Chapter Text
Just as planned, at around five that afternoon, George and Arthur meet up with Chris and Isaac at the campsite adjacent to an entry point to the trail they’re on.
Isaac waves at them as they approach. He looks like he’s doing most of the heavy lifting, holding a shopping bag in one hand which undoubtedly contains alcohol or food of some description. Chris grins and skips up to them, making Arthur laugh, and throws himself at him, oversized backpack and all, almost toppling Arthur right over into the dirt.
Arthur shouts and staggers in place, but he regains his balance, clutching at Chris’ legs, which he wraps around Arthur’s hips.
“You moron, what are you doing?” Arthur shrieks.
“Beady-eyed twat,” Chris says in response, slightly out of breath from the physical exertion of climbing Arthur like a tree. George watches them and feels guilty for the pang of jealousy in his chest. It’s senseless, he knows. There’s nothing to even be jealous about. Even if there was, George wouldn’t have the right to be.
“Are you drunk already?” Arthur asks.
Chris cackles, which is answer enough, and Arthur puts him down. In spite of how he appears with all his awkward, lanky limbs, Arthur is surprisingly strong. Chris might be pocket-sized but he isn’t all that light. George knows, from personal experience.
That stupid thought helps ease some of the jealousy. George is just as touchy with Chris, if not more than Arthur is. They live together, after all.
George shakes his head, partly to express his faux-disapproval of Arthur and Chris’ exchange, but perhaps mostly to shake some sense back into himself.
“That is fucked up, I’m going home,” Isaac announces, in solidarity.
“Don’t you dare leave,” Arthur says, and he comes over to Isaac, throws an arm around his shoulders. “Bach, I missed you more than Chris.”
“What the fuck?” Chris snaps.
Isaac sighs. “All right, I’ll stay, if you insist.”
George snorts. He offers a hand out to Isaac to take the shopping bag.
“Can I help?”
“You worry about yourself, princess,” Isaac replies in a deep, vaguely northern accent, hoisting the bag up onto his shoulder and using his spare arm to peel Arthur off him. “Sorry about the state he’s in,” he adds, cocking his head towards Chris, who shoots him a look of great indignation. “We were at the pub before we got here.”
“You pregamed hiking?” George says, incredulous.
“We aren’t technically hiking until tomorrow morning,” Chris defends.
“Did you get me the meal deal I asked you for?” Arthur asks Isaac, effectively changing the subject.
Isaac winks at him. “I have enough food to feed a family of ten in this bag. And enough alcohol to take out a small village, I fear.”
George, Arthur and Chris all laugh, and they start to make their way towards camp together.
The campsite they’re staying at tonight is borderline luxurious compared to George and Arthur’s waterlogged patch of grass they’d shared the night prior. This one actually has a small bathroom with showers only a short walk away.
They all have a lukewarm beer or two then get to work setting up camp. Almost immediately after pitching their own two tents, Isaac and Arthur make the collective and almost eerily telepathic decision to go and shower at the same time, leaving George and Chris alone.
“So you don’t have a tent then?” Chris asks in passing. George is helping him with his tent – it is, ironically, the largest and most complicated to assemble of the bunch. George politely holds back on the onslaught of height-related puns that he has formulated over the past few minutes.
“Not anymore,” he scoffs in response. “Arthur murdered it.”
“So you slept in his tent last night?”
“Yeah,” George says, keeping his gaze firmly to the tent pole he’s pretending to be struggling with.
Chris doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds too long. George looks up. He meets Chris’ eye. Chris is giving him this look, one that makes George feel the compelling urge to curl up and die, like a slug in salt or something equally as pathetic.
“What?” he snaps.
“Nothing,” Chris replies, voice bordering on high-pitched, meaning it’s definitely not nothing. “Mine’s huge, is all, so you’ll probably be more comfortable staying in with me tonight.”
“Oh. Yeah. True.”
It's the most logical solution. It also sounds like the worst idea ever. Unfortunately, George’s brain when it’s focused on Arthur is anything but logical. Which is, like, at least ninety percent of the time as of late.
Chris hums. Keeps staring at George for a second too long, then finally looks away. George’s lungs release all the air they’d been keeping hostage against his will.
“If you like him like that, you should just tell him.”
George drops the poles he’d just managed to join and they spring apart, bounce off the grass and clatter against each other.
“What the fuck?”
Chris shrugs, still looking away. “I’m just saying.”
George’s heart races. “That’s so weird, mate.”
“What’s weird? That I know? He hasn’t said anything to me, for the record.”
