It’s cold, in the tundra. Phil’s grown used to it, over time, but it’s still cold, and if there’s one thing Phil’s joints hate above all, it’s the cold.
Phil himself dislikes the heat the most. It’s stifling, and he wears layers so that he can take more and more off if he needs to. But when it’s hot, and he’s run out of things to take off? That’s worse than the cold.
Because when it’s cold, he can just do exactly what he’s about to do now: climb the ladder out of the basement, make his way out of the pond under their house, shaking the water off as he goes. He heads up the stairwell, hesitates, and pushes open the door to Techno’s house. He strips his armour off, drapes it over the fence set up by the fireplace to dry.
It’s warm, in here; cozy in a way that’s got his fingers tingling and has that ache in his joints hurting just a little less. Phil stretches, feels a twinge in his back where his wing meets the muscle there. He can’t get at it himself, with the awkward angle and his wings being in the way, so he ignores it; does the rest of his stretches and heads towards the ladder leading upstairs.
If the main room was warm, it’s hot up here, a wall of blissful heat hitting Phil the instant he pokes his head past the trapdoor. Techno’s in his bed, curled on his side with a pillow in his arms, Blitz tucked into the nook behind his knees. It’s an adorable sight and Phil sighs, sitting cross-legged on the bed and running his fingers through Blitz’s fur.
Blitz purrs, a churring, snuffling sound that always warms Phil’s heart and he laughs quietly, careful not to wake Techno. The man deserves his hibernation. He’s had a hell of a time on this server.
Shucking off his outer layers is a mission with his ruined wing, but Phil manages, stripping down to just his undershirt and grabbing the spare sleep clothes he has stored in the chest at the end of Techno’s bed. They’re still there, even after he built his new house, and Phil’s grateful for that now as he clambers carefully under the covers, shifting towards Techno and his pillow.
He carefully lifts his wing, draping it over the both of them — and Blitz, who he feels nudging his way under the large flight feathers that lie charred and threadbare near the tips — and curls himself in, towards Techno’s pillow.
It’s warm here. Sleep finds him easy.
(He wakes up to the pillow gone from between them, Techno’s head tucked under his own, his breath warm on Phil’s neck. Blitz is nibbling at his wing, careful little nips that don’t hurt at all. He smiles, soft, and goes back to sleep.)