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“Don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
Neil surveyed the situation, considering their options. Not that they had many. Mud squelched underfoot as Neil crouched to salvage what he could of their snacks; they were most likely Andrew’s priority. Andrew was still standing there in silence, taking it all in. Neil wasn’t going to say I told you so, he wasn’t cruel. But he definitely had mentioned to Andrew that their tent was ten years old and the metal poles responsible for holding the whole thing up were a bit rusty and maybe they should consider buying a new one. To which Andrew had responded, We are not buying a brand new tent when we only camp once a year, this one will be fine.
Rain beat down on them relentlessly. They had splurged on a freshly baked loaf of bread at the farmer’s market to bring on their trip, which was packaged in a paper bag rather than plastic. Andrew had been looking forward to this bread, it had been his idea to get it. Now it was no more than a condensed, soggy ball. Neil tried to pick it up but the paper tore away, now having the structural integrity of… well, of wet paper. The wet bread ball hit the ground hard, sagging into the mud.
Neil risked a glance over his shoulder. Andrew was looking at the bread. Then he looked at Neil, still challenging him to say something.
Neil scooped the rest of their snacks into a plastic grocery bag, then shoved that bag into the waterproof bag they’d packed their clothes in. That was placed beside Andrew, who had chosen to stand in a spot under a tree that was partially shielding him from most of the rain. He was almost just as soaked as Neil, though, and Neil wondered how long Andrew would last like this—he hated the feeling of wet clothes on his skin, and avoided going out in the rain without an umbrella and rain jacket if he could help it. They had no rain jackets, no umbrellas; rain hadn’t been in the forecast. But even if he changed into dry clothes, he wouldn’t stay dry for long.
With the food and clothes safe, Neil was forced to face the real issue.
Their tent had been small to begin with, just big enough for two people, and since Neil and Andrew were relatively small, it had been plenty for them. Now collapsed, wet, and wind-battered, it looked like a flimsy thing a child would use as a cape. Two of the poles had snapped, sticking out of their narrow sleeves like broken bones. Underneath the mess were their sleeping bags and pillows.
Neil pulled out his phone. No service.
Andrew had to know he was stalling. They both knew they’d have to hike back to the car in the rain. It was a fairly simple hike, paths clearly defined, not too hilly or particularly treacherous. The problem was that their car was three miles away.
Over the rumbling thunder and sharp rain patter, Neil heard a distinct gurgling.
Andrew reached over and fished around in Neil’s pocket until he found the granola bar he’d shoved in there earlier, and ate the whole thing in two bites before returning the wrapper to Neil’s pocket.
“That bread was ten dollars,” Andrew said at last.
“I can get the bread knife and cut you a slice,” Neil offered.
Andrew jerked Neil forward by his wrist. “Shut up. Let’s go.”
They extracted the poles from the tent, shook the water and mud and other forest debris off the tent, and rolled it up as small as they could. The poles were in such a state they refused to collapse back into a packable size, so Andrew broke them into pieces over his thigh, a visual that Neil would not soon be forgetting.
At some point Andrew stepped in a hole, submerging his entire boot in mud, but all he did was grimace and shake his foot a little.
They wrangled the sleeping bags back into their sleeves and finally managed to manipulate the shape of the tent and poles enough to shove them into the tent bag, which they planned to dump into the next trash can they came across. They managed to fit everything in their backpacks except for the food/clothes bag, which Neil carried, and the tent bag, which Andrew carried.
Upon silent agreement and a shared look of fatigue and apprehension, they set off down the path.
Twelve hours. They hadn’t even lasted a full day of what was to be their four-day camping excursion, the same trip they took every November. Originally, the purpose of the trip had been to take both of their minds off of certain anniversaries that fell around that time of year, but more recently it was just enjoyable to get away from everything and everyone and have a few days of casual intimacy and a little bit of predictable adventure. Cooking over a fire, hiking new trails, bird-watching, picking edible plants, curling up against one another in two sleeping bags zipped together. All they’d managed was a few hours of making out, cooking hot dogs and s’mores, one night of sleep, and a hike cut short by an unexpected storm.
Andrew walked slightly ahead of Neil, which might have meant nothing—he often preferred taking the lead, though it was more common for him to be beside or behind Neil. But he also might have been preventing Neil from seeing his expression. Neil watched him for about ten minutes, and in that ten minutes Andrew’s discomfort became increasingly obvious. Every few seconds he flicked water off his fingers, and brushed it off his face. His white-knuckled grip on the tent bag was tight, hand clenched unnecessarily hard. He was walking stiltedly as well.
“Andrew.”
Andrew halted, looking back at Neil. His face was doing its best to remain impassive, but the pinch between his eyebrows and the hard set of his lips told Neil all he needed to know.
