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Your name is John Egbert, and holy fuck are you freezing your ass off right now.
During your two-week visit to Houston to spend some quality time with your best bro and his older brother, they decided that pitching a tent out in the middle of the desert would be a great way to spend the weekend. You don’t mind camping at all; you’ve gone on plenty of fishing and camping trips with your dad (you can still hear his words echoing in your head: “It’s every good father’s duty to show his son the ways of the outdoorsman!”). However, being out in the desert is completely different from the forested mountains of Washington State. Namely, you weren't expecting nights to be so damned cold out here. Not that where you usually camp is any warmer, but you’re usually better prepared for cold nights than you are right now.
You’re curled up in an old, worn-out sleeping bag, bundled in as many extra blankets as you could find, but the near-freezing temperature outside is bone-chilling. Dave and Bro are sharing an inflatable mattress, piled high with various quilts and blankets. From where you’re facing, you can barely make out the blonde mop of hair belonging to Dave peeking out over the top of their blankets. On the other side of Dave, Bro can be heard lightly snoring. And out of the corner of your eye, resting on top of Bro’s backpack… Yeah, that’s Lil’ Cal, staring straight at you with his glassy, vacant gaze. Even without your glasses on, just knowing that he’s there and he’s facing your direction creeps you out. You can’t repress the shiver that runs down your spine, giving you goosebumps. In an attempt to avoid getting your soul sucked out, you turn to face the other way and burrow under the covers. This doesn't help you feel any safer, and you’re still as cold as Santa’s ball sack.
You spend the next twenty minutes tossing and turning, trying to accumulate any sort of heat in the thin sleeping bag, with no luck. You nearly jump out of your bedding when you hear a fatigued voice grumble behind you.
“Goddammit Egbert, go the fuck to sleep,” Dave groans.
“Can’t. Too cold,” you shiver. And I can’t sleep with this fucking puppet ogling me, you think to yourself.
“Then get your ass in here,” Dave shifts closer to where you lay, leaving a small space between him and Bro. You turn again to eye him scrutinously.
“Dude, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to fit between your fat asses.”
Dave sighs. “Look, you can either bask in our luxurious body heat or let Jack Frost fuck your ass until you’re frozen from the inside out. Your choice.”
You finally give in, fussing as you slip out of your sleeping bag into the chilly air (seriously, how does it get so cold inside a tent?). You’re careful not to step on anyone’s glasses as you precariously make your way over to the mattress and squeeze in between Dave and his bro. You’re immediately enveloped in warmth that radiates from both Striders, spreading pleasantly from your chest all the way to your toes. As far as you can tell, Dave is once again fast asleep. Bro mumbles something unintelligibly in his sleep as he rolls over, throwing an arm over both of you and pulling you closer. You grunt as you are thoroughly squished between the two. You vaguely recall Dave mentioning how Bro can be clingy in his sleep, but you never expected his grip to be this strong even in an unconscious state. Despite the fact that it’s a tight fit, you feel cozy and safe, caged snugly between two people who you would trust with your life. Also, Cal is no longer in your field of vision, which is a big plus. You revel in your newfound contentedness as you bury yourself deeper into the blankets, pressing your face against Dave's warm back and listening to his slow breathing and steady heartbeat.
It’s easy to get comfortable where you are situated, and you are about to drift off into slumber when you and Dave are jolted back into full consciousness by Bro spasming behind you.
“Holy shit, John, your feet are fucking freezing!”