Chapter Text
Adam’s newfound bravery falters just a bit after he leaves the small, quaint building. The sun beats down on the dirt road where his small blue car is parked, reflecting off of the metallic surface and throwing slashes of light across the young man’s vision briefly. He ducks his head and frowns down at the pamphlet in his hand, blinking rapidly and nearly stumbling over his own feet.
Despite traveling many miles (and getting lost twice), he suddenly wishes he hadn’t decided to go camping. True, the city prevented him from seeing much of the sky and the constellations that fascinated him, which had inspired him to make this trip in the first place, but now that he’s reserved his site, Adam feels anxious. He gets in behind the wheel once more, closes the door gently, and then sits in the hot car, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his thighs as he observes the thick forest that surrounds the area.
Everything is new and out of his control, and he squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on his fingertips as they begin to drum out a familiar pattern, a calming normalness that he can bring with him anywhere.
“I made it this far,” he reminds himself.
And with that, he starts the car and drives slowly down the dirt road, spirits rising the further he maneuvers passed trees and grass and, eventually, other people lazing about outside tents or camper trailers or RVs, firepits smoking and faces relaxed.
*.*.*.*
His campsite is located in a sizeable inlet around a corner of trees, the road rockier and bumpier as he slowly directs his car onwards. There’s a beaten wooden sign stuck into the ground by it, old paint peeling and chipped, but a newly spray-painted ‘24’ is bright and clear, having obviously been replaced frequently. Adam turns the steering wheel and backs up his car until he’s partially parked on the grass, and then he slips out the driver’s side door before he can worry himself anymore.
In the next thirty-five minutes, he sets up the bright orange tent that he’d purchased, perusing the instruction manual once before efficiently assembling poles and fabric. After that, he glances at the firepit, blackened remains looking far removed from the nature around it, vibrant green grass and tall, sturdy trees standing like sentinels around the inlet. He cranes his neck at the sky and feels like everything is worth it when he gets an unobstructed view of blue with a few fat clouds drifting languidly by.
It’s going to be beautiful at night.
He smiles to himself and then begins to unpack his telescope, pleasure rippling through his chest as he begins to look forward to that evening as the seconds tick by. He sets the equipment up on its tripod after finding a level patch of ground, and then stands back. Everything is so tranquil, the songs of nature gentle in the breeze that stirs the leaves on the trees and teases through his hair. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply of the air here that is clean and fulfilling, the pollution of the city no longer potent and heavy.
“Fucking fuck, how the fuck is that-”
Loud cursing interrupts Adam’s calm like a record coming to an abrupt, screeching halt. He opens his eyes and tilts his head in the direction the angry voice is coming from. The trees are many and thick at the tops, but through the trunks and the underbrush, he can vaguely see the campsite next to him. There’s a man flailing his hands in the air, and it’s him that the loudness is coming from. Without thinking, Adam lumbers into the trees and heads toward the stranger, noting very quickly that he’s having trouble setting up his tent.
He pushes through a bush with his mouth opened, intending to greet the man and offer his assistance, but instead he finds himself looking down the barrel of a shiny silver revolver.
“Uhm,” he manages, mouth opening and closing.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Adam,” the young man offers his name, filled with confusion.
The gun means danger, and that the man feels threatened. But the weapon would be more familiar in a robbing or a murder than a casual conversation, or in this case, a greeting gone awry. Adam is uncertain how to continue, so he closes his mouth and flicks his eyes along a muscular arm, broad shoulders, and a face that is equal parts handsome and terrifying. The man has long sandy-blonde hair and a tattoo on his neck. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up passed his forearms and the collar folded neatly.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Adams says matter-of-factly, and he doesn’t realize that he forgot to point to the tent until the man’s pale brow raises and his lip curls back in a silent snarl.
“I’m doing what fucking wrong?” the stranger waggles the gun in the air with a huff of breath.
“The tent. You’re doing it wrong.”
Silence falls over the clearing. The man’s campsite is in a disarray, the box that had once housed the tent thrown at some point and having landed on a branch, sticking up like a strange prosthetic limb. The back of a van is opened and parked much like Adam had done with his own car, only there’s chaos within. Plastic bags and bedding and what appears to be a cooler for drinks resides within, flipped on its side most likely by accident, liquid dripping onto the floor in the back. There’s a folding chair, one of the fabric ones, quite like Adam’s own, dark blue instead of his glaringly red one. It’s situated by the firepit, and there’s something smoking in there already -several somethings, it appears. Adam scrunches his nose when he spots the half a dozen cigarette butts littering the unlit pit.
