Day 46:

Today there are dewdrops all over the raft, little patters of rain spattered across the deck like a  cold artist's paint.

You pull your puffy white coat around yourself with a shiver.

January rain is chilly, twining lisps of fog all around your craft like watery faerie circles.

The raft bobs as always, the ocean rough in the sporadic rain. The air around you is thick with rain and saltwater. Little dewdrops gather on your lashes and dot your hair like liquid diamonds.

Taking the waterlogged wood of the fence in your hand, you press it back, crouching to balance amidst the tossing waves. Your knees hit the soggy wooden deck, fingers shivering as you dip them down to the wild, navy-blue saltwater below.

The sample is small that you scoop out of the ocean's vastness- just a small tube that you stopper, holding up to where you estimate the sun to be. There isn't much brightness in the rain around the Bubble, but when you look at the liquid sloshing in your little tube, you can almost imagine the flecks of salt dancing around inside its quiet blue.

Satisfied, you press up, pulling yourself safely back inside the rail. You redo the cold metal latch with numb fingers.

Rubbing your hands on your coat, you pick your way over across the deck and pull open the hatch door to the living room, cradling the vial of saltwater against your skin. Maybe it will warm it, you think. Maybe some time spent in your heat will make the stormwater a little more hospitable.

You pick up the steaming, hot bowl of bean soup you prepared earlier, carrying it down to the monster's room. You sneeze as you walk down, sniffing back.

"You look cold," he calls from the glass. His eyes skim over the dew that makes your hair look wild and draped with nature's jewels, over the little raindrops that grace your eyelashes and coat.

"I am," you sniff, rubbing at your red nose with a sleeve as you set his soup on the conveyor belt and flick it over. You feel the saltwater on the inside of your coat like sloshing anticipation. "It's freezing out there."

"You're going to get sick if you keep going out," he says, shaking his head. "Go get some soup or a hot shower or something."

You brush back the raindrops from your hair with a hand, his eyes following your fingertips, and you pull open your jacket. "No sunset tonight," you say, shaking your head and fumbling for the vial. "It's all fog, everything covered in still raindrops."

"Y/N, I'm serious," he says, looking up from his soup. He takes a deep draft of it, sighing as he lowers the bowl from his lips. "You're going to get sick. Don't go out there when it's raining."

"I had a good reason," you say, rolling your eyes, finally pulling out the vial and holding it to the glass so he can see. You're practically beaming at this point, not caring about the water that drips from your hair or the icy chill stuck to your coat.

"It's for you. It's storm water, straight from the ocean." You flush, wiping your nose with your sleeve as an excuse to look away.

"It's, um. I couldn't give you trees back, but... but you can hold onto this, so you can remember what the sea looks like, how it feels and tastes and... stuff."

You lower the vial down onto the conveyor belt, then look up. He's giving you that look that he does sometimes, like he's not sure what to make of you, like you've scared him and caressed his face all at once. Like he wants to believe it like he needs to breathe, but he thinks it's all a lie.

"You're going to get sick, Y/N," he says eventually, looking down at his hands on the conveyor belt, avoiding your gaze. "Go get warm."

Day 47:

Unfortunately, the monster is right.

When you get out of bed today, your nose is stuffed so full that you can barely breathe. You feel so weak that you almost collapse during fitness reqs, dripping into shivering bouts.

You don't tell your mother- she has more important things to worry about- and when you tell Afua, he tells you take the vitamins in the store room, which you do. It's true, you've been slacking on your supplements lately.

You don't tell the monster, partially to spare him the concern, but mostly because you hate admitting that he was right.

It isn't until you're tossing and turning at midnight, sucking in hard-won breaths from your mouth, when the frustration really starts to hit you. You roll over, and over, and over again, finally stepping out of bed after an hour of useless turning.

The Bubble is silent, the lights dim, the faint whoosh of wind overhead on the raft the only real sound. The candle you let burn on the coffee table crackles softly. The world takes on that heavy, almost mythical sense of when you know it's late, but you're not sure of the exact time.

You make your way down to the monster's cell, pulling open his door quietly, so you won't wake him if he's asleep, but he looks up anyway, blinking sleep back from his eyes from where he's curled up on the floor.

"Hey," he yawns, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His eyes are still half-closed. "You okay, Warden?"

"Shh, go back to bed," you say, turning back up the stairs. "Sorry. I thought you were awake."

"You're sick," he says, sleepily running a hand through his hair. "I knew it."

"I couldn't sleep," you mutter.

He grins, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because you're sick."

You grimace, wiping at your drippy nose with a sleeve. "Because I'm sick," you admit, a heavy coughing fit gripping your chest and sending you hacking.

Tyler nods, pulling off his thick coat and moving towards the edge of the room. He spreads it down on the conveyor belt and flicks the switch to send it over. "Take my coat," he says, yawning as he moves back to the floor. "It'll keep you warm."

"No, you keep it," you say, rubbing at your stuffed up nose. "I don't-"

You break off into a fit of coughs.

"What, you don't need it?" He says, snorting and pulling the blankets back over him. "Come on, Y/N, give yourself a break. You don't have to be so strong all the time."

You hesitate.

"I already know you're a good warden," he insists, curling up under the blanket with a yawn. "Let your inmate take care of you, just once. I won't tell."

You hesitate, thinking of walking your sore joints back up the stairs, then nod blearily, walking over to the belt and pulling on the jacket. "Thank you."

The thick wool snugly covers over your arms. It melts away the tension, and you realize as it melts away your shivers that the fabric is still full of his heat. It smells like coffee and sleep, like dryer sheets and warm, fresh laundry right out of the dryer. It smells like Tyler.

You yawn, turning to thank him, but he's already asleep again, the blanket pulled over him.

You wrap the coat around your shoulders as you stumble up into the empty Bubble, and then back into your room. With his coat wreathing his scent around you like a soft embrace and warm blankets tucked around your body, sleep comes a little more easily now.

You would rather die than confess it to your mother, but you imagine he holds you as you drift off, that warm, gentle coffee-and-clean-sheets smell in your nose. For some reason, that image seems comforting, cozy, safe. A blanket of time.

Hi, guys! :) Did you know there's a playlist that I listen to while I write these chapters? It really helps me channel the vibes of that specific Friends With Time feeling. :3 If you like, you can find it here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3EDbvhoe2wkd6ShWZFnmLD?si=897fa68dafee4fe8&pt=de0e185de3d05d74531f031a5dd054b4