Neil led them under the cover of a large, leafy tree. He rummaged through his bag, pulling out dry clothes for Andrew, but Andrew’s hand on his wrist made him pause.
“Don’t bother.”
Neil shook his head. “I have an idea.”
Andrew considered him for a moment, then dropped the tent bag and took the clothes. These days it was rare for either of them to need much privacy when changing, and there was no one around for miles, so Andrew stripped, wringing out his wet clothes and tossing them aside for Neil to deal with, and pulling on the dry ones. There wasn’t much to be done about his boots, but he pulled on the dry socks anyway.
While Andrew changed, Neil pulled the tent out of the other bag, and held a hand out towards Andrew’s wrist, where he was switching over the knives in his armbands. Andrew understood immediately and handed one to Neil, who used it to cut the tent material into a circle, then cut a smaller, half-circle in the middle of the bigger one. Andrew hummed when he realised what Neil was doing. It was crude and jagged along the edges, but it would do the job well enough for the remaining miles. Neil poked a line of holes along the edge of the loose fabric from the half-circle he’d cut and weaved a shoelace from one of his running shoes through them, cinching what he was hoping would act as a hood.
When he was satisfied, Neil carried the poncho to where Andrew stood, holding it out. Andrew stepped forward but didn’t reach out to take it. It took Neil three beats to understand, and he carefully placed it on Andrew, pulling on the material and walking in a circle to make sure it covered most of him. It was a decent fit—the hood was a little big but Andrew wasn’t complaining. For the first time since they’d discovered their desecrated campsite Andrew looked somewhat comfortable and dry.
He also looked fucking hilarious.
Neil snapped a picture on his phone, and a second for good measure. Andrew did nothing but stand there and glare half-heartedly.
“Ready to carry on?” Neil asked, crouching down to repack the tent bag and Andrew’s soggy clothes.
Andrew waited for Neil to stand and resituate his bags, then they walked side-by-side back to the trail.
“Hungry?” Neil asked. It was a pointless question because Andrew’s stomach had just announced itself to the whole forest. It was also pointless because Andrew didn’t like to walk and eat. “Want to stop to eat?” Neil amended.
“No.”
It didn’t matter because at about what Neil guessed was the halfway point, they came across a surprisingly sturdy-looking simple wooden pavilion arching over a single picnic bench and trash can. One of a few waypoints along the trail. Neil shoved the tent bag into the trash can and sat heavily at the picnic table. Andrew followed, dropping his backpack onto the seat beside him and the food bag on the table. They sorted through the food and ended up pulling out a couple granola bars, a bag of trail mix, and two apples. They had a travel-sized jar of jam as well, but nothing to put it on. It wasn’t the worst meal Neil had ever had, though.
Despite his obvious hunger, Andrew gave up on eating halfway through one granola bar. He rolled it up and shoved it and the rest of his snacks back into the food bag.
Neil held a hand out in front of Andrew’s face, then lowered it to his wrist where he lingered only long enough to feel the faint butterfly-beating of his pulse. “You need to eat,” Neil said.
Andrew gazed at him, unmoved. “I did.”
“Is it the weather?”
A mistake, apparently, because Andrew’s face shuttered and he found something more interesting over Neil’s shoulder to look at.
Right.
Neil wanted to take Andrew’s hand for the rest of the hike back, but decided against even asking. He knew what the answer would be and he wasn’t stupid enough to try. Andrew’s pace put him slightly behind Neil now, letting him take the lead. Neil gave up after three attempts at starting a conversation, hoping to distract Andrew. Evidently, Andrew had not wanted to discuss their new backliner recruit, Matt and Dan’s new dog, or the book Neil and Andrew were both reading. Neil didn’t mind though, silences with Andrew were painless and peaceful.
Finally, after what seemed like a whole day, they climbed the final hill and were greeted with the beautiful sight of the car sitting in the parking lot beside a small visitor’s lodge. Andrew, suddenly struck with renewed urgency, hastily made his way down the hill. Instead of clambering straight into the passenger seat as Neil expected, Andrew seemed to be going for the back seats. Confused and a tad concerned, Neil quickened his pace and as he drew nearer, he understood; Andrew had been after the thick blanket they keep stashed in the back for when their nighttime drives get a bit chilly.
Andrew left his backpack and shoes in the back seat and bundled up in the blanket in the passenger seat, gesturing for Neil to put the key in the ignition. Once he did, Andrew jerked the heating dial up to the maximum level and checked that the vents were open and facing him. Neil had the urge to poke fun, but something in Andrew’s expression and the rigid set of his shoulders stopped the mirthful grin before it had a chance to form on his lips.
Neil rummaged through the clothes bag and did a quick-change in the back seat into a dryer outfit. Sweatpants that he’d been sleeping in, fuzzy socks that Andrew had packed, and Andrew’s all-black oversized hoodie. He then slid into the driver’s seat and sat with Andrew in silence as they both defrosted.
