Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So, maybe he should have checked the weather a bit more thoroughly before deciding this was the weekend. Shoulda put a bit more effort into some basic research before getting all packed up and driving three plus hours into the mountains only to be immediately rained out.

It was getting a bit ridiculous. It had started raining just a few hours after he’d arrived, after he’d gotten all set up. That was two days ago, and the sky showed no sign of letting up, of giving Goondis a hint of a break. He’d slept in his car both nights, as there was no way he’d be able to sleep in the shaking and noisy tent, listening to the wind howl and rattle him to his core.

He was in the tent now, out of spite (to himself? To nature?) and just about ready to give up. Throw himself to the rain and dismantle all his camping gear as quickly as possible, shoving them into the trunk of his car and taking off down the mountain. Camping was stupid.

Lightening cracked and thunder illuminated the sky, and yeah, okay, yeah it was time to leave, fuck that noise.

As Goondis escaped the tent and stumbled out into the rain, the afternoon sky was far darker than he’d imagined. Great. Even better. As he goes through dragging his ice chest towards his car, he takes note of the RV parked in the campsite next to him. He grates his teeth as he catches a glance of the RV’s owner through the window. Whatever, Goondis didn’t have time to mope about how some people had RVs while he was left with a shitty tent he’d bought from Goodwill. He had to get off this stupid mountain.

Dismantling the tent in the rain is a bit harder than setting it up in the sun. He futzes around with the sticks and the canvas and goddamn he hates this, this is the worst. He throws one of the sticks at the tent and it does nothing to help the situation.

There’s an (unfamiliar) sound of the RV’s door opening, and when Goondis looks up, the man he’d seen through the window is there, a look of concern plastered over his face.

“Hey.” He shouts, over the wind and rain. “Would you, uh… would you like to come inside for a little bit? Get out of the rain?” He asks, and Goondis stares at him, rain washing down his face. He would. He would like that greatly. He hesitates for a long moment, glancing at the partially dismantled tent. He’d have to throw a rock on it or something to make sure it didn’t blow away. He glances back to the man in the motorhome.

“Yes,” he says, pulling his aviator hat further down on his head, “thank you, give me one second.” And then he’s rooting around the forest floor, looking for a decent sized rock or anything heavy enough to keep the tent from flying away.

(He settles for pulling his cooler back out of his car and dropping it on top  of the mess of canvas, and then he’s practically running towards the RV.)

The man steps aside when Goondis reaches the steps, holding the door open for him as he enters the RV. It’s warm, and inviting, and Goondis is dripping wet. He stays in the entry way, letting the door close behind him.

“Here,” the man says, holding out his hand, “let me take your jacket, you must be soaked.”

Cautiously, Goondis removes his sopping jacket, scowling a little as it drips over the floor when he hands it off. The man doesn’t seem to mind, and simply disappears into the RV.

He returns a moment later, holding a pile of blankets and some clean (dry!) clothes. “I just hung your jacket up in the bathroom.” He says, placing the stack down onto the little kitchen table. “I’m Mike, by  the way.”

“Goondis,” he says, “Ernesto Goondis.”

Mike smiles, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Well, Ernesto, I don’t know if you’d like to change into something a little more… dry, but in case you do, I’ve brought some clothes you could change into…”

Mike was a bit bigger than he was, Goondis notes, so he assumed whatever he brought out would fit. And now that he was inside, he was freezing, soaked to the bone.

“Yes, I’d, uh, I’d like that.” He says, and Mike gestures to the pile of clothes and blanket.

Goondis takes the shirt and pajama pants offered to him, and follows Mike’s directions to the bathroom. (“The only door on the left.”)

The bathroom is small, just a shower, a toilet, and a sink, but it’s an RV, so Goondis wasn’t really expecting much else. He notes his jacket, hanging from the shower rod, and works on changing into the oversized pajamas. He hangs his pants and shirt besides his jacket, staring into the small mirror for a long moment before taking his hat off his head and tossing it over the shower rod with the rest of his clothes. His hair is wild from the hat and greasy from lack of bathing, and he turns on the sink faucet, maneuvering his head under the stream. Sure, he’s cold, but that doesn’t excuse looking feral in front of a person offering him dry clothes and a warm place to sit.

When he returns to the little kitchen area, Mike is standing at the stove, heating up a pot of… something. Goondis takes a seat at the kitchen table, staring at the pile of blankets before him. He hesitantly takes one from the stack, draping it around his shoulders.

Mike grabs two mugs from the cupboard, setting them down beside the stovetop. He fills each with the contents from the pot, and brings them both over to the table. He sets one in front of Goondis and keeps the other for himself, taking a seat across from him.

Goondis takes the cup, noting the hot chocolate inside. It’s warm, and just holding it is enough help the feeling come back into his hands.

“So,” Mike says, “what made you decide to go out camping in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

In lieu of answering, Goondis takes a long sip of the hot chocolate. His face feels warm.

“Seems I forgot to check the weather forecast.” He says, earnestly, and Mike huffs a laugh.

