Author's Note: I don't even know.

Richard Cameron would never have admitted his fear to anyone. Only his family knew, as they had been with him when he developed sciurophobia. He had been six, nearly seven, when the family vacationed in the Hamptonns, and Richard, then a wide-eyed boy who had loved animals, had lured a squirrel towards him using popcorn kernels. Alas, mistaking the young boy's knuckle for a kernel, the squirrel greedily grasped at the human's hand and bit down hard, causing Richard to flail, sending the squirrel flying into the air. No one knows where it landed, for the wailing of Richard distracted everyone and he was rushed to the nearest hospital—only to be told that squirrels didn't carry rabies and the wound wasn't deep enough to need stitches.

And yet this small and seemingly insignificant moment in Richard's life had scarred him, affecting him for the next years, which was why, when the poets were exiting the cave and a squirrel darted in front of their merry troupe, Richard flew back with such violence that he knocked Knox down a miniature ravine.

Once the squirrel had vanished and the boys had successfully retrieved Knox from the tiny cavern, they continued on towards Welton grounds, Richard lingering behind in shame. No one had guessed what he had been frightened about, thinking had just tripped or something, but he was still embarrassed. And who better to smell embarrassment than Charlie Dalton?

It was Charlie who would glance over his shoulder every now and again to see if Cameron would repeat his random freak out, and to determine the best way to make it known that Cameron was, yet again, a freak. And when that damned squirrel reappeared, Charlie snatched up the opportunity to wreak havoc upon Richard.

Whipping out a pair of handcuffs that he always carried on his person in case of emergency kinky hookups, Charlie stealthily hooked Cameron to a tree that was thin enough to get the cuff around, but sturdy enough to stay standing despite a struggle. But what Charlie had first guessed would be a little bit of a fun joke on his part, soon turned into something else.

Charlie saw the fear in Cameron's eyes. Completely raw. Completely heartbreaking. Wait, how could anything Cameron did be heartbreaking? And yet, there Charlie stood, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he watched the nosebleed in front of him writhe with fear in the dim moonlight as a squirrel darted up a nearby tree. "C'mon Dick," he called from a few feet away. "You're never going to get over this fear if you don't face it."

Charlie bit his lip, his brow furrowing as Cameron appeared to try burrowing into the snow to get away from the tiny, furry creature that really should have been sleeping at such a late hour. Odd, strangled choking noises came from Cameron's general direction and it truly sounded as though he was being tortured in some cruel way. And to a sciurophobe being handcuffed to a tree while a squirrel darted around unexpectedly really was torture of the cruelest kind.

After a few more seconds Charlie couldn't take it anymore. He briskly walked over to the tree, jacket floating behind him, and bent down to unlock Cameron's handcuffs. This would have been an easier task if Charlie actually had the keys. Which he didn't, because some other red-headed minx had kept them. "Fuck," Charlie swore under his breath, glancing around in a slight panic.

The rest of the boys had been too wrapped up in their post-meeting antics to even notice what Charlie had done to Cameron, and the two were now standing (and cowering) alone in the woods, that squirrel deliberately getting closer and closer. "Dick," Charlie started, shaking Cameron's shoulders. "Dick!" he tried again, vying for the ginger's attention. "Hey, man, it's not that bad. It's not gonna hurt you; I'm here, okay?" Charlie couldn't believe that he was actually trying to console his boot-licking roommate, but the guy looked pretty pathetic and damsel-in-distress-y at the moment.

Wracking his brains for what to do, Charlie came up with what, to him, seemed like the only obvious solution. Clasping both hands on either side of Cameron's face, he drew the boy's mouth up to his, enveloping his mouth in a warm kiss. Cameron immediately pulled away, eyes wide, staring up at Charlie in confusion. "What the hell are you doing, Dalton?" he asked in horror, although he had completely forgotten about the squirrel.

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Distracting you, Cameron," he retorted in much the same annoyed tone has he had used many-a-time before.

Richard raised his eyebrows and uttered an "oh" before Charlie's lips were once again on his, kissing him like nobody's business.

And what scared Cameron the most that night was not the squirrel, but rather, how much he had enjoyed Charlie distracting him.