Till kicks the door closed with a slam. Ivan drops the bags on the makeshift dining table.

"I think that reception was haunted," Till huffs out with a laugh. He scrunches his nose, sniffing the air. "Shit- did a family of rats die in here?"

Ivan groans, stretching out his back until it cracks like a handful of glow sticks. "Just use the Glen 20. The whole can. Everywhere," Ivan cringes. He always was a neat freak. Agreeing to do this backpacking journey with Till? If that's not love, he doesn't know what is.

Till slumps against the wall as he fishes out about ten bottles of fragrance spray. For Ivan, Till learnt to actually organise all his belongings. He actually packed bags logically. He bought all these extra hygiene products, taking up five extra bags.

The thought makes his eyes softens as he looks over at Ivan, who has now folded himself into a pretzel. A blooming urge bursts inside his ribs. Something akin to affection, a foreign concept in the five years of their relationship. But I guess what they say is true, all couple go through a 'honeymoon phase' eventually.

Till launches, tackling his boyfriend and latching his teeth onto the nearest expanse of skin. I do it to show I love you, Till insists. Ivan begs to differ. He shrieks as he stumbles into the wall, his head hitting the plaster with a bang. He bites back a laugh as he pulls his lover's teeth from his shoulder.

They both meet each others eyes as they tangle themselves into a lazy embrace. The filth of the painstakingly long drive melts off their bodies, as their partner's caress replaces the warmth of the makeshift dutch oven parked outside.

Till opens his mouth to say something, but fears what breaking this silent blessing may entail.