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He would have done something, he really would have. Gotten a hotel room at least, checked his bank accounts. But then the weather changed, the temperature dropping and the humidity soaring, and Casey was filled with a queasy sort of inertia, his skin clammy, his sinuses throbbing. He woke to air as dense as pea soup, the sky bruised and sullen-looking. There was a glassy eeriness to the surface of the swamp, and the constant backdrop of birdsong and squirrel chatter had gone silent. Rain showers came and went, doing nothing to ease the pressure in the air. On TV, they saw that Tropical Storm Cindy had made landfall further south.

“Cindy, huh?” Casey tried for humor. “What a bitch.”

Jamie frowned down at his phone. “I hope flights don’t get canceled.”

“Why? Planning a trip?”

“Not for me.”

Casey scoffed. “What, are you so sick of me that you bought me a ticket to somewhere?”

“Not exactly. But you should probably shower and shave.”

He did it on autopilot, feeling a vague little curl of unease as he studied his own eyes in the mirror. He looked tired, and the dark roots of his hair were beginning to show again. What a pathetic, greasy loser he had turned into, and all over some guy. Maybe the tropical storm would wash away this self-indulgent stint of melancholy, give him a fresh start.

But as the day went on, his anxiety just deepened, tickling at his spine. There was a weird, heavy quality to the light, and the sky seemed to be pressing down on them, a thick cap of shifting clouds. Besides that, Jamie was acting suspicious, glued to his phone and strangely energetic, bustling around the boat in what seemed like an oddly good mood. He didn’t even give Casey shit about the half-empty can of Diet Coke he’d left out overnight, which was—disturbing.

“You’re plotting something,” Casey remarked, watching him from across the living room.

“No I’m not. I’m just waiting on a delivery.”

“Hm. Something for the babies?”

Jamie shrugged. “Sure.”

A while later, the sound of tires popping on gravel cut through the thick quiet of the day. Jamie’s posture seemed deliberately casual as he lounged on the couch, barely glancing up at Casey. “Can you go get that for me?”

“Seriously? You want me to go unload your pallets of hot dogs or whatever?”

“Go on, CJ. Go earn your keep.”

Casey rolled his eyes, but he got up. He was too jittery to sit still anymore, anyway. When he got out on the dock, he was surprised to see that the vehicle pulling up the drive was a taxi, not a delivery truck like he’d expected.

And then could have sworn that the whole swamp quaked beneath him, though it was really just his knees going weak, a sweet, shuddery sensation unfolding in his chest, because Laurel was climbing out of the car, his hair tousled by the humidity, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, every smooth, strong line of him solid and graceful and perfect.

Casey didn’t rush into his arms. He wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to take a single step. Laurel was smiling, and the sunglasses were oddly intimidating, making him look a little unreal, like a still in a magazine.

“I had a lot of clever lines planned,” Laurel called. God, he was beautiful, breezy and careless and just a little bit mussed, a flush creeping up from beneath his collar. How had Casey ever convinced himself that he was only average-looking? “Something about coming to rescue you. Something else about only being here for the raccoons. But really, I just missed you.”

“I—“ Casey cleared his throat. The sound of his own heartbeat was deafening, and he was having a hard time coming up with words.

“God, Casey, say something. Is it okay that I’m here?” Laurel pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and the aching earnestness in his eyes finally unlocked whatever had been keeping Casey frozen at the top of the steps. He crossed the yard in an instant, and then his hands were on Laurel’s face, his jaw, shaping the lines of his shoulders and back, and he was kissing his forehead and scalp, clumsy, frantic closed-mouthed kisses as if he’d forgotten how to do anything else.

“Shit,” he said against Laurel’s hair, breathing him in, filling his lungs with him. “I guess I missed you too. How embarrassing.”

“Come here.” Laurel nuzzled at his cheek until Casey turned his head, and their mouths slid together like companion puzzle pieces. Casey forgot what he had been planning to say, forgot anything but the gentle heat of Laurel’s mouth as Laurel kissed him softly, almost carefully, his lips clinging to Casey’s for a long time before he finally broke away. He looked him up and down with a shy smile. Then the smile turned mischievous.

“What’s embarrassing is this rubber-boot-and-sweatpants combo,” Laurel murmured. He snapped the elastic of his waistband, and delighted heat fluttered through Casey’s groin. “What exactly is happening here? I thought you were the fashionable one.”

For a second, his fingers twitched, and he wanted to check his skin, ashamed that he’d let himself fall apart so badly. But Laurel was looking up at him guilelessly, and he hadn’t recoiled in horror at the sight of him. He was just teasing. And so Casey let his hand travel down Laurel’s neck, toying with the top button of his shirt. Teasing back.

