Speaking of marvels

Chapter 2

Harry

Niall spends four more days in South Orange before heading back to Santa Barbara, making the same trip that Harry will be in just another three weeks. It's almost impossible to fathom that the summer has gone by so quickly, and seeing Niall was a reminder of just how close he is to having to go back to that lifestyle that seems so far away now after only two and a half months spent back on the east coast. He's kept busy since he came home in May, but it still doesn't feel like enough, like somehow there's a little bit left that he can wrench out before he has to leave.

That's how he came up with the camping trip.

They take Louis' car, seeing as a 1999 Jeep Cherokee is slightly more practical for a camping trip than Harry's beautiful albeit tiny Jag. It's loaded up with a rather half-assed attempt at preparation, but they have the basic survival necessities: coolers filled with hot dogs and bacon and eggs, Poptarts, trail mix, beer. Condoms.

Louis drives and insists that he control the music, so they work their way through the pile of scratched up mixed CDs that Louis made in high school and sing along to a steady stream of alternative rock hits that Harry hasn't heard since 2004. The windows are down and Louis' wearing his fucking aviators again and Harry can't stop touching him, leaning over at red lights to kiss his cheek because it's cute and stupid that he still loves The Fray, six years after the fact, and Louis' defensiveness only makes him want to keep teasing him.

When they get to the campsite, they realize they're actually pretty far removed from everyone else -- able to occupy their own little clearing away from everything where they can set up their tent and build a fire. It's a process of trial and error, trying to get the tent to stay up when it just wants to collapse in on itself, but they manage it in the end and count it as the first triumph of the day.

The lake is just a short walk along a path near where they've set-up and the trip down to the water feels like being caught in the middle of a dust cloud with all the dirt they kick up under their feet. When they get there, Louis sets up his reel and throws the line out into the water, more for curiosity's sake than the actual desire to catch anything. Harry finds a rope swing left by another camper and jumps off one of the low, rocky cliffs above the water about a dozen times despite Louis' claims that he looks embarrassingly like Tarzan and all he needs is a loincloth to complete the image.

It's later afternoon by the time they make their way back and Louis hasn't reeled in anything but a lump of plastic from someone's torn and abandoned floatie. Harry's drenched, his hair pushed back off his forehead and chest already a bit pink from forgetting to put on sunscreen. He circles an arm around Louis' waist, ignoring the huff he receives in return because Louis has managed to remain dry up until having Harry plastered up against him. He pretends to mind for about half a minute before Harry catches him looking off to the side to try and hide his smile.

"Saw that," he beams, patting Louis on the ass lightly before darting ahead of him to start bulking up the fire pit.

"You saw nothing," Louis protests, but his smile defies what he's saying as he watches Harry add a few more rocks to the perimeter. They scour the area for wood, gathering up thicker pieces and twigs to throw in the center, along with a pile of dry leaves to use as tinder.

"Are you ready? Cause things are about to get Lower Paleolithic." Harry wags his eyebrows in Louis' direction and holds up a match, earning himself an eye roll in response.

"Yeah, don't think they were using matches in the Stone Age. You're cheating." Louis drags over what seems to be the designated seating log on the campsite, and sets it back a short distance from the fire as Harry starts building it up.