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The upside of sleeping in the bunk above Sefi is that Sefi sleeps like a log. The downside is that it’s still the damn top bunk, but Yaki would rather clamber down from the top bunk in the pitch black of three o’fucking clock in the morning rather than take the bottom bunk. Sefi and Yiphtach will get into his things and Sa’ar will try to kill them for it even if Yaki would rather let it slide, and Yaki is not so fucked in the head as to not see how messed up it would be for him to defend Sefi and Yiphtach in those circumstances.So Yaki slides from the top bunk in the pitch black of three in the fucking morning, blessedly not waking Sefi up in the process, but when he turns around he hisses a startled sss’emek because he runs straight into Sa’ar, who apparently slid out of his bunk even more quietly than Yaki did.“What the hell?” he hisses.Sa’ar grabs the bottom of Yaki’s shirt on either side of his torso and pulls up. Yaki brings his elbows next to his body instinctively; it’s cold, and also what the hell.“You gonna wake the guys up?” Sa’ar whispers. He sounds pissed off, same as ever.“If I’m gonna wake the guys up?” Yaki demands, similarly sibilant, but he lets Sa’ar undress him. If he doesn’t fight with Sa’ar, maybe he’ll make it to the guard duty on time.Yaki doesn’t shiver for more than two seconds, though. Then Sa’ar pulls a shirt over him, a different shirt, one of Sa’ar’s expensive thermals. It’s softer than Yaki expects, even if it’s really obviously not cotton. Yaki doesn’t get to think about that for longer than it takes Sa’ar to pull that shirt over his head, because his own undershirt comes back on next and Yaki lifts his arms to help, complying unhesitatingly as Sa’ar helps him dress the rest of the way. It’s warm, he can already feel it. He’s probably still going to end up cold on watch but not as cold as he would’ve been otherwise, and right now in their room he’s warm.He smiles with the relief of it; so what if it isn’t really that cold. The giddy relief of it slows him down enough that he doesn’t move when Sa’ar steps in and reaches past him to grab his coat from the mattress, doesn’t move except to put his hands on Sa’ar’s waist. Sa’ar pulls the coat over Yaki without stepping back. He’s wearing only a single layer, the idiot, and he’s shivering slightly under Yaki’s hands.Yaki kisses him over the cheekbone. “Anta mahboul.”“Wa anta mahboul dafee,” Sa’ar retorts.Surprisingly he lets go when Yaki’s hands join his over the dubon’s snaps, but it’s only to twist back and reach for something, and the next moment he slides his hand into the coat’s pocket, putting something there, something bulky.Yaki smiles involuntarily again. He doesn’t know what Sa’ar does to gain access to the kitchen, whether it’s threats or bribery - both equally likely, with Sa’ar - and he doesn’t want to know because the things Sa’ar can do with military supplies are the reason Yaki is losing less weight than anyone else. It makes his mother worry less, and for that he won’t question Sa’ar.Sa’ar still won’t step back and it’s not just the cold making him tense, and that plus how over-the-top this all is, even for Sa’ar, finally makes this snap into place for Yaki.He puts a hand over the back of Sa’ar’s neck to bring their foreheads together. “It’s just guard duty,” he reminds both of them. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Sa’ar.”Sa’ar shrugs. When Yaki steps out of their room it’ll be the farthest apart they’ve been since shit went down earlier that week, and if Yaki’s honest with himself then if their positions were reversed he would’ve traded his last cigarette to switch duties with someone, to not have Sa’ar alone out there - even if “alone” only means without Yaki, even if watch duty does not cross the camp’s fence - while he remains indoors and safe. He would’ve, except that’s too ridiculous, and shame would’ve kept him laying on his back, staring at the ceiling and being a shit to everyone the next day for the sleeplessness.But he’s the one on guard duty, and he’s wearing Sa’ar worry against his skin and carrying Sa’ar’s care in his pocket.They hug, clumsy as it is. Sa’ar relaxes but the tiny cold-shivers are still there, noticeable even through the coat and the fleece Yaki’s wearing over his uniform and the two undershirts he’s wearing underneath.He pushes Sa’ar away gently. “Go back to bed. I’m not leaving until you’re in bed.” Implied is, On your head if I’m late.“Ibn elghbeh,” Sa’ar mutters, but it’s so soft Yaki can barely make the words out, and he climbs back up to his bunk obligingly.“Al-noum bishkil jeed,” Yaki whispers, and watches Sa’ar maybe a second too long before he turns around and heads for the door.