Page 1 of Malek

One

Axel

Good one Axel, getting yourself into this bloody mess.

Fuck on a biscuit!

Axel was cursing his burst of impulsiveness as he looked around the trail, for a place to get off, especially since his heavy rucksack was pinching in all the wrong places. He glanced behind, not that he could turn all the way around since his rucksack seemed to weigh more than he did, and he knew that if he took one wrong step, he would be taking a very nasty tumble down the mountain.

Okay, maybe not the mountain, but definitely a nasty fall on his backside. He’d probably look something like a turtle that was shell up, or was it shell down…?Whatever.

He was lost, he just knew he was. That was the only explanation. It had to be, and his stupid rucksack was feeling heavier by the second, but he knew if he took it off there was no way it was going back on. He would literally set up camp in the middle of the trail he was currently on.

He looked to the skies and cursed every fucking weatherman and weather app in the world, because this sure as fuck wasn't the sunshine and sunny days temperature, that the Lake District was supposed to have this week.

Served him right anyway running away, because his crush since childhood and his ex-best mate now–– was getting married. What kind of person told their friend days before their wedding that they were in love with them?

Like somehow that would make Matt any less straight than he was, and always had been.

His best mate, or ex-best mate since Axel planned on never facing Matt again, hell no, that was not happening.

Did he mention he was a spineless coward?

He knew Matt would laugh it off, he was a good mate, a good guy, but there was no way that Axel could show his face around those parts anymore, not after trying to kiss Matt, at his flippin’ stag do.

What the fuck were you thinking Axel?

He sighed, if he was being honest he really wasn't, and the pints he’d been downing most of the night hadn't helped.Should’ve stuck to juice mate, shouldn't you?

Matt had never shown any interest in him, but somehow Axel’s chicken brain had convinced him to take a shot, a few days before the wedding too.

Fucking brilliant Axel.

So there he was in the bloody Lake District, about to pissed on by the rain, fucking excellent it was.

His siblings would have a good laugh when he told them about all this, Rowan especially. Not the kissing his mate part, but the getting stuck in the pouring rain part. Now that would get a laugh out of his brother.

Rowan told him to stay back. He’d wanted them to go up to a spa in Cheshire for the weekend, but all Axel could think was he just wanted out of Manchester. And Cheshire definitely wasn't far enough.

At the time, camping had seemed like a good, cheap idea. Everyone said his cheapo ways would get him in shit. They were right, apparently.

The cold rain that was currently pouring down on him, proved that cheap was probably not the way he should have gone. Especially not on short notice.

The rain was freezing and continued to fall steadily through the trees and on him. And because, obviously, it was just his luck the weather had dropped significantly. So yeah, he was cold and wet, always a brilliant combination…Not

He’d woken up toflippin’clear skies, and nice weather, this morning. He really should have known better than to trust the stupid North West England weather.

Always pissing with rain.

Manchie got more bloody rain than anywhere else he could think of in the UK, so why should the bloody Lake District be any different?

He really should have probably picked one of the easier trails, or even stayed at the campsite close to town, but no, he wanted a good spot, to take in the Southern Fell of the Lake District. Had to be bloody Dora the Explorer.

Served him right for picking a place he saw on some random Trip Advisor advert one night while browsing the internet.

Fuck, he was exhausted, and the rain was pouring down on him, soaking him to his skin. Add in his teeth chattering, and the fact he was bloody shivering, and definitely had no clue where exactly he was, or how far it was to the next camping spot.

Well, you’re bloody screwed, ain’t ya?