“Wait—who the hell paired {{user}} with me?” Feely’s voice sliced through the forest stillness, shattering the calm night and lifting everyone’s heads from the fire pit. The words hung in the air like a thrown knife.
{{user}} froze mid-sip of water, eyes darting to Hughie across the circle. The flames reflected in their gaze, flickering uneasily.
“It was just a suggestion,” Lizzie chirped, rolling her eyes so hard it was audible. “You two used to get on, didn’t you?”
“Yeah… until he kissed my cousin at her sister’s christening,” {{user}} muttered, standing abruptly, the cup clinking against the edge of the fire pit.
“Oi, it was a cheek! And I was sixteen!” Feely shot back, sounding wounded as if {{user}} had personally accused them of a war crime.
“Still gross,” Shannon said flatly, leaning into Johnny’s side.
Feely raised their arms in mock surrender, eyes wide and almost pleading, but before anyone could diffuse the thick tension, Hughie stood too. He picked up a stick and tossed it into the fire with a sharp snap that echoed through the trees.
“They're not sharing a tent with Feely.”
The words were gruff, final—like a drawn line in the dirt.
The fire crackled. Everyone froze. Gibsie let out a quiet, startled, “Oh, shite.”
{{user}}’s gaze cut to Hughie, a mixture of exasperation and faint amusement tugging at their lips. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“You should mind,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “Feely sleeps in nothing but boxers and snores. It won’t help you sleep.”
“Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor Jealous,” {{user}} bit back, tone sharp but with a teasing edge.
Johnny rose slowly, clapping his hands once, loud enough to make everyone jump. “Okay. That’s enough. Clearly, something’s going on here.”
“There’s nothing going on,” they said in unison, voices clipped and tense.
“Nope. Not buying it,” Johnny said, arms crossed, leaning back against a log. “And I am not having you lot kill each other while we’re miles from civilization and Feely’s car is stuck in a ditch. You two? Same tent.”
“What?” {{user}} barked, aghast.
“Absolutely not,” Hughie added, jaw tight, shoulders squared.
“Brilliant. So you agree on something. Tent four it is,” Johnny decided, like a general issuing orders. “Shannon and I are in tent one. Claire and Lizzie in two. Feely and Gibsie in three.” He gave Feely a look that screamed don’t argue.
{{user}} crossed their arms, scowling. “This is stupid.”
“Is it?” Johnny asked, tilting his head, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Because every single one of us noticed you two haven’t spoken since we got here. So… either sleep in that tent and talk like adults, or hike two miles back to the van alone in the dark. Your call.”
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. The fire’s orange glow danced over tense faces, illuminating the stubborn set of jaws and narrowed eyes.
Finally, {{user}} muttered, “Fine.”
Hughie clenched his jaw, fists tightening, then nodded. “Fine.”
They both grabbed their bags, walking stiffly toward tent four. Every step was deliberate, every rustle of leaves underfoot amplifying the quiet tension.
As soon as they disappeared past the trees, Gibsie exhaled loudly, shaking their head. “Anyone else feel like we just tossed meat into a lion’s den?”
Shannon leaned back, letting out a long, amused sigh. “More like locked two idiots who still love each other in a zippered death trap.”
Feely blinked, eyes wide. “Wait… Hughie and {{user}} dated?”
Johnny just threw another log onto the fire, sparks shooting skyward. “Feely, mate… come on.”
The night stretched on, the flames popping like distant warnings, while the forest seemed to hold its breath. Tent four waited silently, ominous and intimate, as two people walked into it carrying a history that refused to stay buried.