MY FACE IS pressed into Alistair's back.
The suns beat down on us relentlessly, the heat a physical presence that's almost suffocating. We've been traveling for hours, the transport humming steadily beneath us, the desert stretching out in all directions, an endless expanse of sand and clay.
The heat is a constant, oppressive force, searing my skin, making every breath feel like I'm inhaling fire. I can feel the sweat trickling down my back, my shirt sticking to my skin, damp and uncomfortable. Hestia is behind me, her small body pressed close, her breathing ragged and uneven. She's holding onto me, her hands clenched in the fabric of my shirt. I can feel her trembling, the fear and exhaustion rolling off of her in waves.
Alistair is in front of me, his body a solid wall of heat and muscle. He's holding onto the person in front of him, his back pressed against me. His shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to his skin, the fabric rough and scratchy against my cheek. I can feel his heartbeat, a steady, rhythmic thumping that's almost comforting in its consistency.
"Sarah," he murmurs, pulling me out of my daze, "Have you drank anything?" He asks, his voice a low, raspy whisper that barely carries over the hum of the transport and the rush of the wind.
I shake my head, even though he can't see the gesture. I haven't. The thought of drinking something warm, of swallowing liquid in this heat, makes my stomach churn. I don't think I could keep it down.
Although the plan was to reach back and get our own water unless we were the ones at the far back, it's more cramped than Arden expected. The person behind us is the one who has to get water. I've gotten Alistair some water, but if I wanted some, I'd need to make Hestia get it for me, and I can tell she's already struggling enough.
I'll make it. We've still got about a day left. I can hold on until then. We'll be there by nightfall tomorrow. At least, that's the plan.
He's quiet for a moment, then I feel him shift, his body turning slightly, his hand reaching up to grab my wrist. "You need to drink something." He says, his tone insistent.
"I'm fine." I protest, trying to pull my hand away. "I'll drink when we stop."
"We're not stopping until we get there, and you know it. You have to drink now." He doesn't let go of my wrist, his grip firm, insistent.
"Well. I'm not thirsty." It's a lie, and we both know it. My throat is dry, my lips cracked, my head starting to spin with the beginnings of dehydration. But I refuse to give in, refuse to show weakness.
He makes a frustrated sound, his grip tightening. "You're too damn stubborn, you know that?"
It's my turn to be quiet. I don't have a response to that. He's not wrong.
He sighs. "Whatever. Fine. Open my backpack."
"I told you I don't-"
"Yeah, but I'm not participating in your stupid fucking suicide plan." He snaps, and I can't help but be surprised at the sudden vehemence in his voice. "I'm thirsty. So open my pack."
I frown, but obey, my free hand reaching behind him, fumbling with the straps of his pack. It's awkward, the position uncomfortable, but I manage to pull it open, rummaging around until I find a bottle. I pull it out, handing it over my shoulder to him.
"You're welcome, prick." I grumble.
He takes the bottle without saying anything, and twists open the lid, tilting his head and pouring water into his mouth. I can hear the sound of him swallowing, the water sloshing in the bottle. And then his hand moves, quick as a snake, grabbing my arm, pulling me closer.
"What the-" I start to protest, but my words are cut off as he presses the bottle to my lips, tilting it up, forcing me to drink.
I choke, sputter, the water spilling down my chin, but I can't stop, can't pull away. He's too strong, his grip unyielding. The water is warm, almost hot, but it's wet, it's life, and I find myself swallowing, gulping it down, my body craving it despite my protests.
His face is so close to mine, his eyes locked onto mine. I can see the determination in his gaze, the stubborn refusal to let me give up, to let me throw my life away. It's annoying, it's infuriating, but... it's also something else. Something that makes my heart beat a little faster, my skin prickle with an awareness that I can't analyze while I'm choking on warm water. At least, I don't want to analyze it.
I'd pull away from him, but the arm that pulled me in initially is now wrapped around my back instead, hand firmly gripping my chin both to lift my head and force my mouth to stay open. With the unstable footing of the transport, there's no way I can get the leverage to move him away.
He finally pulls the bottle away, his hand releasing my arm, and I jerk back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, scowling at him.
"You.. stupid asshole!" That's what I try to say, anyway. But it's so interspersed with wheezing and choking that I think I might only get 'stu'id assho' out. Close enough. "Don't...! Don't let go of-"
"Oh, now you care?" He murmurs, staring down at me. His lips are quirked slightly into a lopsided smirk, as if he's telling a joke, but those hazel eyes have an intense anger in them. "Would've thought you didn't, since you were about to pass out and let everyone behind you fall." He looks over my shoulder at Hestia. "Is that it?"
I can feel my face flush with anger, with embarrassment. I want to argue, to defend myself, but... he's not wrong. And the way he's staring at me is so intense that it's making my heart race in my chest.
I turn away from him, looking down at the transport deck, my hair falling forward to curtain my face. "Shut up."
The hand on my back moves then, sliding down to rest against my waist. A comforting, grounding touch. I don't pull away this time. I just... let it stay there, a warm, solid presence that keeps me anchored.
"Drink more in a bit." He says, voice quieter now. "Don't make me do that again."
I don't respond, just nod, my face still hidden behind my hair. I can feel Hestia's cheek on my back, a wordless comfort. That had to be... scary for her, right? I glance over my shoulder at her, but I can't see her face properly.
"Sorry... I'm okay, Hestia." I whisper to her. "You holding up alright?"
She nods, her head bumping against my back. I can't tell if she's okay, really, but she's still holding onto me, and so I'll have to trust that she's alright for now.
His hands appear again. This time to firmly wrap mine around him again.
"Hey-" I start to protest, but he's already let go of me, leaning forward to hold on to the person in front of him.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a bastard. I know. Just hold on," he says, "Arden would kick my ass if you fall off and die."
"Thanks..." I mutter, and tug on his shirt lightly. "Do it again and I'll bite your hand off."
He laughs.