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“Should we eat inside the tent?” Miles asked, beginning to shiver. At least the bowl of pasta was warm between his hands.
“Let’s eat in your tent,” Beckett said.
“Why here?” Miles asked once they were seated in his tent. If they were in Beckett’s tent, they would be a lot more comfortable. They’d be sitting on cushioned mats, a sleeping bag over their laps.
“I want to keep the other tent clean,” Beckett said.
Now that Miles thought about it, Beckett’s tent was extremely clean, no dust or dirt on the floor. Beckett had been very particular about not tracking anything unclean into it, and unconsciously, Miles had followed suit.
After they finished eating, they looked at each other. The rain didn’t sound like it was going to let up anytime soon.
“Well,” Miles said. He checked the time on his phone. It was almost eight. Usually, the sun would still be out, but the clouds had covered it, turning the world to gray. “There’s not much else we can do today.”
“No,” Beckett agreed.
“Let’s clean up and go to bed?”
Beckett nodded. He took the bowls and slipped out of the tent. “See you in my tent in a bit.”
Miles looked through his garbage bag, grabbed his toothbrush and cleaned his teeth, using some water from a water bottle to wet the bristles and rinse his mouth. He wasn’t about to walk all the way to the bathroom, not when he knew he’d be saturated in rain.
He picked up his pajamas and carefully folded them into a square, then slid them under his shirt. Making sure he had everything, he got out of the tent, zipped it up, and ran towards Beckett’s.
Once inside, he saw that Beckett was already changed into his pajamas, and he’d turned his phone torch on, providing some silver light in the dimness.
“Sorry, I’m dripping,” Miles said, moving to the corner of the tent while hunching over so he wouldn’t bump his head against the roof.
“Where are your pajamas?” Beckett asked.
Miles revealed them from under his clothes, where he’d protected them from the rain. “I thought it’d be smarter to get changed here. That way, they wouldn’t get wet.”
He stripped down to his boxers, and Beckett, who’d been watching him, jolted.
“Here,” he said, thrusting a plastic bag at him, eyes averted.
“Thanks,” Miles said, taking it and putting his wet clothes inside. “Hopefully it’s sunny tomorrow so that they can dry.” He sat down cross-legged, facing Beckett. “What should we do?” he whispered, because it was dark and whispering felt like the appropriate way to speak.
An indecipherable expression passed over Beckett’s face before quickly settling into a frown. “Sleep,” he said gruffly, starting to lie down.
“Hey!” Miles said, grabbing his arm. “It’s way too early for that.”
“There’s nothing else to do.”
“There’s always something to do.”
Beckett shivered. Was he cold?
“Play on your phone if you want. I’m lying down.” With that, Beckett pulled his arm from Miles’s grip and got under the sleeping bag.
“I’m not going to play on my phone. I’m here to spend time with you.”
Beckett rolled over, so his back was to Miles. “What do you want to do together?”
“I don’t know,” Miles said, touching Beckett’s back. His pajama shirt was soft. “Maybe…”
Beckett inhaled.
“Talk?” Miles finished.
