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Deep in the woods of Washington, a campground lay. It was a humble spot, called Silverbrook; one where the trees grew tall, rivers whispered happily, and young, eager musicians found their spark.
This was…Camp Silverbrook.
“You have to be joking.”
“Dude—what? No, there’s no way you didn’t know this, you’ve read, like, every book ever,” Chase said, running a hand through his hair and dislodging a pine needle with a disgusted look. “God, I can’t have these trees all up in my business. Gonna ruin my style.”
Beside him, a man whose name was a mystery and therefore known by ‘Buddy’ stood, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. It seemed as if he was debating either insulting Chase or throwing him into one of those so-called whispering rivers and calling it a day. ‘Whispering,’ he thought, ‘does this author have any other adjectives? Whispering wind, whispering rivers…get a thesaurus.’
“I’m not sleeping outside,” he told Chase, shooting him a glare.
“Sucks to suck,” Chase said. “Ooh, wait, get what you get and you don’t throw a fit!”
The two of them were standing in front of a tent. Inside of that tent, there was a sleeping bag for one person. Not two. One. There was an obvious issue with that, and because both of the boys were able to count, as well as acknowledge the sad reality ‘two’ is a bigger number than ‘one’, they knew they could not both fit.
“It makes no sense,” Buddy began. “How could someone be so stupid? This book is absolute garbage, there’s no logic for this except to progress the plot.”
“Her stuff got trashed because of the category five hurricane that happened a week ago, Buddy! It does make sense, it’s explained!”
“Washington doesn’t get hurricanes,” he groaned.
“This is Washington?” Chase asked, looking around, dumbfounded. “The movie’s in Louisiana.”
“Jessica’s stuff got destroyed because of…” Buddy paused, looking into the sky above them. His eyes narrowed at seemingly nothing, and it looked like he was reading the clouds for clues. “Mount St. Helens erupting. Excuse me?”
“Dang,” Chase said. He bent down, his shoes crunching on pine needles, and started to unzip the tent. “Well, I’m gonna get my stuff set up. Good luck, babe!”
“No.” A hand was placed above Chase, blocking him from unzipping it further. “I refuse to sleep outside if I don’t have to, brat. That sleeping bag is going to be mine. If anyone needs to sleep out in the cold rain, it’s you—maybe it’ll knock some sense into your thick skull.”
“That’s going against the plot,” Chase said, giving the zipper an insistent tug. "I'm supposed to sleep in this thing while you bother Tyler, the mysterious gothy guy who loves my character, Claire. He doesn't know he loves me yet, but he will soon enough."
Buddy heaved a sigh and decided to give Chase's leg a kick. It wasn't anything aggressive, just enough force to knock a crouched-down person off balance and onto the ground, which was exactly what happened.
"Hey! You jerk!"
He started to step over the idiot below him to enter the tent.
And then Chase grabbed his ankle.
So, he stumbled.
Instead of going with the knee-jerk reaction Buddy had, which was to call him several foul names, kick the idiot in the chest and try and swipe his possessions, he tried to grit his teeth and mutter something angry about how Chase was a waste of a key. Some emphasis on the word tried must be made.
"You're so obnoxious!" he snapped at the blonde, giving him a rough shove. With that, he stood and snagged the zipper, trying to rip it open the rest of the way so he could jump in there and shut it before Chase could.
"Says you! Can't even stick to your own rules—tryna make me sleep outside, like that's not going off the plot!" Chase managed to tackle Buddy back down onto the ground.
Both of them ended up inside the tent, and that seemed to be the moment their sense of reality returned. Wrestling each other wasn't the most sensible way to pass the time, even though Chase knew he was totally winning and Buddy still had plenty of thoughts on sleeping outside. He stepped off the very angry Buddy he had pinned down.
"Uhm," he said, clearing his throat and sitting down criss-cross. He was eying Buddy awkwardly.
The other man sat up and glared.
"Can't you just sleep in Tyler's tent?" Chase asked him. "Y'know. So you don't have to sleep out in the cold?"
"No," Buddy said with an annoyed sigh. "It's never actually stated where Jessica goes off to. Because we never see Tyler's tent, I don't think it exists, either."
"What about the one she ends up with? Jeremy? Go bother him."
"Do you take pleasure in sharing a sleeping space with a man who is described as 'creepy, nerdy, and greasy,' Chase? If you do, be my guest."
"Jeez." Chase said, tucking some of his hair behind his ear out of habit and dusting his pant legs off, maybe to settle his nerves around his so-called 'Buddy'. The guy had some pretty intense eyes.
