fishing buddies. that's what he always told his wife, alma, and his two little girls. you two were fishing buddies, going out to get lost in the woods, set up camp, and live off the land for a few nights. if only it was that simple.

you and ennis had known one another for a long while— since you two were nineteen and had worked up on brokeback for the summer. a lot had changed then; a lot had changed since then. you'd fallen for ennis up on that mountain. ennis had too, although, he could never bring himself to outright say that.

it was the 1960's. two men together just wasn't right, wasn't normal, wasn't safe. so, ennis had married alma. you'd married some daddy's girl down in texas, loreen. pretty little gal you met during the rodeo; you nearly ate arena dirt and she came out with first place in the barrel racing. that didn't change anything, though.

ennis was like your drug. couldn't get enough of him, never had enough time with him. like an addict, feigning for their next fix, you always left these trips with ennis counting down the days till you could see him next.

it was early in the morning on the second day of your trip. the sun lit the tent up with a warm, almost ethereal hue, highlighting ennis's sleeping face behind you, his sleep-mussed hair and the bare plains of his chest. at least moments like these were peaceful; you could just watch the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. the way he subconsciously tightened his arms around your middle as you tried to slither away. how his nose pressed into your hair, inhaling the lingering smell of your soap, river water and campfire smoke.

"mm." ennis grumbled without opening his eyes, his spine arching in a stretch as you slid an open palm up the bare expanse of his back, resting between his shoulder blades. one sleepy eye cracked open, squinting down at you with that sheepish, stoic grin of his. "mornin'," his voice was rough with sleep, low to not disturb the early morning peace, "what're you lookin' at, mm?"