“Shows what you know,” he said. “These here are raccoon-feeding clothes.”

“Oh dear, I apologize. It seems I’m overdressed.” Laurel’s eyes were sparkling, his lips wet and lush, and it was on the tip of Casey’s tongue to offer to help him become less dressed, when the screen door creaked open.

Casey sighed. “I should probably introduce you to Jamie. Unless you’ve already met.” Jamie had obviously been in on this, though he wasn’t sure how.

“Only on Instagram,” Laurel said. “I found him in your followers list and messaged him. I was kind of desperate to get in touch with you.”

“I thought you’d never want to see me again.”

“Funny. I thought the same about you.” Laurel made a little face.

“I didn’t mean to run off without saying anything.” Casey smoothed a strand of hair off of Laurel’s forehead. “I kind of lost it after your mom fired me. And then I figured it was too late to take anything back. But I’m glad—I’m glad—“ Behind them, he could hear Jamie being as loud as possible on the dock, but he didn’t want to invite anyone else into this moment just yet. And he really didn’t want to have to tell Jamie that he’d been right. Apparently Laurel still wanted him.

The thought made his insides squeeze and his heart patter dizzily, and he couldn’t really bear to look at it fully, so he tucked it away. “I guess I’m glad you cyber-stalked me,” he finished lamely. “And conspired with my best friend. You obsessive weirdo.”

Laurel winked. “Anytime, sweetheart. Now tell me more about these raccoons.”

*

The thing about dressing to impress was that it assumed a nice location. An indoor, non-swamp location. Laurel had worn his crispest linen shirt and the slacks that molded to his ass just right (the slacks he knew Casey liked), but now he was soaked in sweat, in mud up to his ankles, little bits of moss and bark and who knew what else stuck to his arms and the back of his neck.

Still, Casey didn’t seem to mind. As they stumbled along the edge of the water, following the swinging beam of Jamie’s flashlight, Laurel felt the weight of his gaze. He seemed unable to stop looking at him, and Laurel felt the same, his eyes drawn to Casey again and again, like maybe he would wink out of existence if Laurel wasn’t watching. It was hard to believe he was here, hard to believe that Casey had missed him, that he’d held him, clung to him and breathed out trembly words against his hair. Laurel would probably still be in Casey’s arms right now, except that he was carrying a bucket of cat dry food, which wasn’t exactly romantic or very conducive to hugging.

“It’s just a little further,” Jamie called over his shoulder, his thick glasses flashing in the gloom of early evening. He was an interesting individual, unapologetically straightforward and oddly zen, and he and Casey seemed to know each other’s personalities by heart. Laurel had messaged him in a fit of panic, hoping desperately that @j_raccoonboi was, in fact, the friend Casey had told him about. He hadn’t really expected a response, much less that Jamie would invite him down here. Laurel had imagined it would be a fool’s errand, that Casey wouldn’t want to see him, or that whatever chemistry had existed between them would have dried up. Even now, there was a nervous edge to his buoyant mood. So many things remained uncertain. But as his eyes met Casey’s for the thousandth time, his heart flip-flopping and warmth spreading through his chest, Laurel tried to tell himself that everything would be alright.

There were three large troughs set up at the edge of the trees, and Jamie instructed Laurel to empty the bucket of cat food into one of them. Casey dumped his own bucket, which contained a mixture of hot dogs and grapes, into another. His forearms were strong and wiry in the fading light, and Laurel forgot for a moment why they were there, lost in thoughts of tasting his skin, licking his way from the pulse point at Casey’s wrist to the crook of his elbow. Casey’s tan had deepened since the last time Laurel had seen him, and there was an adorable rosiness to his cheeks and the nape of his neck.

The red cast of Casey’s skin deepened as he noticed Laurel looking at him. He straightened up, an ironic expression on his face. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh, definitely.” But not in front of Jamie and the raccoons . Laurel cleared his throat, turning to Casey’s friend, who was filling up the third trough with bottled water. “So, do you do this every night?”

“Yeah, but they don’t always come out. If the weather’s bad, or something spooks them, they’ll wait until I leave. But I’ve got a trail cam set up, so I can watch them.” Jamie stepped back, hands on his hips. “They might not come out tonight. They can always tell when a storm is coming.”

A light breeze had sprung up, tickling the back of Laurel’s neck, and he looked reflectively up at the sky. Piles of dark, dramatic clouds indicated that Tropical Storm Cindy was on its way, but he wasn’t sure how many hours out it was. He hadn’t really spared a thought for the weather, getting down here. Now he realized how stagnant the air felt, the humidity pressing down on them. Laurel wondered if they’d be able to outrun the storm, or if they would have to find somewhere to shelter. Either way, he wasn’t sure he minded, as long as Casey was with him.

