Work Text:
“Niall.” Harry says impatiently, waiting for the blonde boy to look up. “I wanted the stack of firewood over there.”
Harry points to a relatively flat area covered with roots.
“Why?” Niall huffs, still holding a large armful of short branches.
Harry didn’t wanted to carry any firewood because he worried it would snag his favorite shirt or get it dirty- which would obviously be a fucking travesty. Niall rolled his eyes at that statement but he bit his tongue. You weren’t supposed to wear your favorite clothes when you were camping. You were supposed to get down and dirty, find your inner mountain man, maybe sweat a little. And while Niall was definitely sweating, Harry stood in the middle of their campground polishing the lenses of his sunglasses and holding them up to the light for smudges. He was so pretentious sometimes… but he was a good kisser, and who was Niall to complain about that?
“I wanted to put them on top of the roots so if it rains the wood won’t be sitting on the wet ground.” Harry explains proudly. “I read that on a camping website.” Frowning, he pulls his phone out of his (impossibly tight) jeans pockets and mumbles something about not having reception on this damn bloody mountain and now how is he supposed to check his twitter to see if Louis favorited his penis joke?
Niall continues over to the same spot where he’s been dumping all the firewood. Close to the tent (that he pitched himself, while Harry accidentally tripped over one of the stakes holding down the corner of the tent approximately four times), a reasonable distance from the fire, and on a nice flat patch of dirt. He drops the last stack of wood and grunts satisfactorily, clapping bits of dirt and leaves from his hands.
Harry looks up from his phone. “Niall…” he whines. “Why did you put the wood there? I told you why I didn’t want it there..”
Niall lets out an aggravated sigh. “Harry, the weather forecast said sunny for a solid week. I think we’re ok to have the firewood here.”
Pouting, Harry turns back to his phone. Niall, by now solidly annoyed with Harry and wondering why they chose to do this shitty camping thing in the first place, turns and walks down the path to a nearby stream, kicking sticks and rocks out of the way, imagining that each one is Harry.
Niall sits down on a log and lets out a groan, dropping his face in his hands. He just wants to have a good time with Harry and here he is, sitting in front of a goddamn stream upset about firewood. After a few minutes of feeling sorry for himself, Niall rubs his eyes, and lifts his head. Sighing, he decides he probably should apologize to Harry… Harry… who’s standing in front of him? Niall rubs his eyes again, making sure he isn’t turning into one of those psychos who sees people that aren’t there. Yeah. No. He’s not psycho, and it’s definitely Harry.
Harry’s back is turned to Niall, and he's already ankle deep in the water. Harry turns his head, and he’s looking at Niall and smiling, letting his dimples pop out like the fucking sun or something, Niall thinks. Whatever. He’s not poetic. The point is, he likes Harry’s dimples.
“Wanna get wet with me?” Harry asks him, unable to hide his ridiculously cheesy grin. Niall mock-groans, and just like that, Harry’s forgiven.
Later that night, when they’re cuddled up with blankets in front of a crackling fire (Niall built it and Harry supervised, mostly from behind in order to admire Niall’s ass), and Harry can’t seem to stop burning his marshmallows (It’s fine with him though, because Niall likes the burned ones and that means he gets to poke bits of sugary burned goo into Niall’s mouth every ten seconds). Niall sighs happily, and pushes his face into Harry’s neck. He doesn’t even mind when Harry starts complaining that Niall’s going to get his neck all sticky with marshmallow.