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It's buggier than he thought, to say the least. And sweatier. And louder.
When Dan had brought up the idea of camping for the weekend, the images that had come to Phil's mind were, honestly, not this. He'd had visions of dipping into a tranquil creek miles from civilization, roasting burgers on a travel grill that neither of them owned, maybe befriending a fox or two. He hadn't imagined a campsite with no fewer than 5 other groups of friends and families, cars passing by the campsite as if this were just some neighbourhood side street rather than the middle of the woods. Nor had he imagined the way that the bugs simply would not care whether or not he was wearing bug spray; they were gonna harass him either way. And the heat. The heat—it was July and Phil couldn't sit in air conditioning without sweating.
He hadn't been able to account for Dan's mood swings, either. They'd planned this trip in April, when their friendship was still new but strong, when they could play Halo together for an hour without Dan making some cutting remark to Phil and then apologizing for the next week. Dan seems fine now, happy to carry the majority of their luggage to the campsite they reserved while Phil chats at him aimlessly, but nowadays Phil feels like Dan's a ticking bomb, and Phil's just hoping he can take cover before Dan goes off.
When they reach their plot, Dan tosses their luggage off his back and arms with a dramatic grunt. Not all their luggage, to be sure—Phil had carried his own backpack, thank you very much. He pulled his weight. Dan hadn't complained about the division of labour, at least. But now Dan's digging out their tent, and Phil figures he should at least try to stand around and look pretty while his friend sets up the tent.
Dan stands up from where he'd been rummaging through a duffle bag, hunches over the instructions in his hands, and glances over them for approximately ten seconds before tossing them aside and telling Phil he'd pitched a tent before, when he and his dad had gone camping. No fewer than fifteen years ago, Phil notices he doesn't add.
Phil bends down to the duffle back and pulls something out. It looks like a black metal rod. Probably because it is one. Phil puts it back in the bag, feeling satisfied with his efforts for this task. "If you need help," Phil pipes up. He doesn't finish the sentence, realizes after it's begun to leave his mouth that he doesn't want to offer a hand with all these metal poles and stakes. Doesn't seem like a Phil-grade task. Dan laughs at Phil's aborted sentence, the sound amplified by the expansiveness of the outdoors. It's a fantastic sound, Phil thinks.
Phil lowers himself onto the ground, sufficiently away from where Dan has begun laying down some sort of tarp, and sits with his knees pulled up to his chest. Dan pulls out another tarp looking thing, and Phil really thought this was just going to be a "grab the tent out of the bag and voila" sort of thing.
Looking around their campsite, Phil can see it's pretty much empty apart from a small grill and picnic table. He can hear the family at the next plot over more than he can see them through the trees, but they can't be more than thirty feet away. Phil kicks a pebble next to his foot lightly as Dan starts putting those metal rods together, making some sort of giant mega rod. It looks like it would make a horrible weapon to fight off wildlife. Phil hopes Dan brought, like, pepper spray or something. There's probably ghosts out here. Dan turns to Phil with a dramatic expression, points the pole at Phil, and announces, "En garde!"
"Shut up," Phil says. They both laugh.
Dan crouches down and puts the pole into one of the tarps, and apparently that tarp was the tent, actually, because now it's standing up a bit and looks more tent-like. He gets up, rounds the tent, and inserts another pole—nice—and, yep, that's a tent. Great job, Dan.
Dan backs up and goes back to the duffle bag, and Phil gets up from his place on the ground and heads over to the tent. It's red, with mesh panelling all around and a big zippered door on the front. It's a little wonky, a bit uneven, but it'll protect Phil from ghosts or whatever, and that's all he cares about really. The red will be pretty easy to see through the forest that surrounds their plot on all sides, though, and Phil isn't sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, it would be nice to be able to hide from murderers and crime-doers that might be lurking nearby. On the other hand, if Phil doesn't have a giant neon sign pointing to their tent, he's pretty sure he's gonna get lost in the forest forever and have to live off stone soup. Phil starts to unzip the door to the tent, fancying a bit of a rest before they set out for hiking and the like.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dan says, pointing an accusatory finger at Phil. "That's not very tent safety of you. You're gonna blow away."
"I'll be Mary Poppins," Phil jokes, zipping the tent back up and stepping back. It looked pretty safe to Phil, but maybe Dan needs to, like, exorcize the demons or something first.
"Here, help me peg this thing," Dan says, handing Phil two small black stakes.