It had been years ago, Neil’s junior year at Palmetto, when Andrew had divulged why he had such an issue with being outside in the cold. Because it hadn’t been obvious at first—of course Andrew bundled up in winter, everyone did, and of course he covered himself up when it rained—most people did. But one frigid December morning Andrew and Neil had been out for a walk, both riding the tail-end of a sleepless night, when the sky opened unexpectedly. It hadn’t been forecasted, neither of them had been prepared. Neil could vividly recall the flush of Andrew’s cheeks evaporating in an instant, his insistent tug on Neil’s sleeve and he turned them around and led them back to the dorms at a hurried pace. Neil remembered how Andrew locked himself in the bathroom for an hour and neglected to leave his bed to go to practice or classes. That evening Neil had asked, but Andrew had said not now.
“I was five.” It was three days later.
They were on the roof, sharing body heat under one of Andrew’s many blankets. Neil glanced at him, to indicate Andrew had his attention.
“I could not breathe without being accused of misbehaving.” Misbehaving was said in the same tone that he would say misunderstanding. “I was in that house from October to February. My punishment was always to sit on the back porch until I’d learned to behave.” Andrew’s vacant stare hadn’t strayed from some vague point in the distance. “It was common for them to forget about me. Three times it wasn’t until the sun rose. I kept getting sick. They kept punishing me for it.” He pulled on a loose thread of the blanket with a gloved hand. “It was a rainy winter.”
Neil had silently raged, practically shaking with anger at Andrew’s abusers once again. He’d learned not to let it show on his face, a likely way to make Andrew stop talking. But it seemed he was done anyway. Neil sucked in a slow, measured breath, let it out carefully, flexed his fingers.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Andrew had just leaned into Neil’s side, and they stayed out there for another hour before Nicky lured them back inside with a text promising hot chocolate.
Now, in the car, Neil considered how to comfort Andrew, if that was even a good idea.
“Touching, yes or no?” Neil asked.
Andrew eyed him curiously. “How.”
Neil gestured with his hands in a way that he hoped conveyed his intentions. Andrew nodded and Neil levered himself over the centre console, squishing in next to Andrew, who scooted over to make what little room he could. Andrew surrendered half of the blanket to Neil, but it was still big enough to cover them both completely. Neil drew a finger across the back of Andrew’s hand, laced their fingers together and brought Andrew’s wrist to his lips. In his position Neil had full access to Andrew’s pulse, feeling it flutter and kick under his lips as he breathed some life into Andrew’s pale skin. Andrew gradually melted against him, eventually letting his head rest in the crook of Neil’s neck.
“Better?” Neil asked, examining Andrew for any lingering discomfort and finding almost none, aside from the expected exhaustion.
Andrew’s stomach let out an agonised gurgle, and Neil snorted into Andrew's shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” Andrew announced.
“Me too.”
They separated and Neil retook his place behind the wheel and finally pulled out of the parking lot in search of a place to eat.
Wendy’s Diner!! was the only restaurant they came across for miles. It was not, as the small text at the bottom of the sign stated, related to Wendy’s the fast-food chain, but was its own independent establishment run by an actual person named Wendy.
Andrew pulled on another layer and his semi-dry shoes before they went inside, where there were only two other diners present. The waitress, not named Wendy, let them pick anywhere to sit, so Andrew led them to the back corner where he could have his back to the wall and a window at his side, just how he liked it.
Neil ordered what Matt and Nicky often ridiculed him for, which was chicken tenders and fries, and Andrew ordered waffles, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Neil raised an eyebrow at that and Andrew just shrugged. Neil hoped the shake wouldn’t set back Andrew’s improved mood.
They didn’t usually talk while they ate, but even if they wanted to they wouldn’t have been able to with how fast they both dug in when their food arrived. They both started with their fries, as always, and Neil watched Andrew stack his waffles in a peculiar way as he ate his chicken tenders.
“What are you doing?”
“Tent.” He had propped the two square waffles against each other to form a triangle. He nudged two blueberries into the space underneath, presumably meant to be Neil and Andrew.
Neil shot him a look.
“Too soon?” Andrew asked, but before he’d finished asking, the waffle tent collapsed with a quiet splat into the pool of maple syrup.
Andrew stared at his plate.
Neil huffed out a mocking laugh. “Too soon?”
Andrew ignored him for the next five minutes.
Neil ordered them two coffees to-go, and Andrew brushed a hand against Neil’s back appreciatively before tucking himself back into his blanket, bringing the cup to his chest when he was settled.
They held hands for the rest of the drive home, Andrew having to let go every so often so Neil could sip his coffee. Despite the disastrous trip, Neil was feeling good, relaxed, and it seemed Andrew was too, and that was all he could have asked for.