Stone Circle i think i'm gonna make it worse

The stars burn bright overhead, but their warmth is far too distant to reach the snow-dusted wilds below. The night is so quiet he can hear his heartbeat under the faint whistle of icy winds and the sound of his own tremulous breath. He's not sure if it's the cold or the ache in his head keeping him awake — both, maybe. Not that he's doing much to help either.
He feels like being alone, so he's isolated himself away from the pack, taking shelter from the lightly falling snow under the trees. Easthollow had started to feel more like home recently — enough that he can relax, sprawl out across the snowy forest floor. He shifts slightly and winces, limbs stiff and aching from the cold, and sighs through his nose. More than anything, he's lonely — which makes no sense, considering he's isolating himself. But he doesn't have to make sense if he doesn't want to.

Truthfully, his life had settled back down into the norm. Even after the whole weird situation with Alarian. Despite his initial unease with himself, he had accepted things and moved on. Which was likely for the best considering he was not yet in tip-top shape. Healing was a time consuming process, he had learned that much and he did not like it.

Thoughts gnawed on his mind and he got itchy paws. He could have very well found Korei Julia and perhaps asked to linger in her company but that would have been too easy. So relief washed over him when he found Alarian. Even if he was sprawled in the snow like he had fell from the sky.

Wordlessly, Outlander made himself comfortable on the ground. Rather close to Alarian. If there was no complaints, the large male would see it fit to stay here and keep him warm from the chilled earth below them.

He hears Outlander's approach well before the male settles beside him, but there's no sign he's noticed until he registers their sudden closeness. He tenses briefly, but he can feel the warmth radiating from the massive wolf beside him, and — well, he's cold. Still shivering, he inches as close to him as he dares, breath hitching as he feels their fur mingling. He wants nothing more than to bury himself in Outlander's fur, but he knows better. Even if it's cold as fuck.

He was undoubtedly relieved when Alarian didn’t pull away or snap at him. If he was allowed to be so bold and brazen, Outlander would aim to drape a thick leg over Alarian in an attempt to keep him close. For warmth, of course. Granted it would be a gentle attempt for he was mindful of the wounds that scattered down his back. The thought to groom them crossed his mind but that seemed too intimate. For now at least.

Should his advancements not be met well, the large dumb male was more than ready to provide distance.

Again he tenses as Outlander shifts; maybe it's just habit by now, to expect the worst when he lets someone near both literally and metaphorically. But the tension leaves him as he feels the other's leg resting across his back, and he finds himself leaning into the embrace before he realizes he's doing it. A soft, shuddering sigh slips from him, and he shivers again — not from the cold this time. He turns his head and tucks his face into Outlander's fur if he's allowed, and he tries not to think about what this will mean later. He just wants to feel something right now.

Outlander welcomed each second of Alarian’s closeness purely because he didn’t know when the air around them might shift. They seemed to be a unpredictable duo. Last time they had been caught under the stars things had not been...well. Yet everything seemed to perfect and calm right now.

When Alarian hide his face in the thick fur of Outlander, he held him close. There is nothing but genuine kindness in his actions. So he cradled Alarian if only to reassure him things were okay. Between them and with the world right now. Even if everything outside of Easthollow was (metaphorically) on fire.

He can't remember the last time he'd felt so much — relief? Is that it? He can't think of another word for the feeling washing over him like cool water over angry red burns. It's as if some weight has been lifted from his chest, if only temporarily, but has been there so long that the shock of it is overwhelming. His breath catches, another shiver running down his spine, and he pulls away slightly as he feels a familiar heat behind his eyes.
For a moment, he fights it; not now, not here. He can't ruin this — but he can't fight this flood of emotion, either. The tears that hadn't come for Eris, for Delight, for Ulf make their appearance now, creeping out from under his eyelids unbidden. He gives in, then, as they trek down his cheeks and the frigid night air chills them, and presses closer to Outlander.

There was a sudden dampness trying to seep through his thickening coat and Outlander's lips only formed a small O with no sound. He was not sure why Alarian seemed to be crying but mentioning he was not pulling away or talking, Outlander did not budge. He simply held the small male a bit closer and groomed at the rough fur covering the side of Alarian's neck.

He was not sure if he should say something but that seemed so overrated. He was no good with words anyway. What was the point in trying to better the moment if he knew he was going to ruin it?