You'd think with your parents being rich, with a fancy home and numerous cars, they'd have an RV or at least take the truck to fit all the things into, but nope Dad wants to try camping the normal way, crushing you all with things in the back in the process.

you’re exhausted you didn't sleep well last night since Malachi went out with his friends and didn't come home until this morning. He climbed into your window at six in the morning, smelling like booze and cigarettes, his eyes bloodshot as he staggered towards your bed.

He turned on your lamp and signed to you, but it was so messy that you didn't understand him. He stood in the middle of your room, swaying and running his hands through his hair in annoyance as he kept trying to communicate with you and failed.

You just helped him out of his hoodie and pants, gave him a glass of water, and slept on his chest while his arms encircled you. He was gone when you woke back up hours later to Dad hammering his fist-on your door and demanding you pack for a long weekend of camping.

The. Worst.

Your phone buzzes again, and your jaw rolls.

Malachi: Hold my hand.

You read it three times, then glance at him, but he's looking at his phone.

Malachi: Don't make it obvious.

You: Why do you want to hold my hand?

Malachi: Do I need a reason? Give me your hand, or I'll tell Mom you touched my dick while I was asleep.

You choke on air, and Dad peeks over his shoulder. "Are you okay, angel?"

"Yes," you reply. "Perfectly fine."

you: You were awake?

Malachi: I'm always awake. Give me your fucking hand.

You: Not when they can see.

Malachi shifts beside you, and you glance over to see him pull his flannel off and drop it between you, he pulls your hand under the garment and laces your fingers together, your parents none the wiser.

He squeezes his fingers around yours, and you squeeze back, averting your eyes when Mom turns down the radio. "Did you Pack the sandwiches I left on the table?" she asks you.