Somewhere out there on the island, there's a group of people partying. Sawyer's been having trouble sleeping all night, because he can hear the calls in the distance, the whoops, the people rabble-rousing and getting all worked up in ways that Sawyer might have cared for decades ago. Right now? It's just irritating. He can't seem to acknowledge anything positive in it, because frankly, it's not doing him any good (everyone he's seen walking in that direction's about half his age, and he's content with his social life being what it is anyway), and it's not the sort of gathering Alex would go to. When someone screams from some distance away, Sawyer only groans and rubs at his eyes in irritation, staring up at the dark ceiling of his hut and thinking that, while he's awake anyway, he might as well take a piss.

Taking care not to wake Alex in the next room over, Sawyer quickly pulls on a pair of jeans, buttoning them but not bothering to zip up the fly because, really, who's going to see? The air hits his bare back and makes him shiver, shaking himself awake as he stumbles over to a bush some distance away.

Only he nearly trips over someone first.

"The hell?" he mutters, before crouching down to figure out if the person needs to be rushed immediately to the clinic, because sleeping on snow, Sawyer's pretty sure that's not a good sign. His eyes widen in recognition. "Catnip."