“No,” George says, exasperated, and marginally terrified. “It’s weird that you’d even say something like that, because it isn’t true, and I don’t know where you’re even pulling it from, to be honest.”
“Oh. Well. Sorry.” Chris doesn’t look very sorry. In fact, there is a twinkle in his eye which is far too mischievous and smug for George’s liking, like somehow this conversation has confirmed something for him, but it is the exact opposite of what George is intending to convey. Like maybe George was too defensive, and maybe Chris is more observant than he seems. “I must have read the situation wrong, then.”
George shrugs, backing down a bit. Chris doesn’t seem bothered by what he’s implying. In fact, it feels oddly like he’s encouraging it. Like he wants it to happen. Like he approves.
This is all so weird. George regrets everything he has ever said or done that has led to this moment in time.
“You must have,” George says quietly. Chris is looking at him now like he feels guilty for bringing it up, but also a bit like George is an idiot for denying it. And maybe he is an idiot. Maybe he’s being dramatic and it really isn’t that big of a deal, and he should just talk about it with his best mate instead of continuing to let it eat him alive.
A soft gust of wind carries with it a chill that cools George’s heated cheeks. He breathes it in deep. Exhales. Then says, “I mean. Is it really that obvious? Like, did you figure it out yourself?”
Chris’ eyebrows fly up, like he hadn’t been expecting that. Like he wants to shout and make a big thing of it all but he’s holding back for George’s sake. “Honestly, with the way you look at him, I’m surprised everyone else hasn’t, too. I’m surprised Arthur hasn’t.”
George sniffs. “He really hasn’t said anything to you?”
“No.” Chris winces a bit. “Sorry, mate.”
It’s as if he feels sorry for George. As if George would rather have heard that Arthur is secretly in love with him, too. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know, that Arthur doesn’t feel the same. George has never expected anything from Arthur. The fact that George’s feelings are so obvious and Arthur still hasn’t shied away is more than George could ever ask for.
The faint sound of laughter drifts closer from afar. George leans down to retrieve the abandoned poles at his feet. They’re almost done with the tent. George feels stressed, but like a significant burden has been lifted. He feels ten pounds lighter now that he has somebody to help him carry it.
“Don’t say anything?” he asks quietly.
Chris shoots him a lopsided smile. “Of course not.”
Isaac and Arthur reach them, both freshly showered. Isaac makes a beeline for the alcohol bag. Arthur makes a beeline for George.
“Woah, Chris, are you overcompensating for something?” he teases, sliding a casual arm around George’s waist and gesturing to Chris’ tent with the other. George freezes up instantly. Chris looks like he’s holding in a shit with the sheer amount of concentration that he seems to be putting into not reacting to this exchange. George wants to hit him over the head with something hard.
“Penis size and tent size actually have a strong positive correlation,” Chris gets out, pinning down the last corner of the tent cover. Arthur giggles at that. George feels his ribs flex against his side.
“Shall we do a shot to celebrate?” Isaac suggests, brandishing a bottle of Southern Comfort in the air like it’s a trophy.
“Celebrate what?” Chris asks.
Isaac stares across at Arthur. Arthur shrugs, staring back. Then he turns to look up at George. His hair is wet and messy. He smells like sandalwood soap and Head & Shoulders 2-in-1.
“Me and George surviving the night, I guess.”
George has no idea why that is worthy of celebration, but neither Isaac nor Chris seem to have an issue with it. Isaac free-pours the shots into four paper cups and they raise them together in a circle.
George’s “cheers” gets stuck in his throat. The liqueur burns going down.
They get reasonably battered. Or, as battered as they can effectively get with only limited access to alcohol. George has always been a heavy-weight, but after several more shots and a six-pack of beers to himself, his head feels all floaty, like his mind is drifting somewhere far above everyone else’s. Like it isn’t his own anymore.
Isaac and George are the only ones left awake by the end of the night, cross-legged on a picnic blanket by the campfire they built earlier. Arthur and Chris both called it quits half an hour ago and retreated into their respective tents to sleep.
George is drawing patterns into the dirt with a stick. He stares into the embers of the dwindling fire. The intense orange burns spots across his vision. It makes him feel even more detached from his body, like now his eyes aren’t his own, either. It hurts a bit but he doesn’t look away.
They have plenty of kindling left to keep it fuelled but neither of them are feeding it. They’re watching it slowly die out instead. It’s peaceful. The air smells like vague memories of childhood; musky and wooden. George can taste smoke on the roof of his mouth. It’s suffocating in the gentlest way.
“You act so different with him. Why?”
