It took a few minutes to get up from his spot on the lawn, to brush off his jeans and the sweater he wore over his layers. He straightened his backwards baseball cap, and he walked into the B&B and up to the front counter, you know, as if he was drowning in chill. He hadn't showered before leaving the base, and his clothes were balled up inside the backpack he had hanging from one shoulder. His hair was messy under the hat, and he absolutely smelled like autumn weather, way too much coffee, and sweat.
And he wasn't drowning in chill at all. He'd gone from being insanely worried about Noah, enough to bail from work early, to feeling insecure as fuck, to being like deluged in the most amazing feelings. And now he was kinda just wrung out, you know? Chill facade over this currently thin veneer of not-feeling, and everything underneath was maelstrom and swirl, and he leaned on the counter and waited for attention from the guy standing there. He pulled his Juul out and took a tug, and then he pocketed the thing again and looked around for a bell to obnoxiously ring.