—naturally, with more modest, intelligent words suited for a monk. Then quietness falls upon the little camp. Richard swallows hard. He continues shivering as his mind races to contemplate an appropriate response to Schneider’s proposal.
“Wh-what?” is all he can brilliantly articulate at the moment. Schneider scoffs.
“The reason why you became a monk is no longer a mystery to me: you are incapable of much else. Seeing as you so dearly need me to spell it out for you… Would you like to join me? I can warm you enough to sleep.”
Richard lays there silently, stiff, unable to comprehend this. He turns his head to look over at him. The fire peeking in through the door of the tent aids his vision enough for him to see the vague shape of Schneider; he’s sitting up, his blankets bundled around him, his face a dark figure. Richard huffs a quiet, forced laugh.
“How could you ask me to do such a thing?” he demands weakly, “You must be teasing me. Implying I would even do something so sinful!”
Schneider snorts. Richard swallows hard at the sound, feeling particularly insecure. Schneider looks out towards the fire. Richard can see the outline of his proud nose, the slight arch of his thin lips—but not much else.
“Something so sinful…” he muses quietly, while Richard watches the vague outline of his lips move, “Would you say those nights of you wrongfully pleasuring yourself sinful, Richard? Or does that not quite meet your definition of sinful?”
Richard’s stomach twists, heart thudding anxiously in his chest. He opens his mouth, and then proceeds to snap it shut. He’s utterly speechless. Schneider turns his head to look at him through the dimness of the firelight once more. Richard can’t see his face. Schneider must be smirking. He can hear it in his voice when he speaks.
“You thought yourself quite secretive and cunning, didn’t you? I suppose lust of any kind will cloud a man’s judgment. Even when he lay not even three feet away from another man.”
“Look, Schneider,” Richard stammers, feeling quite cornered, “Do you think I consider myself a man above any wrongdoings I may commit? Do you believe I haven’t atoned for my foolish sins?”
“And how, exactly, have you done such a thing?” Schneider shoots back viciously, “By barely striking yourself with the grip of a coward? Yes, you convince yourself of this, Richard. Maybe, instead, you should question where you really belong. Whether you are truly fit to be among us.”
Richard lays there silently, stunned, silenced by his own doubt and Schneider’s stinging words. Undeniably, his verbal strike hurt him. Richard takes in a shuddering breath. He rubs his lips together, brow furrowed, his cheeks hot with his anxiety. His chest feels tight, his sternum heavy atop his heart. What could he possibly say to that? There is no way to defend himself. Schneider is right. Richard doesn’t deserve the grace of naming himself a monk. He feels crushingly small. Silence hangs thickly over them.
“I… I shouldn’t have said that,” Schneider murmurs a painfully long moment later, earning a weak glance from Richard’s wounded eyes. Schneider sits with lowered shoulders, his head hung. Richard can see his face clearly now, now that he is leaning further into the light cast by the fire. His expression is pinched with frustration. His hands are threaded together, thumbs stroking over each other, repeatedly.
“I apologize,” he adds, quietly. Richard lets out a deep exhale.
“I forgive you. You… You’re right, Schneider,” he whispers, his voice beginning to quiver, “I… I am a fool. A sinful, undeserving—"
“Don’t,” Schneider says firmly, effectively silencing him, looking up at the other monk with a sternness in his piercing eyes, shimmering under the flickering of the fire, “Say nothing more.”
Richard presses his lips together. He nods slightly, throat unusually tight. He tosses away the thoughts of self-hatred, because they, too, are wrong. They sit in silence for a minute. A long minute punctuated by the burning of the flames, the groaning of the forest, the chirping of crickets. When he speaks again, Schneider’s voice is hushed, so soft Richard only catches it based on their proximity.
“Join me,” his deep, smooth voice says, “I insist. For once, let us be sinful together. We can share our warmth. The guilt we feel at dusk will be just that: felt at dusk. Come here.”
Richard blushes hotly. He nods, slightly. Heart beginning to beat a little faster, Richard slowly unravels from his cocoon of blankets. His black robe falls loosely around his body. Schneider looks up at him, watching him. Richard huffs.
“Well, get under the blankets,” he mutters, gesturing with an impatient hand, shivering rather violently. The cold is biting harshly at his skin now that he’s lacking his outer layers of protection. Schneider seems to agree; he gets situated under his blankets again, and holds it up for the other monk. Richard swallows hard, digesting the remainder of his hesitance. He lowers onto his knees and slides under the blankets, wiggling closer into the limited space given to him by Schneider. Schneider tucks the four blankets tightly around him, assuring they’re pinned under his back before he relaxes into the shared pillows. Richard makes a slight noise of surprise when the other man turns onto his side and rests against him, drawing an arm around his midsection.
“Go to sleep now,” Schneider mumbles. Richard feels his warm breath against his neck. Schneider shifts a little closer, just slightly, until their robed legs are tangled underneath the layers of blankets. He nuzzles up to Richard, until his cheek is laying upon his shoulder. Richard stares up at the ceiling of the tent.
Schneider was absolutely right—as usual. The combined warmth of their bodies has Richard reaching a point of perfect contentment. A level of warmth that is soothing and relaxing. Richard melts into Schneider’s embrace, essentially thawing from the icy state he had been in. Letting his heavy eyes roll shut, Richard begins to drift off. In the descending depths of his fading consciousness, he turns his face towards Schneider’s, until his lips meet Schneider’s brow. He’s warm here, too.