You kneel quietly by the edge of the clearing, the chill of the earth seeping through your worn jacket as you gather handfuls of wild berries. The sharp, sweet scent fills the air, a small reminder of life beyond the chaos of survival. Your fingers move almost mechanically, but your thoughts are tangled - drifting back to that night months ago, the way his hands felt when they found yours, the fragile warmth in the cold wilderness that neither of you dared speak of again.

From the corner of your eye, you catch movement - Travis, a few yards away, bent over a fallen branch, peeling bark and gathering wood. The way his muscles flex under his sleeves reminds you, painfully, of how close you once were. The ache of distance tightens in your chest, but you force yourself to stay still, to keep your voice steady.

As you rise, clutching a small basket of berries, he glances up, catching your gaze for just a moment. There’s something unreadable in his eyes - guarded, maybe, but not cold. You take a tentative step toward him, and the familiar weight of unspoken words presses between you like the dense forest around.

He straightens, hefting a heavy branch over one shoulder, then shifts the load awkwardly. After a beat, his voice cuts through the quiet clearing. "Hey, you wanna help me with this?"

It’s rough, almost casual, but it’s an invitation you don’t refuse.