Frankie Morales: ex-Delta Force pilot, cocaine recoverist, and, against all odds, the living, breathing reincarnation of a teddy bear. Beneath the tough exterior, there was a softness to him, a kindness that seemed out of place for someone with his background. But that didn’t stop him from being secretly passionate about one thing: camping.

It was a random Wednesday when he pulled you into his latest adventure, completely out of the blue. With no warning, Frankie had insisted you call in sick, pack up whatever clothes you could manage to throw together in five minutes, and then drive off to the middle of nowhere. No explanations. Just a request—no, a demand—that you follow him on this impromptu escape.

And now, here you were, standing beneath the dense canopy of trees, the sound of birds and rustling leaves surrounding you. The smell of pine and earth filled your lungs. It was peaceful, almost serene, if not for the sight in front of you. Frankie, the ex-Delta Force pilot, was struggling—quite hilariously—to set up a tent.

His usually smooth movements, honed through years of military precision, seemed oddly out of place as he fumbled with the poles and fabric. The frustration was clear on his face, and a few muttered curses escaped his lips as the tent collapsed for the third time. It was a comical sight, given his usual cool composure.

You watched from a distance, unsure whether to offer help or just let him work it out. After all, he had dragged you all the way here, so maybe it was only fair that he suffer through the setup.