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Summary
A hand touches his shoulder, but Martyn doesn't connect the voice and the touch right away. The hand is warm, and as Martyn's eyes dully lift to Cleo's face, he can't make those two facts connect. Cleo's not warm. Cleo's never warm.
"Hi." Martyn's voice comes out as a croak, and he should be embarrased, about that, because he's such a wreck after one day of a little hard work, he should've taken a nap before coming here —
"—don't look so good." He missed what Cleo is saying.
"Thanks, um, 'ppreciate the … compliment." The words slur as they come out of Martyn's mouth, each one falling like a loose rock that scatters across the ground unexpectedly.
(Whumptober 2025 Day 2: Hypothermia)
Series
- Part 2 of whumptober 2025
- Part 5 of kicking the shit out of martyn inthelittlewood for fun and profit
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Bookmark Notes:
This is so goooooooood 😭