Isaac’s voice startles George out of hypnosis. He blinks a couple of times, shakes his head, and frowns.
“Who?”
Isaac doesn’t even give him an answer. He just keeps on talking. George wishes he would stop. But also maybe not.
“When Liv and I started dating in high school, all our mates were confused when we made it official because they thought we’d already been together for months.”
He lets out a small laugh, as if it’s a fond memory. George wants to act confused, like he isn’t sure why this is relevant, but he also knows Isaac isn’t an idiot. He isn’t sincere unless he has a good reason for it and he doesn’t bring things up in such a genuine tone unless they’re important. So George keeps his big mouth shut, for once.
“I don’t really believe in fate or soulmates or all that,” Isaac continues. George watches his finger curl around a loose thread from his hoodie sleeve. Warm firelight licks long shadows across his face. “But there are some people in the world whose souls are just so inherently linked that everyone around them can see the connection. Even if they don’t notice it themselves, at first. If they think they’re not on the same page. Maybe they’re just missing each other. It’s like… like Neptune, I guess.”
George is overwhelmed already. Isaac isn’t done, though, so he doesn’t interject yet.
“It’s the only planet you can’t see with the naked eye,” Isaac muses. “Everyone else has already realised they need to look through a telescope, so it’s easy for them, but you and Arthur are a bit slow. You’re both squinting so hard, but you still can’t see what’s technically right in front of you.”
George still finds himself taken aback every time Isaac says something sincere and intelligent because, like George, he tends to take the piss ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s easy to forget that he’s one of the smartest people George knows, and he can read a room well, so he knows precisely when to switch on and have a real, insightful conversation.
“I think I’m looking through the bloody telescope or whatever, mate. Have been for about a year now.” George’s voice sounds foreign even to his own ears. He tucks his hands into his armpits, retreating into himself. He’s never felt so exposed without opening up at all. He’s never felt so thoroughly and accurately analysed.
“Maybe Arthur has, too,” Isaac suggests. “Why don’t you actually talk to him about it? Have you tried that?”
“No,” George breathes.
“Do you trust me when I say I know it won’t go badly?”
“Hm. I don’t know.”
They’re both silent for a little while, staring at the stars. All the stars they can see, at least. There’s probably at least a billion in all directions that are hidden, too far away, like Neptune. George recalls the time Arthur had told him that many of the stars you see in the sky are actually a cluster of them, born from the same cosmic gas cloud. Of course, George had made fun of him for being a nerd at the time. Secretly, he finds it fascinating how smart Arthur is; all the things he just knows off the top of his head that wouldn’t even cross George’s mind as a possibility. He makes George feel dumb, sometimes, just like Isaac does. But it’s a satisfying kind of dumb. George is happy to be the dumb one if it means he gets to learn something new about animals or chess or the universe every so often.
Isaac shifts, claps George on the back, and stands up. George jumps a bit. He had somewhat forgotten he was a living, functioning human. He feels weird now. Like he was up in the air, content there, and now he’s been forced to come back down. He has to ground himself. The hand on his back helps a little.
“I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to come with if you need.” Then Isaac says a little louder, “Arthur’s tent is actually smaller than Chris’ penis, I'm afraid.”
There comes a muffled, outraged shout from Chris’ tent. “Strong positive correlation!”
George and Isaac both burst into quiet laughter. It makes George feel better. Braver. Lighter.
“I’ll be all right, I think.” He smiles at Isaac. Isaac smiles back. “Thank you.”
He means it with his whole chest.
It takes George a solid five minutes of contemplation before he builds the courage to actually reach out and unzip Arthur’s tent. He crawls inside. Arthur is sitting there cross-legged, staring at the canvas wall.
“Sorry if I woke you,” George whispers.
“You didn’t,” Arthur replies, at a normal volume. Then, “You okay?”
George opens and closes his mouth a few times, a bit like a fish. “Uh, why?”
“The tents are thin,” Arthur says softly.
George’s stomach feels like jelly. He groans and buries his head in his hands, because it’s all he can do. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised Arthur heard everything. He could have used his critical thinking skills and considered that possibility much earlier.
“Sorry. I don’t– Fuck.” He tries again. “We can–”
“It’s all right.”
Arthur is smiling. George realises that now, when he actually takes a second to calm the hell down and open his eyes. It’s dark, but Arthur is smiling. He looks really happy, actually. He doesn’t seem weirded out. Or distant. Or angry. George urges his heart to beat normally, since right now it doesn’t seem capable of distinguishing between being confronted about his feelings and being hunted down by a pack of wolves.
