Gavin had a secret. And it wasn't one of those deep, dark secrets that you only tell people that won't rat you out to the cops. It was actually wuite fucking embarassing, to be honest.
Gavin was terrified of storms. He hated them. A single clap of thunder and he's hiding under the covers, his head under the pillow, hope against hope that it would all be over soon. When he was in England, he would come crying to his parents whenever there was a storm. But now he was in America, and the only thing he could do was turn his music all the way up and lay down face first on his bed. It didn't help that he didn't have his music or his bed when he was camping with a certain best friend Michael Jones.
"Dammit! Of all the days to be cloudy, it had to be the day we go fucking camping?" The ginger said with his usual flourish of
swear words. Gavin just smiled nervously, though on the inside he was praying that it wouldn't storm. They continued their long hike up to their campground. After fifteen minutes of climbing up steep, rocky hills and Gavin making lame jokes out of fear, they arrived at the circle of dirt with a circle of rocks and a few logs around it.
"Finally, we can set our shit down!" Michael sighed, sitting on a nearby log and practically slamming his backpack on the dirt.
"Mi-cool, be careful with that!" Gavin whined, momentarily abandoning his anxiety to focus on his friend's apparent inability to have any sort of grace. "Our food's in there!" At that, the ginger perked up.
"Oh hell yes, I forgot we had food!" He began to tear into the pack when another long exclamation erupted from the Brit's throat.
"Miii-cooooool! Shouldn't we set up the tent first?"
Michael sighed. "Fine. But we are so having that freakin' food afterwards."
After about thirty minutes of rather loud profanity from Michael and a general vibe of vague confusion from Gavin, they finally managed to set up the tent. And just in time to, because as they were getting out of their newly-erected tent, a drop of rain fell on Michael's head.
"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!" Michael shouted, not caring that his scream echoed. He hurredly grabbed the backpack of food and rushed back inside the tent. As soon as they zipped it up, it started to really pour.
"Jesus fucking Christ, shit bitch fuck," Michael was basically just listing off swear words now as Gavin stared fearfully at the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.
"I cannot believe Geoff sent us on a camping trip today. HOW THE HELL DO WE SET UP THE FUCKING FIRE?" Michael exploded once more. They opened the backpack and were relieved to find stuff they didn't need to roast- sandwiches, fruit, marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate. They ate hungrily, and while the rain outside the tent didn't let up, the sky did grow steadily began to relax. Okay, this is good, maybe there isn't giong to be a storm after all-
BOOM! A clap of thunder send Gavin jumping into the air with a yelp and Michael into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"What the hell, dude? You went flying!" His friend managed to breathe between laughs. Gavin forced a few laughs out himself.
"Uh, I dunno, I guess it just startled me-"
BOOM! Another huge sound this time sent Gavin toward Michael in pure terror, wrapping his arms around his waist out of pure impulse. The Brit was shaking and whimpering quietly, squeezing Michael's waist tightly. Michael laughed at first, but realization soon dawned in the American's eyes.
"Dude, are you- are you scared of storms?" He stammered, and Gavin nodded, not sure what else to say. "Shit, man, it's just lightning and thunder, it's not gonna hurt you-"
BOOM! His grip around Michael tightened. "Michael," he whispered, his eyes squeezed shut, heart racing. Michael could tell the severity of the situation, so he decided to try and actually comfort his friend. Without a word, Michael unwrapped Gavin from him ((but made sure to let him hold his hand- quite tightly)) and unzipped his sleeping bag. Then, he crawled over to Gavin's sleeping bag and unzipped it as well. He led his friend over to his sleeping bag and laid him down under it, and when the scared man was finally able to let go of Michael's hand, the American put Gavin's bag on top of him, creating a bed-type situation. Gavin didn't stop whimpering as a flash of lightning lit up the tent. Michael then sighed and laid down beside his friend, knowing he wasn't gonna shut up if he didn't. He must have been a magnet, because immediately, the British man's arms were around his sides once more. Michael closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to fall in love.
It didn't work.
Eventually, Gavin fell asleep, his breaths still shaky, his grip not loosening. Michael smiled slightly at the image of his best friend and kissed the top of his head.
"Goodnight, you big fucking scaredy-cat."