Arthur can't help the quiet huff when Charlie tucks himself under the blanket, but at least he's warming up. Lucidity can wait a little longer - hypothermia's fucking killer.

He kneels next to John, putting a hand on his partner's shoulder and giving him a warm smile. "Well done, John," is a soft, private hum - for more than just holding him up, his rich tone says.

"If you're hungry, Charlie, we've got a little food, um." He sits next to John properly, digging through his bag. "It's not much- I-I’ve got some tack, jerky, technically there's tea but it's fucking awful."