Wake of the Dead | Two

Chapter Thirty-Nine | Killian & Jasper

When Killian woke up the next morning and sat up, he immediately smiled. Jasper was laying next to him, curled up with his face half hidden in the pillow. He slept silently, with his hair tuft disheveled and covering part of his face. In the direct sunlight, Killian could see the darker, chestnut-brown tint to Jasper's hair and the few freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

As delicately as possible, Killian brushed Jasper's hair away from his face and kissed his forehead. In his sleep, Jasper's brows narrowed and he mumbled something under his breath, hiding his face farther into the pillow. With a quiet chuckle Killian whispered, "I'm sorry, love."

Killian placed one more kiss on Jasper's cheek, tucking the blankets in more comfortably around his lover, then stood up off of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet, so much so that he shuddered. Stealing a glance at the window, Killian's brows raised. Snow? The window was glossed over with ice, making it hard to make out. Squinting, he could barely see through the distorted fractals. Guess I'll find out when I get downstairs.

Hastily getting dressed, Killian made sure to leave his crossbow on the bedside so Jasper knew he wasn't planning on leaving the farmhouse. He knew that if his partner found out that he left to go outside, Jasper would be concerned and follow after him. But Killian also knew that Jasper needed his sleep, or else everybody around him would have a bad day. Knowing Killian was in the house would bring Jasper at least some sort of comfort. But before he left, Killian found Jasper's book and placed it on the bed next to him as well, in case he woke up but didn't want to get out of bed.

Picking up Jasper's old jacket, Killian wrapped it over his shoulders. Ever since it'd been given to him, he'd never gone anywhere without it. Other than his precious crossbow, the jacket was his favorite possession. It smelled like Jasper—safe, comforting. It was several sizes too big, but that's what made it better than any clothes he'd ever owned. Slipping on his socks and lacing up his shoes, Killian left their room and made his way down the stairs.

There were a few people already up. Down the hall, Killian could see Aubrey and Jackson in the kitchen eating breakfast. It looked as if Aubrey had already eaten and was helping Jackson clean off the unmasked side of his face. In an odd way, he found it heartwarming. In the living room, Tom and Darren were relaxing with morning mugs of chamomile tea. Deciding to leave Aubrey and Jackson to their own devices, he made his way into the living room and settled down on the floor next to Darren.

Tom was sitting on the couch and raised his brow when Jasper didn't follow Killian in. "Where's the big muscle man?" He teased with a small smile.

Not knowing exactly what to say, Killian's lips parted without words. He cleared his throat to stall for time, but that was enough to make Tom's brows raise even higher. "He's, ah..." Killian's mind raced with a million excuses, all of them idiotic. "Tired. Had a long day yesterday you know." To his relief, the other men shrugged it off.

"Bout' time he had a break anyways," Tom gruffed, "Man works harder than the most of us combined."

"Well..." Darren said, "He has been trained to do a lot of work constantly, you know." A slow smile crawled across his lips, "But even before he was a marine, he's always been like that. You know, all hard-working, had to constantly keep his mind busy."

Killian tilted his head to the side curiously. "You knew Jasper before he was in the military?"

"I've known him since middle school." Darren chuckled, "Only reason we ended up in the same state when the biters showed up was cause' good ol' mama Yua called and told me he'd be around here."

"Yua?" Killian asked, "That's his mom's name?"

"Yep, mama Yua." Darren chuckled, shaking his head. "Woman had the patience of a saint, but if you pissed her off she'd give you a firm smack on the back of the head." He crossed his arms and leaned back a bit, "His dad was your stereotypical American father. Cooked on the grill every chance he could, watched the football game every Sunday—you know the type. Jasper's just like him."