Phil blows air out his nose. "I'll show you pegging this thing."
"God, I really hope you don't," Dan replies, a poorly held back smile on his face.
They crouch down next to one of the corners of the tent, and Dan shows Phil how to hammer the stake so that the tent is secure. Dan does another corner, and Phil puts stakes in the remaining two, but they both agree that Dan should handle the hammer.
Finally, it seems the tent is set up, and they're ready to go.
"I'm ready for a nap," Phil says, and Dan just looks at him with a fake disbelieving expression.
"You put two whole stakes in the ground."
"Yeah, that's more of a tent than I've ever built!"
Dan breaks, and a smile cracks across his face. "That tent could have murdered me, you know, I hope you know the Heimlich."
Phil's not sure why he'd have to be blowing air into Dan's lungs from just building a tent, but hey, Phil isn't one to look a gift Dan's lips in the mouth. Or—he is? He'd be amenable to doing things to Dan's lips, that is. Or.
"Buck up, buddy" Dan says, fighting back a laugh and hitting Phil playfully on the shoulder. "Don't you want to go hike 20 kilometres?" he teases. Phil lets out a dramatic sigh.
———
Dan had been joking about the 20 kilometres, but it seemed Phil wasn't getting out of this trip without a bit of hiking. Their campsite was a short walk off the main dirt road of the park, which led into five or six different hiking trails. Dan had been meticulous in planning this trip, it seems. When they reached the main road, he'd whipped out a manila folder full of maps, timetables, TripAdvisor listings, you name it. It wasn't much of a surprise to Phil, having been on trips with Dan before and knowing his tendency for anxious overplanning. He appreciated it, to an extent. It was nice to not have to plan anything himself or worry about getting (too) lost. But sometimes, sometimes Phil just wanted to sit. He'd had a look at those timetables, and it didn't seem Dan had accounted for sitting time. Phil had some derailing to do.
They've been on the red trail for about twenty minutes. It's a gorgeous thing, being out here and just listening to the sounds of nature. It's not something either of them get much of in London, and Phil can tell how much Dan's enjoying himself. He's having a fantastic time, too, getting a bit of fresh air in his lungs and some sun on his aggressively-protected skin. They had had to go to three different stores to find SPF 100, and Phil still knows he's gonna burn.
As they walk, sun filters through the branches of the trees, lighting the trail ahead of them in stripes and patterns. There are sounds of wildlife everywhere—the chirping of birds, the buzzing of insects, even the occasional fox call. The further they get, the more pronounced the sound of running water becomes, and Phil wonders for a bit if it's just his subconscious mocking him for having to pee with no bathroom in sight. The trail curves as they walk, though, and it begins to run parallel with a little river.
The trail continues alongside the river as it slopes down, shockingly steep, and they fight their way through a patch of the path with heavy greenery. As the terrain begins to even out again, the sound of roaring water approaches, and Phil squints through the trees to see the river cascading down into a small waterfall. It sparks some sort of childhood glee in him, and he can't stop himself from tugging on Dan's sleeve to his right and pointing out the water.
"Oh yeah, I saw that on the map!" Dan says, as if he'd managed to forget something as exciting as a waterfall on this trail. "Thought you might like it."
Phil liked it. "It goes into a little lake, it looks like," Phil says, pointing a little further along to the base of the waterfall. "Oh my god." Phil can't remember if he'd ever seen a natural waterfall before, especially one this pretty, surrounded by mossy rocks and native flora. Even if he had, it doesn't make the sight any less exciting. The lake itself isn't too big, more like a glorified pond, but it looks pretty deep. "I didn't even pack a swim suit."
"Who says you need a swim suit?" Dan says, a giddy look on his face as they pass through the thickest part of the trail and into an opening that connects them with the water. "Race you," he adds, and before Phil gets the chance to register what he means, Dan is pulling his Nike mesh top over his head and stepping out of his black runners shorts.
The sight of Dan undressing down to his grey briefs right in front of Phil in the fading daylight short circuits his brain, for a moment. But then, Dan is letting out a whoop and running towards the edge, and then he's jumping off a rock into the lake. The splash is huge, stray water droplets getting Phil where he stands a full five metres away from the water's edge on the trail. Dan's head bobs up to the surface. His hair is slicked back, straightened by the weight of the water, and there's one of the most gorgeous smiles Phil's ever seen on his face. He needs no more convincing to get him out of his clothes. He toes off his sneakers and rips off his socks.