"Weellll, maybe we can go to the campfire and sort it out later?" he offered, cracking a smile that felt all too casual for someone who had just successfully tackled, wrestled, and pinned the person he was talking to.
"You're using that as an excuse to never figure it out and take the sleeping bag," Buddy muttered.
"No! I just want s'mores! And hot chocolate!"
He had never seen Buddy snap to attention so quickly, and so eagerly at that. His eyes widened, head swiveling to face Chase with a look resembling an anticipatory dog hoping for a treat. "Where's this campfire?"
⏾⋆.˚
The warmth of the fire had brought a feeling of merriment upon the small camp, and they had been taking turns playing songs on a guitar provided by a counselor named Fern. S'mores were being eaten, laughter was had, and every camper's mood had been lifted at least a little, even if some would like to pretend otherwise.
Chase and Buddy were sitting by each other, and so far, Buddy had been near silent. It surprised Chase, but the reason for his quiet had a lot to do with the chocolate laid out in front of him and not because he had given up on being a menace. At any given moment that the blonde turned to face him, he was mid-chew.
Buddy caught onto the eyes eventually and glared at Chase. He swallowed, then said, "Don't look at me like that."
"You've got some chocolate on your cheek," Chase chirped, then looked back out on the fire. In the corner of his eye, he could see Buddy's face redden, and watch him sheepishly wipe at it and fail. If Chase had it in him to be more antagonistic, he probably would've made fun of him. But he didn't. Actually, just while sitting around this fire, the two of them had mellowed out into contented non-conversation and simple enjoyment of the moment.
He gazed into the flames and felt a relaxed smile settle on his face, and he leaned in closer to the warmth.
Now, Chase had never read the book version of Camp Silverbrook. He had seen the movie, which was based on Camp Silverbrook, which had been based on another movie, which had been based off yet another book, and it brought with it a sense of sweet nostalgia. The movie had always been one of his childhood favorites because it reminded him of camping with his dad and playing guitar with him.
It had also been a favorite since Tyler the gothy kid was in it, and he was one of Chase's gay awakenings.
The book version seemed a bit different (Washington and Louisiana were pretty far apart), but he was enjoying it more than the baby fairy tales. Silver had been right; a change of pace really had been good for him—she had suggested he try going into book versions of movies he loved after the two watched The Princess Bride. Chase hoped he would get a lot of narratonin after this.
"Hey, Claire! Do you want a turn with the guitar?" Jeremy asked. Broken out of his thoughts, Chase nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course! Buddy, you better be ready. I'm awesome." Chase set down his cup of hot chocolate and accepted the guitar, adjusting it before taking a deep breath. Buddy watched, wondering if he should plug his ears. Last book had been…impressively odd.
After a beat of expectant quiet, he began to sing.
"So we back in the club, with our bodies rockin' from side to side! Side, side to side."
Buddy decided that he had better things to do and tuned Chase out. He noticed that the other boy had left his cup of hot chocolate unattended, so like any opportunist would, Buddy bent down and picked it up.
"'Cause baby, tonight the DJ got us falling in love again! Love again!"
Hm. It had cooled off a bit, but it seemed like Chase had barely touched it. Good. He took a long sip and stifled a hum of joy. Hot chocolate had to be a divine creation.
"So dance, dance like it's the last, last night of your life, life, gon' get you right!"
Chase was really going to town with that guitar. Technically speaking, he wasn't bad. Buddy could acknowledge skill when he was around it, though he wouldn't ever dare admit anything positive in that brat's presence. Also, his idea of good music was absolutely atrocious. What was a dee-jay?
"Hands up! When the music drops we both put our hands up! Something something, I don't remember what he says! Those eyes, eyes, eyes! 'Cause baby, tonight the DJ got us falling in love again!" Chase finished with an audible exhale and a wild smile on his face.
A polite applause started up. Buddy still had his cup to his lips, and didn't pull it down before Chase made eye contact with him.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, frowning at Buddy.
He scowled at Chase and chugged the rest of his hot chocolate. "Here you go, brat." The empty cup was offered up. Chase rolled his eyes.
"Are you just jealous I'm that good at guitar or what? Talk about petty," he sassed. "You can keep the cup. I don't need that."
⏾⋆.˚
The time soon came for their conflict to resurface.
It was night now, and the world had been laid in a dim, dark lens. Navigation was harder, and Chase only had a flashlight to make his way to the tent. Buddy was following him.
There was a sense of urgency starting to catch them, and when Chase sped up, Buddy did, too. The two of them started speed walking. Then they were running, trying to shove their way in front of each other.