“No fucking shit,” the man finally says. “Did you come over here just to fucking tell me that?”
“Yes,” Adam deadpans. “I also came to offer my assistance, however.”
“I don’t need your fucking help, kid.”
The man lowers the revolver finally, rolls his eyes heavenward, and tucks it into the waist of his jeans. It’s a relief to Adam, who had felt incredibly uncomfortable conversing with a gun pointed at him.
“I think you do, actually,” he continues. “I could hear you swearing from my campsite.”
“Could you now? My fucking apologies, then,” the stranger bows at the waist dramatically and then shakes his head. “Fucking hell. Just go away, I don’t need your help.”
“Oh. Okay, then,” Adam turns and takes a loud, cracking step back into the underbrush.
“Wait!”
Jumping, the young man looks back, eyes wide. The stranger is running a hand through his hair and sighing loudly, and he gestures flatly at the pile of poles that are haphazardly assembled.
“Alright, I need help. I don’t know a fucking thing about putting a tent together. I was just gonna fucking sleep in the back of the van if I couldn’t get it,” he confesses with a snort.
“That would defeat the purpose of camping,” Adam informs the other with his own brow raised now.
“No shit,” more flailing hand gestures follow the comment, and then the man turns away and starts fumbling in the back of his van with another curse when he notices the nearly upended cooler. “Fucking hell. Hey, you want a beer?”
“Oh, no thank you. I don’t like beer,” Adam looks over at the tent-to-be and realizes quickly that he won't be helping so much as doing the work himself.
It’s no matter, however. He marches over and begins to put it together, memory serving him much better than the rumpled paper instructions cast onto the ground. Within fifteen minutes he has it put together, a one-person forest green tent, and he steps back with his hands on his hips and a smile on his lips. Turning, he finds the stranger sitting, legs stretched in front of him and a can of beer resting in the cozy stitched into the armrest of the folding chair. He’s looking at Adam with both brows raised now and a smirk on his face.
“Sweet,” he says. “Thanks, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Adam points out. “You’re welcome, though.”
Adam blinks between the tent and the lounging man, and belatedly feels proud of himself. Not only did he socialize, but he also managed to help, and having just set up his own tent for the first time, he was thankful that he had the experience to have expedited the process here. However, as he stands there, conversation having faded into an awkward silence, he regrets it slightly because of the expression on the man’s face. He looks angry, but also not -his lips are still turned with distaste, and he furrow his brows as the seconds tick by and Adam remains standing there like a deer caught in headlights.
“You want something else?” the question is asked gruffly.
“Oh. No, I don’t, thank you. Goodbye.”
Without further comment, Adam trudges back into the trees, arriving at his own campsite. In the next several hours that pass, he manages to unfold his sleeping bag inside of the tent comfortably, fluffing up the pillow he had brought from home. It’s his favorite one with the star pattern on the pillowcase, inaccurate of course, as the stars are actually cartoon ones and adorned with cute smiling faces, but he loves it regardless. He remembers buying it on one of his first trips out of his new home (not including the daily adventure he took going to work at the Observatory!).
He smiles and smoothes his bedding once more, and then crawls out of the tent to begin unpacking his other supplies.
*.*.*.*
Night is falling when the sound of twigs snapping and loud expletives invades Adam’s solitude. He’s just got his fire started and his chair set out, as well his own cooler propped on the fold-out table next to it. There’s a bag of marshmallows by the cooler, and a metal roasting stick propped up and in reach.
“Fucking shit trees,” the familiar voice heralds the stranger’s arrival.
Adam looks up and finds he has to cover his mouth quickly. It’s rude to laugh at people, but the man looks so very angry at the branches poking him. He’s considerably taller than Adam himself, and his hair hasn’t faired very well in trek over, sticking on end in a few places. Dark eyes narrow over at Adam, who is standing near his fire, and the young man wonders if he’s failed to hide his amusement.
“Hi,” he greets. “What do you want?”
“What do I wa- fucking shit. Nothing, I don’t want anything,” the man throws his arms up in the air as if to make his point, before side-eyeing the fire.
“Why are you here?” Adam asks with honest curiosity, and is proud that he isn’t pointing a gun at the man in return for earlier -not that he even has one, but still.