Phil purposefully ignores Dan splashing about in the water as he undresses. He abandons his light blue tank and grey shorts next to Dan's mess of black clothes on the edge of the water. If he'd known they'd be getting naked in front of each other, he wouldn't have worn Dragon Ball Z briefs. But he did, and as he looks out to where Dan is, he just catches the top of Dan's head as he heads back underwater.
Phil steps up onto the rock Dan had used as a diving board. Its surface is wet but smooth, and the rock feels cool under his toes. It reminds him of his childhood, not a specific memory but rather the feeling of taking on the world barefoot, of messing about in the water with his friends. He backs up, takes one, two, three steps before he's jumping into the lake, landing centimetres away from Dan.
Dan surfaces as Phil does, both men sputtering out water. They wear matching smiles and messy hair. It feels like a movie, something out of a cheesy coming of age flick Dan would've secretly loved, as they stare at each other breathless and giddy. Dan splashes Phil in lieu of words, and Phil would have to be cruel to not retaliate.
They stand in the chest-deep water, splashing each other back and forth, attempting to dodge each other's attacks, and letting out the occasional boyish yelp. Phil works his way into Dan's space, and as Dan attempts to splash him away, Phil leaps up and dunks Dan underwater. Dan comes back up gasping and laughing, and he yells his surrender.
"Okay, okay, you win," Dan says through his laughter.
He's so gorgeous like this, the fading early evening summer sun on his skin, freckles dotting his cheeks, hair a mess, breathless. Phil can't help himself as his eyes trail down his friend's neck and down to his chest, drinking up every exposed inch of him that rises above the water. Dan's breath quickens visibly.
Phil snaps his eyes back up to Dan's, and there's a blush there that hadn't been when he'd looked ten seconds ago. Phil wants to blush himself, having been caught out ogling Dan's wet skin, but he can't find the energy to care.
Dan gives Phil a small smile, and Phil swears he sees Dan's eyes flick down to his own chest for a moment, but it's getting dark.
"Hiking was fun today," Phil offers, needing to cut the tension that snuck up on them so quickly.
Dan doesn't respond immediately, looking almost caught off-guard by Phil's statement. "Yeah. Yeah, it was," he says finally, turning to swim away from Phil.
"I can see why you like this stuff," Phil calls to the back of Dan's head.
Dan doesn't turn around, but Phil can still hear his reply. "I mean, it's pretty weird that you don't." His tone is bitchy, strangely argumentative, and Phil can't tell why Dan so abruptly turned on the defensive. Suddenly Phil just wants to go back to their camp, to get on some dry clothes and go to sleep.
"Hey, it's getting dark," Phil says, and it's not just an excuse to leave, but it is a welcome coincidence. They had intentionally set out later in the day, hoping to avoid the worst of the sun and the heat. But now the sun's set, darkness surprising them as it so often does in the summer months. Dan agrees, says they should head back before it's pitch black.
———
The walk back had been mostly silent, an odd tension of the other kind replacing the previously sensual unease. By the time they get back to their tent, it's fully dark, and they've both whipped out the flashlights they'd brought. Phil isn't sure of their food situation, but Dan had assured him he was on top of it, as he was with most things on this trip. All Phil knew was that he was starving by now.
Phil heads into the tent to rummage through their stuff and acquire the lanterns and citronella they'd brought. Dan follows shortly behind him, crowding the small tent as he crouches down to grab ingredients from the cooler he'd packed. Phil can't quite squeeze out of the tent while Dan's in his way, so he just stands hunched over, arms full of lanterns and citronella torches, and watches the arch of Dan's spine as he digs through the cooler.
Dan makes a noise of relief, pulls out what looks to be a bag of sweet peppers, and they both vacate the tent. Phil sets out to scatter the lit lanterns and citronella around their small site, lighting up the area so they can navigate without stubbing their toes or stepping on small creatures. By the time he's finished, Dan seems to have gotten the grill—a permanent one provided by the park—lit with a small pot and the peppers on it. Phil heads over and stands on the opposite side of the grill, watching as Dan absentmindedly prods the peppers and stirs the rice in the pot.
"Mmm," Phil moans. "Chef Daniel."
Dan laughs, his bitter mood from earlier seemingly having melted a bit. "I'm hardly a chef, it's just peppers and rice," he says dismissively, but he's got a smile on his face and the glow of the lanterns light the edges of his hair like a halo, like the handsomest cherub Phil's ever seen.