“I don’t really believe in soulmates either,” Arthur says. “But I always thought you and I were connected in some way. We fell into orbit so easily. I’ve never had that with anyone else. It made me think that maybe I was wrong about soulmates. Or maybe they weren’t quite what I expected them to be. I don’t know.”
Nerd, George wants to say, but he doesn’t know how not to say it fondly.
“I didn’t really orbit anything before I met you,” Arthur admits. “I was like a stray asteroid, or something. A bit of space junk, when everyone else around me were planets, over in their own solar systems, doing their own thing. But then you… well, it’s just basic science, you know. Kepler’s laws.”
“Yeah, just basic science,” George breathes, sarcastic and incredulous.
“Shush. You came in like the Sun with your huge, dumb head that has a gravitational pull of its own, and I got caught. I feel like half the time I’m just moving, existing around you, because that’s all I know how to do. I’m so stuck, George. I’m stuck orbiting you. You’re always at my centre. You’re my sun. Does that make sense?”
George is almost speechless. Almost. Never entirely.
“That is single-handedly the nerdiest analogy anyone has ever made in documented history,” he announces, trying his hardest not to sound choked-up.
Arthur laughs softly. “Hey, Bach said something about Neptune. I can’t let the astrophysicist one-up me with the space metaphors.”
“Yes. That’s literally exactly what you should do. That would make the most sense, logically. He has a degree in it, Arthur. And what are you? Poundland Elle Woods?”
There’s a joke opportunity there in ‘Poundland’, just begging to be taken advantage of, but Arthur merely shakes his head and cranes his neck so their faces are closer together. His breath smells like peppermint. There’s a smile shining in his eyes. He’s looking at George like he’s the most captivating thing in the universe. “Elle Woods is a feminist icon who went on to have a very successful career as a lawyer, as a matter of fact, so I will consider that accusation to be the most honourable of compliments.”
“It wasn’t not a compliment,” George rambles. His head has gone all fuzzy again. “It’s just that you aren’t an astrophysicist, so–”
“Shut up, George,” Arthur deadpans, his eyes still sparkling, then he leans all the way in and kisses him.
George shouldn’t be as shocked as he is, because everything had been leading up to this, it wasn’t like it was unexpected. But it’s groundbreaking nonetheless. His brain turns to mush, body melting into it.
Arthur pulls George closer by his hips, licks across his bottom lip, kisses him like he has something to prove. Like he’s been waiting to do this for ages. George smiles into it, he can’t help it, then Arthur pulls back slightly to laugh, breathy and bright.
“I can’t believe this.”
“What?”
Their foreheads are pressed together.
“I can’t believe you feel the same.”
George’s heart jumps. “I thought it was obvious.”
“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t have waited so long to make a move.”
“We have a lot of lost time to catch up on, then,” George says, like the sap that he is, and he kisses him again.
“I’m happy for you guys but the tents are thin,” Chris shouts, and George and Arthur spring apart as if electrocuted.
“Sorry, mate,” George calls back, then slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter, eyes wide and trained on Arthur, who isn’t even trying to hide his own amusement as he clutches George’s arms and giggles.
George is happy. He’s so bloody happy. He’s giddy with it.
When Liv gets the photos developed from her camera, George only finds out because she texts him the pictures of Arthur from the first night of their hike.
Mrs Bach
thought you might want these ones
George opens them one by one, swiping between them, grinning down at his phone.
In all of them but the first one, Arthur’s face is split wide open with a smile, like he’s the physical embodiment of all things bright and warm. His hair is ruffled and fluffy, a bit sweaty from their hike, but somehow still soft-looking. As George swipes, Arthur’s face gets closer to the camera. The last photo is more or less a blur, Arthur’s outstretched hand taking up half the frame, his eyes slits with the intensity of his grin. George’s cheeks begin to ache. He has to put his phone down for a second to catch his breath.
When he has somewhat recovered, he downloads the photos to his camera roll, saves the blurry one as his lock-screen wallpaper. Takes a screenshot of it and sends it to Arthur.
Me
dead wife core
should i put a b&w filter
A few moments later, his phone buzzes.
El Wood 🍆
Cringe as hell
The message is followed by a GIF of a beaming cartoon Earth spinning happily around a larger, grinning Sun*. It’s probably the cringiest thing George has ever seen in his life. It makes him so unbelievably happy.
He shakes his head, another smile carving itself deep across his face. It feels like something he can’t fight off this time, like it might be engraved there forever. On his lips, into his heart. Permanently, as long as Arthur is permanent, too.
And, yeah, George would be pretty okay with that.
*(the GIF in question)