“Uhm,” there’s a brief moment where the stranger glances between Adam, the blazing, warm fire, and the darkening sky. “Fire.”
“What about fire?” Adam asks.
“Can you help me start my fucking fire?”
“Oh, sure!”
Together they traverse through the trees once more, and arrive at the other’s campsite. Nothing has changed much, other than a few empty cans of beer decorating the ground. The firepit has a few more butts poking out of it, and as Adam observes this, the man lights another cigarette and plants it between his lips.
“Where’s your wood?” Adam inquires.
“What?”
“Wood. For the fire.”
Dawning realization falls over handsome, angular features.
“The campsite doesn’t come with any?” is the question that falls from the corner of the man’s mouth, ciggie poking out and remaining unlit for now.
“No. You have to purchase your own. You can use some of mine, though. I’ll be right back!”
Another two trips, and Adam returns with a few logs, lights a match, and nurses a fire into a smaller blaze than his own but still growing. He’d purchased plenty of firewood already, more than he’ll probably use. When he researched what to bring on his trip, he had doubled -or sometimes tripled- the amount of necessities, not wanting to be caught unawares or in need of assistance himself. Adam prides himself on being prepared.
“There you go!” he beams at the fire and then smiles at the man.
“Thanks, ki- I mean, thanks. Uh,” another wave of large hand. “Shit. What’s your fucking name again?”
“Adam,” the young man supplies without issue. “What’s yours?”
“Nigel,” the other grunts. “So yeah. Thanks a fucking lot.”
“You’re welcome, Nigel! Nice to meet, you by the way. Thank you for not pointing the gun at me again,” Adam’s smile widens.
“No...problem?” Nigel scratches the back of his neck, and then finally lights his cigarette.
“Bye!” Adam waves and then strolls away.
When he gets back to his campsite, he shuts the open trunk of his car where the rest of his food remains. He’s got a Coleman stove and plenty of fuel, and he also has an electric lantern, and he takes out the latter to set it nearby for when he needs it, new batteries ready to be put to use. He plops himself into the folding chair and smiles up at the sky, happiness bubbling over at the first few twinkles of stars. He’s now rather glad that he’s gone on this trip.
*.*.*.*
The flames undulate and reach around the marshmallow, roasting the tasty treat quickly, and Adam pulls the metal stick out of the fire and grins at the melting, burnt mass of sugar on the end of one of the prongs. He’s only ever had marshmallows in his hot chocolate, and only then once in a while, preferring his orange soda to anything else. But the videos he had watched on the internet, and the pictures he had seen on Google showed him happy people roasting marshmallows over an open fire, smiles big and and expectant. It’s a staple of camping, he knows. He’s also bought hot dogs to cook over the fire as well, although he’s not very hungry at the moment, anxiety slowly petering out of his system, stomach still a little tight at the new experience he is undertaking.
When he takes the first tentative nibble of the marshmallow after blowing the smoke away and giving it a moment to cool, Adam nearly purrs. It’s delicious! He doesn’t even care that it’s a messy endeavor, knowing that he can clean his fingers after. It’s the experience that counts, after all. He finishes the marshmallow quickly, and is reaching for another one when Nigel appears from a bush, brushing a few twigs off of his person and managing not to swear up and down the forest this time.
“Hello, Nigel,” Adam waves happily. “Do you need more help?”
“Ugh. No, I don’t need any fucking help,” Nigel grumbles.
He swears so much. But Adam is polite, and he has learned over time that a lot of people don’t like it when he points out things regarding their person. And furthermore, Nigel doesn’t sound exactly angry -well, he kind of sounds angry all the time, Adam amends inwardly; no, it seems that Nigel’s efficiency in swearing stems from habit instead. It’s another thing that Adam is proud of himself for having picked up, even if it had been belatedly.
“Okay. What do you want?” the young man asks.
“To say sorry? For pointing the gun at you and shit,” Nigel answers. “Uh. So yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Oh that’s fine. I realized when I got back that I probably scared you,” Adam comments.
“You didn’t fucking sc- Ergh,” Nigel raked his hands through his hair. “Yeah, okay. So like… you go camping often or what?”
“This is my first time,” Adam says proudly. “Do you want a marshmallow?”
“...yes?”
Adam tilts his head at Nigel and then offers him the roasting stick, unmelted marshmallow stuck on the end. The man stares at it and then shrugs before strolling over and grabbing it. He shoves the marshmallow into the flames and waits. Silence as another few minutes pass.