"You could be cooking spam right now and I'd be ravenous for it." Right on time, Phil's stomach growls.
"Watch it, I'll call your bluff."
Phil snorts and heads over to the picnic table, waiting to be served. There's a little pebble stuck between the grates on the table, and Phil fiddles with it absentmindedly. He can hardly see his hands, even with the lanterns all lit, and it spooks him a bit. Who knows what's out there, watching him. Bigfoot, probably. He gets up and heads back over to Dan.
"Should I grab drinks?" Phil asks, needing a task to do so he doesn't think about all the things lurking in the woods.
"Yeah, plates too. Drinks should be in the cooler and plates in the duffle. Get me a beer," Dan says, still focused on prodding his food. "Please," he adds after a beat.
"Righto."
Phil ducks into the tent and crouches in front of their luggage. He grabs a can of the nasty beer Dan had packed and a can of Pimm's for himself. Then he grabs their plates and forks, the plates made from some sort of plastic with a horrific texture, but it's all they've got. This must be roughing it.
Phil heads back out and sets the table with their things, and by the time he's done, Dan is thankfully heading over with their peppers and rice.
Dan portions out a bit onto each of their plates, and Phil scarfs down every last grain of rice as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. Dinner is mostly silent, both because neither of them can stop shoving food in their mouths and because the air is still a bit soiled by Dan's foul mood earlier. By the time they've finished eating, Phil's hunger has been satiated, leaving him more aware of just how exhausted and sweaty he is. There's no way he'd be able to brave the public showers in the pitch black, so showering will have to wait until morning for the both of them.
Sleep, now, is all that's on Phil's mind. Dan's, too, if his slouch and droopy eyes are anything to go by. They'd already changed into pyjamas upon returning from their hike and swim, and they make haste in brushing their teeth with water they'd stored, splashing the excess over their faces.
"I'll set up the sleeping bags," Dan says in a sleepy voice once he's finished getting ready for bed, leaving Phil to finish trying to wash off the sweat from his forehead.
Phil pours the last of the water jug over his face and lets the excess drip onto the grass, hunching over so as to not wet his fresh clothes.
"Hey, Phil," Dan calls, sounding a bit more roused than before. "You, uh, love me right?"
Phil whips around, taken aback by the odd question. There's a clear look of guilt on Dan's face. "What did you do," Phil deadpans.
"So I bought us each a sleeping bag," Dan starts. "I got you a really nice blue one, it's supposed to be great at keeping you warm at night."
"What did you do," Phil repeats.
"Forgot yours."
Phil's mouth drops open, and he's not really sure what to say. As far as he's aware, they hadn't packed extra blankets, and despite the heat of the day, the night grows cooler with every passing minute. He'll be freezing in his shorts and t shirt, and there's no way Phil is sleeping on the ground, only a thin tent and tarp between him and the dirt.
"You... forgot my sleeping bag."
"Listen, I had about a billion other things to keep track of, so it's honestly a miracle this is the only thing I fucked up."
"Where am I gonna sleep, then?"
Dan thinks for a minute. "You can have mine," he offers. "I'll sleep on the ground." He's trying hard to hide it, but it's obvious the idea is as repulsive to Dan as it was to Phil.
"How big are they?" Phil asks. He walks toward the tent where Dan is, and Dan grabs the single sleeping bag from inside.
"Fairly big," Dan says, rolling out the sleeping bag and holding it up so they can both get a look at it.
Phil stares at the sleeping back. It's pretty big, he has to admit. They could certainly squeeze in. Maybe it's because Phil feels bad for having made Dan do the majority of the work in planning and packing, maybe it's because Phil doesn't hate the idea of cuddling up next to Dan even though he's been a dick, but the next words out of his mouth are, "Let's just share."
Dan squints at him, seems to be confused by the offer for a moment. "Yeah, sure." His easy agreement shocks Phil a bit. He hadn't expected Dan to acquiesce without a fight. But maybe Dan's just as exhausted as Phil is, no energy left to protest.
They both squeeze into the tent, and Dan lays out the sleeping bag. Honestly, Phil isn't sure this thing could have fit two sleeping bags anyway. The soft green sleeping bag reaches to nearly every corner of the tent, leaving just enough room for their luggage in the front corner.
