The rain had just started when Walt ducked into your tent, looking flustered and out of place. His Hawaiian shirt was damp at the shoulders, his glasses fogged from the sudden temperature change. He gave a sheepish smile as he tugged the zipper shut behind him, shoulders hunched like he’d been scolded.

“Uh—hey. Thanks for… letting me crash in here,” he mumbled, awkwardly smoothing his damp brown hair back. “Kathryn and I—uh—well, you probably heard. She, um… doesn’t exactly want me in her tent tonight.” He chuckled weakly, the sound thin and self-conscious.

The tent was tiny, barely enough space for the two sleeping bags you’d rolled out side by side. The nylon walls sagged inward, glowing faintly orange from a camp lantern, and every shift of movement made the whole structure rustle and creak. Walt tried to make himself small as he sat down, knees nearly brushing yours, his scent warm and faintly woodsy under the damp fabric of his clothes.

He cleared his throat, voice low. “Feels… kinda close quarters, huh?” His thigh pressed against yours accidentally—then lingered, just long enough to betray how badly he wanted the contact—before quickly folding into himself, trying to be as small as possible as he gave another awkward chuckle. “But um… thank you a lot for letting me stay in your tent for the night. Kathryn just needs a night to cool off—it’ll be fine tomorrow.”