“You can take it out now,” Adam instructs, but it’s too late.
The marshmallow is charred into a crisp, and it crinkles off into the fire. Nigel grumbles loudly and then hands the roasting stick back to Adam, who’s already reaching for another fluffy treat.
“Try again!” he passes it back, and Nigel looks over at him, the flames climbing high, sparks and ashes trailing into the sky.
This time, Nigel is successful. He manages to burn himself on the cooked morsel, however, not waiting enough time or even blowing on it to cool it down. Eventually he takes a sticky bite and hums his approval, and Adam smiles at him.
“You can have more, if you’d like,” the young man offers.
Normally, Adam would be fine with working through the hurdles of socializing and not looking back. He craves solitude and he enjoys being alone more than he does much else. At home, he is content to remain indoors and read or research or watch his favorite shows. It’s different out here, though, and honestly, he’s starting to enjoy Nigel, gruffness and all. He doesn’t put any stock into silly things like fate or the like, of course, however he’s starting to think that perhaps he’s found an opportunity to make a friend that he wouldn’t have under other circumstances.
“Thanks, man,” Nigel mutters around a mouthful of marshmallow, and he swallows before continuing. “I’m gonna go grab my chair, though, okay? Standing sucks.”
“Of course,” Adam nods sagely.
Nigel returns and sets up his chair by the fire and Adam. As the night around them grows darker, the two men pass the roasting stick back and forth, enjoying a feast of cooked marshmallows and silence that is for the time no longer awkward. Adam stokes the fire with a large stick he’d acquired earlier, and then adds another log, before sitting back in his chair and reaching for the cooler. Within are several neat rows of his favorite brand of orange soda, and he twists the cap off one bottle after shaking the excess liquid onto the ground. He takes a long, grateful gulp, and swallows with a smile.
“So you really haven’t gone camping before?” Nigel asks just then.
“Why would I lie about that?” Adam tilts his head once more in curiosity.
“I don’t fucking know. You just seem… so prepared. And shit,” Nigel wiggles long fingers in the air, gesturing at Adam’s tidy campsite.
“It’s very important to be prepared in a new situation,” the young man remarks. “Of course there will always be unknown variables that can potentially cause issues. That’s just life, though.”
“Yeah, fucking life. Uh. So you have a telescope?” Nigel is looking over at the device propped up on its tripod.
“Yes. I came out here specifically to see the stars. The amount of pollution in the city renders most of the sky inaccessible,” Adam explains. “It’s pointless trying to see stars there.”
“City boy, huh?”
“I’m not a boy,” the young man frowns. “I’m thirty-four, actually.”
“It’s just a fuckin- Blegh. Nevermind.”
They lapse into silence once more, Nigel frowning into the fire. Adam is fine with the quiet, and he sips his soda contentedly. Crickets are chirping in the underbrush, and a breeze dances through the air, stirring the smoke rising from the firepit. The bag of marshmallows is mostly empty now, and Adam reaches into it and retrieves a few of them. He pops one into his mouth unroasted and makes a soft sound of delight, deciding that so far, it’s his favorite part of camping -well, other than the stars, of course.
Adam leans back in his chair and marvels at the expanse of sky and the blanket of stars winking down at him. It’s truly a perfect night.
“I’m gonna go to fucking bed,” Nigel says loudly. “Thanks for the… stuff. Was nice hanging out.”
“You’re welcome, Nigel,” Adam smiles brightly. “Goodnight!”
“Same to you,” the man gruffly replies, and he collapses his chair and disappears back into the trees.
Adam finishes off the marshmallows gladly. The fire is still crackling strong when he makes certain the cooler is shut, before setting it on the ground near his tent. He sets the roasting stick across the arms of his chair, drags it a few paces away from the fire, and then decides to turn in for the night. He can make use of his telescope tomorrow night -he has more than enough time, having taken the week off from work for his trip. Retrieving the lantern, he unzips his tent and crawls inside, wiggles his shoes off of his feet, and then seals the flap shut behind. In time, he’s snuggled up in his sleeping bag, a book open and held close to his face, and he reads in the light of the lantern sitting close by.
All in all, his trip has been a success so far. Adam falls asleep that night looking forward to the next day, and he wonders absently if Nigel will join him again. He likes the man, to be honest, copious swearing and not-angry-angriness and all.
There’s a smile on the young man’s face when he drifts off and dreams about the stars above.