Phil gets in first, and Dan squeezes in next to him. It's big enough for them both, but only just, and Phil's entire left side is pressed right up against all of Dan's right side as they stretch the fabric of the sleeping bag to its limit. They might be able to get a bit more room if they turned on their sides, but Phil is pretty sure neither of them want to spend the night staring into each other's eyes or spooning. So Phil just closes his eyes, folds his arms over his chest, and tries to fall asleep.
Phil assumes this is a strictly professional operation, a get-in-go-to-sleep-and-get-out sort of thing, so it takes him by surprise when Dan starts to speak. What he says surpises him even more.
"Sorry I've been a bit of a dick lately."
Phil's eyes snap open and he stares up into the darkness of the tent. It's the sort of thing that should be accompanied by an explanation, but it doesn't come. So Phil prods. "I don't understand what I did."
Dan swallows, and Phil can feel him shift a bit. "You didn't do anything." There's still no explanation, so Phil waits. "I... find it hard to be, uh, emotionally open around people." It's something Phil knows already, but not something he expected to hear from Dan's own mouth. "Especially you, and I don't know why."
Part of Phil wants to be sick, tells him it's because Dan knows he's gay and it makes him uncomfortable, but they've been friends long enough that Phil knows that's not the truth. But it's something important, clearly, and Phil doesn't want this friendship to continue with Dan as uncomfortable as he says he is.
"Oh," Phil says, hoping some sort of appropriate response will come to mind. But what do you say to that? It's okay, I'm fine that you're uncomfortable around me. Is it the homophobia? Maybe I can stop being so thoroughly myself, maybe that'll help. Phil knows Dan doesn't mean it offensively, but it makes him feel a bit insecure anyway, a bit guilty.
"It's not your fault," Dan says, as if Phil had said that last part aloud. "It's mine. And I kind of do know why, if I'm being honest with myself." The admission hangs there in the dark, dangles over their bodies pressed together.
"Oh?" Phil says again, entirely unsure of how he's meant to be responding here. His heart is racing, and he wishes he could see Dan's face right now, but its pitch black and even if Phil turned his head anyway they'd almost be kissing.
He feels Dan's body go rigid. Then he hears him swallow. "I," he says. "I'm gay, Phil."
And Phil's breath leaves his body, along with his soul and his brain. He can't even force out another "oh".
"I can't even assure you that I don't secretly have a crush on you," Dan whispers, sounding nearly choked up. "'Cause I do."
And that, it doesn't just hang there in the dark. It fills the space, lights the tent on fire, and breaks Phil's brain completely. He's acutely aware of every place they're touching, from shoulders to ankles, and his body is in flames.
And if Phil's on fire, he doesn't know what that makes Dan, because his skin is hot where it touches Phil, and the silence has been going on too long, and Phil really needs to respond.
"Phil?" Dan says, sounding small and scared.
Phil's brain is gone, and he's unable to do a thing except turn his head and bury it in the crook of Dan's neck, nose smushed against his shoulder. A bit of tension leaves Dan's body, but there's still some hanging on. They sit there, Phil panting into Dan's shoulder and attempting to think a coherent thought, for what feels like an hour. It's moments like these where Phil really appreciates Dan for being Dan, for not demanding things Phil can't give and for knowing what Phil needs. And right now, Phil needs to breathe.
Slowly, Phil's breath returns, and he feels a bit better equipped to handle what's going on.
"So you like me," Phil mumbles into Dan's shoulder.
He feels Dan swallow. "Yeah, I do. I like you, Phil. Quite a bit." Dan sounds more at peace with it, more confident, than he did the first time he said it.
"That's good," Phil mumbles into Dan's shoulder.
Dan's head snaps around to Phil as much as it can before his chin knocks into the top of Phil's head. "Is it?"
The heat inside the sleeping bag is burning hot, but Phil burrows in closer to Dan. He lifts his head from Dan's shoulder and moves to rest his forehead against Dan's. He can barely make out Dan's features in the dark, but he can still tell Dan's eyes are wide and anxious. Phil knocks their noses together softly before moving in to press his lips against Dan's. It's just a press of warm skin against warm skin, but it's still almost too much for Phil to handle. At least not immediately. His heart is in his throat as Dan's lips firm up, kissing him back intently. Phil pulls back slowly, Dan's lips attempting to chase after him, and goes back to resting his forehead against Dan's.
"It's very good," Phil says, suddenly feeling choked up.
"Good," Dan whispers, and Phil doesn't need to be able to see a thing to see the blinding smile that cracks across Dan's face.