“Really now?” He says. “That’s unfortunate.”

Goondis pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, trying his hardest to stop himself from pouting. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t pout. “And what’s your excuse, then? You’re out here camping too!”

Mike laughs and takes a sip of hot chocolate. “Sure, but I’m in a motorhome, and you’re in a tent. One of these is better suited for the rainy-day camping.”

Goondis huffs, sinking down in the seat. Mike smiles, shaking his head.

The conversation goes quiet after a few moments, both content to sit and drink hot chocolate and watch the rain pour down outside.

Slowly, Mike lowers his mug, glancing back to Goondis. He clears his throat.

“Now, you were trying to get ready to leave, right?” He asks. Goondis nods his head. Mike nods back. “Right,” he says, “well, just an offer, but you can stay here, in the Minestrone, with me until the weather turns, if you want?” He says, a bit uncomfortably. Goondis’s eyes go wide, and he considers it.

“I think,” he says, trying to ignore the warmth he feels in his face, “I think I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

The rain continues only until the next day, but as Mike and Goondis step out onto the outside world, something tells Goondis to stay, stay just a little longer.

That something comes from both inside him and beside him, as Mike slips on the slick pavement. Goondis reaches out and catches him by the arm, preventing him from falling onto the hard ground.

“Whoa there.” he says, giving him a concerned smile. “You alright?”

Mike’s staring up at him with wide eyes, and Goondis briefly praises himself for going to the gym as often as he does, because holy shit this dude is, despite being at least a half a foot taller than him, precious and needs to be protected.

“I think the road’s a bit slippery.” He says, after carefully hauling himself to his feet.

“I think you’re right.” Goondis says, bumping against Mike’s shoulder.

“Bad for driving.” Mike says, and they both glance at Goondis’s old, shitty car, with its terrible traction and poor steering. Great driver regardless, a poor environment really fucks you over.

“I agree.” Goondis nods.

There’s a lull in the conversation. Mike clears his throat.

“Would you like to stay another night with me?” He asks.

Another long pause. Mike pulls at the collar of his shirt. Goondis nods his head.

“I would like that.” He says.

The decision is made to stay another night, but Mike and Goondis set off on throwing all of Goondis’s unneeded things into the back of his car. Pack up the cooler, pack up the tent, store them away not to be seen until he gets home.

When they return to the Minestrone (“Why would you name your RV that?” Goondis had asked. Mike shifted, awkwardly. “I mean,” He said, “my name is Mike Soup.” and that’s fair enough for Goondis,) they take a seat at the kitchen table, breaking out a chess board and playing a handful of rounds. They’re evenly matched, both winning and losing in pretty equal amounts. It’s infuriating and they end up keeping score on a napkin.

After their last game of chess leaves them in a tie, Mike stands, proclaiming that it’s time to make dinner. That’s fine by Goondis.

Dinner is vegetarian hamburgers (something Goondis was very pleased to find out about Mike,) and potatoes, and Goondis is perfectly content to sit outside on plastic lawn chairs, the smell of rain and wet grass washing over him.

It’s nice. It’s the nicest Goondis has felt in a long while, with Mike telling him a story beside him, and the soft light from the cloudy skies. This was the reason he had wanted to disappear into the mountains for a few days in the first place. This feeling was what he wanted.

 Mike says something funny, and then Goondis is choking on a forkful of potatoes. It’s a long minute before he regains himself.

“Holy shit, dude.” He says, breathing hard, and Mike’s hand is warm and heavy on his back. He’s smiling, but the concern is written across his face.

“You alright, Ernie?” Mike asks, patting his back. Goondis hacks once more, and he really wishes his hat was dry by now, because he’d really like to pull it down far, far over him and disappear in it.

“Peachy.” He coughs, and Mike smiles, shaking his head.

When they turn in for the night, it’s nice, relaxed. Goondis sits at the kitchen table, doodling on a napkin. Mike is on the couch, reading a book. Occasionally, the two look up and smile at each other.

As the night grows deeper, Mike dog ears the page in his book and stands.

“I think I’m going to hit the hay.” He says. Goondis nods his head.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Goondis says, and Mike nods.

They stand awkwardly across from each other, just staring at each other. Slowly, Mike moves to disappear, back into the ‘bedroom’ portion of the RV.

“Sweet dreams!” Goondis calls, and he hears Mike huff a laugh.

“Sweet dreams.” Mike calls back.

Goondis sinks into the upholstery of the seat.

When the next day comes, neither rush into Goondis’s departure.

It’s the opposite, in fact.

“You can’t leave yet, you need breakfast.” Mike says.

“That’s fair.” Goondis nods.

Breakfast is cereal with no milk, and some fruit.

They spend the late morning exploring around the campgrounds. There’s hardly anyone up there besides the two of them, given the rainy season. It takes approximately ten minutes for Goondis to climb up a tree (and subsequently almost fall out of said tree,) and Mike watches him from the ground, an amused look on his face.

“Come join me,” he calls.

