It was the heat. That is the only conclusion I've come to.
It was far from exclusively physical, in fact it was primarily an inner-warmth.
I found myself persistently pressing myself against his chest, as if curling into him would have an incubator-like effect.
I could be covered in a film of sweat but beneath my skin I was frozen. Not in the emotionless, stoic way but in the starved for touch, anyone's touch way.
I wondered if everyone else stayed as warm as him all the time or if it was just my own perception which had a habit of being warped anyhow.
I was content with not knowing. I didn't need to know everything, or anything for that matter.
I filled my own gaps with the consuming, wolfish ache for that same warmth, the only thing that could thaw my skin and whatever lies beneath.
I must have only been able to endure that frenzy for so long, because now I discard the notion altogether; hot or cold, it can't be helped.