In the dead of night, the littluns' fearful shrieks manage to pierce through the veil of unconsciousness that holds him aloft from reality, and of course Ralph gets up and tries to mollify them as best he could.

(He's unused to doling out comfort in adequate degrees though, and often relies on the faint memories of a woman's soft, soothing voice accompanied by a pervading feeling of warmth and safety – it's something that got him through the days when he knew, with a dreadful kind of certainty, that his mum wasn't coming back and that, anytime, his dad could follow suit. It's very same thing that's going to help him nurse this flaring ember of hope in his chest, because they will get rescued, he just knows it.)

When he's sure that they've gained at least a tiny bit of respite from the hounding nightmares, Ralph slinks back to his place on the sand, because the shelters are the epitome of rubbish at the moment. Wedged rather tightly between Jack and Simon, he lies flat on his back and counts the multitude of stars through fatigue-ridden eyes in an attempt to fall back into the realm of darkness and dreams, where he didn't have to worry about building shelters or being on guard for the prospect of a ship in the horizon or the littluns defecating in places they're not supposed to.

Ralph curses quietly when he can't keep track of the winking pinpricks of light in the obsidian sky, and sleep obnoxiously eludes his greedy grasp. He tries to focus his attention to other things, such as the grains of sand beneath him or the occasional breeze as it passes and licks at his bare arms and legs.

Eventually, Ralph's gaze is drawn to the supine figure of Jack Merridew (as it always does; even when Jack was up and talking about pigs or something silly like that.)

The redhead's countenance, while usually contorted into an expression of intense determination, appears almost serene as he slumbers. The moonlight allows Ralph to take in the accentuated features of Jack's face (for some reason, he's particularly fascinated by the latter's thick eyebrows, shapely jaw and the way his flaming curls spill over his high forehead.) Suddenly, he's struck by an inexplicable urge to count the scattering of freckles on the bridge of Jack's nose.

He flushes at absurdity of the thought, but can't seem to shake it off, oddly enough. Slowly, as if in a trance, he leans towards Jack, squints his eyes and settles into a regulated rhythm. One, two, three, four...

It's strangely (mesmerizing) amusing to see that the freckles on Jack's face extend to other parts of his body. The corners of Ralph's mouth quirk up slightly as he moves his line of sight to the ginger's chest. This is so much better than stars.

...Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" Jack's voice is husky with drowsiness. Ralph looks up to see that Jack had opened one pale blue eye and was staring at him intently.

A wave of heat floods his cheeks. Ralph blames his sleeplessness for his momentary lapse of sanity and coherency. "I– the littluns were having nightmares again, and I had to..." he trails off, shivering as a cold gust of wind sweeps by and whips at his skin, taking away the hot edge of his flush.

The redhead snorts in response, a small puff of air against Ralph's lips. Quite unceremoniously, Jack wraps a bony arm around the blond and pulls him closer, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his body. Though initially stiff with shock, Ralph quickly, if somewhat embarrassingly, relaxes in Jack's embrace and places his head comfortably against Jack's chest. His eyelids finally shutter close as he succumbs to the sense of security that came along with the steady pulse of Jack's heartbeat.

A/N: Casual reminder that counting Jack's freckles is infinitely better than counting stars, not only because his freckles are closer and far more consistent, but because Jack shines brighter in Ralph's eyes, anyway.