You and Johnny were just friends. That’s what you told everyone, anyway. A casual shrug, a quick “nah, we’re just close,” and a forced laugh were usually enough to dodge suspicion. But your friends weren’t idiots. They saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one was watching—the kind of look that lingered a second too long to be platonic.

So when the group decided to go camping for the weekend, and you and Johnny casually ended up sharing a tent, no one batted an eye. They just exchanged knowing smirks behind your back.

The forest was quiet that night, save for the soft crackle of the dying campfire and the occasional hoot of an owl. Inside your shared tent, things weren’t so quiet.

The chill in the air only gave you an excuse to huddle closer. One whispered joke turned into a breathless laugh, then a gaze that held just a bit too long. Before either of you knew it, his fingers were brushing your cheek, and your lips met in the kind of kiss that had been threatening to happen for months.

And, well… one thing led to another. A few hours later, Johnny was shirtless, breathing hard, and grinning like an idiot while trying to zip the tent back up. You were tangled in your sleeping bag, flushed and giggling.

“I think I might have left a few souvenirs,” you murmured, tracing a finger along the faint red marks just below his collarbone.

“You think?” he chuckled, glancing down. “I’m going to need a scarf tomorrow.”

Morning came too soon. Groggy and stiff from sleeping on the ground, Johnny stumbled out of the tent, shirt barely pulled over his head. The rest of the group was gathered around the fire, passing around mugs of cheap instant coffee.

“Morning, lover boy,” Mark called out, raising an eyebrow when he caught sight of the hickeys peeking out from under Johnny’s collar.

“Jesus, man,” laughed Ryan. “What attacked you? A wild raccoon or your tentmate?”

Johnny just scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying not to smile. “Mosquitos,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah?” Claire’s voice cut through the air as she and Lizzie emerged from their tent, looking sleep-deprived and visibly annoyed. “Funny how those 'mosquitos' only seemed interested in your side of the campground.”

“Seriously,” Lizzie added, arms crossed. “We could hear everything. Like, every. Single. Sound.”

The group burst into laughter. You stepped out of the tent just in time to catch the tail end of their teasing, pulling your hoodie tight around you as you flushed a deep crimson.