“I don’t think I’m meant for tree climbing.” Mike says. “And I don’t think that tree is meant for anything heavier than you, Ernie.”

Goondis boos him. He boos him dedicatedly and again nearly falls out of the tree. Mike laughs, biting down a smile.

When the afternoon comes, it’s the same excuse not to leave yet.

“You should have some lunch before you go.” He says, and once more, Goondis agrees.

(Lunch is macaroni and cheese and more potatoes.)

After their meal, they stand awkwardly beside each other once more. Goondis rubs his neck.

“I should really be takin’ off, now.” He says. It’s a long drive and he does actually need to get home, since today is the last day his pet sitter will be coming over to take care of his cat. No cell reception is a bitch.

“Yeah.” Mike says.

Neither make a move. Just continue to stand there uncomfortably.

Mike opens his mouth to speak, but stops, shoulders deflating. Goondis frowns.

“Wait,” he says, and rushes over to the kitchen table, grabbing a clean napkin and a pen. He writes something down, then hands it off to Mike. “Here.” He says. His face feels hot.

On the napkin is seven numbers. His seven numbers, specifically.

“Uh, call me, when you… get off the mountain.”

Mike’s eyes go wide as he looks between the napkin and Goondis. He smiles shyly, nodding his head. “Will do.”

Goondis grins.

They say their goodbyes in the late afternoon, and in the rearview mirror Goondis continuously glances back at Mike and the Minestrone until he’s far out of sight.

The drive home is filled with a strange variety of music from the radio and a far too loud quiet where Goondis is left alone with his thoughts. There’s also a bit of yelling and talking to himself mixed in, but that’s normal for him.

Finally, when he’s only a few blocks from his house, sitting at a stoplight, he pulls out his phone and dials a familiar number, putting the phone on speaker.

It rings twice, and finally she picks up.

But it’s not her voice.

“Maizey’s phone, this is Gebra speaking.” Her wife says, and Goondis smacks his head on the steering wheel.

“Gebraaa…” Goondis groans. Gebra is great! He loves Gebra! However! Of the two, he’d prefer to talk to Maizey about his feelings. “Is Maizey there?”

He can hear her huff a laugh. “She’s asleep right now, and I don’t think you want me to wake her up.”

“You’re correct.” Maizey was a good friend, who cared deeply about the people she loves, but she also deeply valued free time and sleeping and wouldn’t hesitate to yell at you if you woke her up.

“Do you want me to leave a message for you?” Gebra asks, because of course.

Goondis sighs. “No, don’t bother.” He says. “It won’t translate well. She needs to hear my problems from my mouth and not from yours.”

He hears Gebra laugh away from the phone.

“What’s the problem of the day, Goondis?” She asks, and he huffs. But immediately he gives.

“I met a hot guy while camping and now I’m in love with him, but what if he doesn’t call me, Gebra I’m extremely stressed over this.” He pulls into the parking structure of his apartment complex.

“I’m sure he’ll call you.” Gebra says, calmly. “I mean, you did give him your number, right?”

“I did!” He scoffs as he parks the car. He glances down at his lap. He makes a noise. “Gebra I’m still wearing his shirt, I forgot, holy shit-“

“Alright! Calm down!” She’s holding back little snickers and laughter, and once more he smacks his head against the steering wheel.

“I stole his shirt.”

“That’s just an excuse to see him again.”

“I don’t have his number, though.” He whines.

“Patience, then.”

He sighs. There’s a lull in the conversation and Goondis takes this time to leave the car, abandoning all his shit in the trunk to retrieve later, and begins his trek up to his apartment on the third floor.

“Do you want me to tell Maizey to call you when she wakes up?” Gebra asks politely, and Goondis sighs once more.

“Please.” He says. He can hear her smile.

“Will do.” She says. “Oh! Also, Maizey says your cat loves her more now.”

“What?” Goondis shouts. “I paid you guys to feed my cat, not to steal him from me!”

There’s more laughter from the other end, and then the call clicks, and he’s left alone with himself.

By the time he gets to his front door, he’s got his keys out and immediately slumps against the door as he shoves the key in the slot.

As soon as the door is open, he can hear his cat meowing loudly and zipping around the apartment.

“Smeech!” He calls, and the cat runs into his line of sight. The cat stops dead in his tracks, staring at his owner for a few moments before setting off into a set of meows and mrrs and mrahs. He shuts the door and sits down on the floor, and Smeech is immediately crawling on top of him.

Two hours later, he’s only made one trip down to the car to grab his backpack, and has instead just settled for resting on the couch with Smeech happily sat on his chest.

Maizey calls him fifteen minutes after, calls him a sadsack only once, tells him life will be okay, and he has a new shirt now. That’s all fine and good. And he has to agree.

As his life falls back into normality, he lets Mike Soup and the Minestrone fall to the back of his mind, but it’s ever present. He has a crush and he’s fucked over it, you can’t let that go completely.

At the end of the week, he gets a call from a cute man with a soup themed RV, and he’s over the moon.