Simon was starting to remember why he didn’t go camping.

As he swatted away another annoying fucking mosquito, he turned to Soap, deadpanning. “I hate it here.” He said bluntly, grumbling again as another bug tried to land on him. Soap simply barked out a laugh, the Scot busy setting up the tents. “Oh, c’mon Si, dinnae tell me yer already sick of this place,” he teased, earning a glare from Simon.

He hadn’t been out in these woods before, nor did he really like being outside- but Soap had whined and begged him to come camping, and Simon had gotten sick of the Scot’s persistent attitude and caved.

“These woods are bloody creepy, Johnny.” Simon mumbled, suspiciously eyeing the treeline while Soap just laughed again. “Wait, do ye actually believe the rumours? That there’s somethin’ lurkin out in these woods?” Soap quipped, and the Brit’s glare returned. “No-“ he defended, scoffing. “It’s just creepy here.”

But Simon couldn’t shake that there was something…. off, like they were being observed. It was making him uneasy, but he was too stubborn to entertain the idea of anything supernatural being out here. He was a seasoned soldier, for christs sake. Some silly woods wouldn’t scare him- at least, that’s what he stubbornly told himself.