"Move it!" Buddy hissed, elbowing Chase in the side. He got hit in the face with a low hanging branch and recoiled, spluttering. Chase crashed into him and the two yelled in alarm.
"Oh my god, Buddy. Knock it off!" he said, dusting himself off and even offering the villainess a hand up. It was not accepted.
After their little incident, they both started walking at a leisurely pace, though an undercurrent of competition was still there. 'Maybe we can rock paper scissors for it?' Chase wondered, putting a hand on his chin. 'Or I could give him that spare blanket I saw get packed…I'd feel bad kicking him out into the plot void.'
"Hey—"
"No."
"—Buddy, I have a blanket. I can share it."
"…I'll think about it." He actually did want that. Though a sleeping bag would be even better, and if he could get that, well, Chase would just have to deal with it. Since Buddy got to the tent first, he fumbled about with the zipper and crawled into the tent.
Chase followed after him. He placed the lantern down in the center of the tent so they could both see. His sleeping bag and blanket were still all bundled up, and Chase breathed out a laugh.
"Oops. We were too busy fighting for me to even unroll the sleeping bag! Sorry, Neil."
Buddy's face twitched in confusion. Was Chase trying to figure his name out?
"Okay, so you're not a Neil," he confirmed. "Can you zip the door up? We're gonna get mosquito bites, Ken."
He did what he was asked to. The idea of mosquitoes didn't appeal to him, either. They were annoying little insects, and if he could be left alone by bugs, he would choose that. Unless he was putting them in Chase's shoe—that was funny.
Buddy watched as Chase set up his spot.
This was fine. It was summer. Nights like that were warm, he could make do with sleeping on the ground without a pillow; he was a key, he didn't feel back pain. He didn't feel bothered at all by this unfairness.
Chase looked over at Buddy and watched the way his nose was twitching in annoyance.
"You look like a bunny doing that, Maximilian Ferrari," he said, snickering.
"Stop," Buddy muttered. His voice lacked the usual bite to it. The two of them were getting tired, it'd been a long day even if it was only an hour or two in the real world, and the fatigue allowed the argumentative spirit the two had to shift into mere indignant sniffs.
Plus, even if Jessica hadn't gotten a place to sleep, Violet had given Buddy some comfortable fuzzy pajamas.
"Okay," Chase said. He picked up the blanket. "Here you go!"
It was tossed at Buddy's head. He squawked in alarm, scooting away from Chase.
When he pulled it off of himself, he was greeted with the sight of Chase laughing wildly at him. Part of Buddy was tempted to join in such a sincere action, but the other, louder part that wanted him to uphold his composure was the one that acted. So, he pulled a faux scowl and laid the blanket down on the ground.
"…G'night, I guess?" Chase asked, settling down in his sleeping bag. "Hm. This is weird."
Buddy didn't reply. He crawled under his blanket, pulled it over him, and turned to face away from Chase. He closed his eyes.
The lantern was turned off.
⏾⋆.˚
While they rested in fitful bouts, the night delivered a chill so severe Buddy was forced to give up on sleep.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the darkened cover above him. Then, he turned to crane his head at the sound asleep figure of Chase. Something told him that the idiot was infinitesimally warmer than he was in the moment.
Gritting his teeth, Buddy mentally listed out his choices. He could move closer to the source of warmth. He could be cold. He could call it for this stupid book and leave, then get questioned intensely by Violet.
In the most awkward, stilted way, he approached Chase's side. His dignity was about to be eaten whole, served up as a five course meal to whatever god was watching him.
No. He was not going to do this. He would not lay down by this person. Even if he could feel the warmth radiating off of Chase, and just sitting beside him drew further attention to how cold he was right now.
It was the type of cold that when he inhaled, he felt it in his lungs and heart. His fingers were numb, probably reddened, and the pajamas he wore proved little help. This was a frigidity he had forgotten after becoming a key, because he had grown so adjusted to muted sensation.
He continued to hover creepily over Chase. Buddy resembled a kid who wanted to tell their mom they had a nightmare, but lacked the courage to actually disturb her.
In the end, he settled for curling up at the end of the sleeping bag, tugging his blanket around him and huddling in on himself like a cat might. Chase did not stir. So, the rest of the night continued on like that, and Buddy sank into the oblivion of dreams.
⏾⋆.˚
When Chase woke up the next morning, Buddy had already left the book out of embarrassment. So, he decided to throw in the towel, too, and called it good enough—he'd enjoyed plenty enough yesterday.
⏾⋆.˚