He slid his hand into Casey’s, squeezing gently. Casey squeezed back.

They waited in silence as darkness settled over the swamp, the air thick and syrupy, full of the sounds of crickets and frogs. Casey’s thumb was making small circles on his palm, and every cell in Laurel’s body leaned into the touch like a cat being petted. He was so lost in the sensation, soothed by Casey’s nearness and the cozy little pocket of the night, that he almost started to nod off—he hadn’t really slept well the previous night—but then Casey’s fingers tightened around his, startling him.

“What—”

“Shh,” Casey whispered. “ Look .”

A furry, amorphous shape was shuffling out of the trees, its eyes flashing neon in the beam of Jamie’s flashlight. As Laurel watched, the shape resolved itself into an absolute unit of a raccoon, ears back, nose snuffling eagerly along the ground. Another one followed, and then a third and a fourth, slowly approaching the troughs of food with hesitant, bobbing movements. He almost let out a delighted peal of laughter, because they were just so round , their bodies fluffy marshmallows, their snouts outstretched, glossy fur rippling, nostrils working earnestly as they sniffed out the food. Laurel had a primal, almost visceral need to give them a big squeeze and bury his face in their fur, and his fingers twitched.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to Casey. “I love them so much.”

“They’re pretty great. There’s usually more of them. I think they’re hiding from the storm.” Casey pressed a kiss to his temple, and Laurel’s breath caught in his throat at how easy and natural it had been.

There was an altercation as two of the raccoons reached the hot dogs at the same time, colliding like two fluffy mack trucks in a brief show of growling and teeth, but then all seemed to be forgiven as they each found their respective handfuls of food. Laurel watched as they skittered back and forth between the food and the water, dunking their spoils to wash them off, then shoving soggy grapes and hotdogs and cat food pellets into their mouths in a chorus of chomping and wet smacking noises. They were surprisingly loud , the sounds of their chewing and snuffling and chittering overpowering the noise of the insects and the whisper of the wind. Every so often, one would raise its nose and sniff in the direction of the three humans, eyes bright and intelligent. In general, though, they seemed more preoccupied with eating than they were worried about being watched.

It felt like a gift, something Laurel would hold close to his heart, and he knew that years from now, whatever happened, he would remember this moment. The steady pressure of Casey’s hand in his and the hushed sounds of the night, the mossy, verdant smell of the swamp and the way the raccoons’ noses flexed, the white gleam of their wicked teeth and the clutching fingers on their creepy little hands. The simple happiness of watching these wild creatures exist, of feeling like a wild creature himself, out under the stormy sky with the air sticking to his skin and mud between his toes, unfettered, no one asking anything of him except to be there.

Eventually it began to sprinkle, and there was a purplish flash of lighting overhead. A corresponding rumble of thunder sounded from far away. The raccoons, seeming to sense the change in the weather, shoveled down a last few handfuls of food before retreating back into the trees, the round shapes of their bodies growing less and less distinct until they finally faded into the shadows and out of sight.

Part of Laurel wanted to stay there. Casey’s hand had slipped out of his and was now around his waist, and he was leaning against Casey’s shoulder, cheek pressed to the rough cotton of his sweatshirt. He could hear his heartbeat, the slow rhythm of his breaths.

“Okey dokey, folks, the raccoon buffet is officially closed!” Jamie bellowed, clapping his hands, and Laurel startled, nearly losing his balance. “Everybody out. Time to go.”

“Jesus, J,” Casey said, rolling his eyes. He massaged Laurel’s shoulder, adding, “Sorry. Subtlety isn’t one of his strengths.”

“You two need to get on the road,” Jamie told them, crossing his arms. “I don’t have enough space for three people in the houseboat. Laurel, it was lovely to meet you. I still don’t know you very well, but it seems like you and CJ have a special connection, and I’m rooting for you. But I will not be hosting your passionate reunion, so you have to get going. No offense.”

“We’ll go, we’ll go.” Casey sighed. He looked at Laurel, and Laurel felt a little shiver of—nerves, or anticipation, at the thought of being alone with him. What would they talk about? Did they need to talk at all? They still hardly knew each other, and suddenly his heart was pounding, all the easy familiarity of the previous moments replaced by a creeping sense of awkwardness.

“You want me to drive?”

Laurel swallowed. “Please? I’m exhausted.”

“Be safe,” Jamie said. “Storm’s almost here.”

“Yeah.” Casey gave Jamie a hug, clapping him on the back. It was incongruous and also sweet, seeing him be affectionate with someone. “You too. You’ll be okay out here?”

“Oh, sure.” Jamie shrugged. “I’ve got a generator and tons of food.”

“Jamie.” Laurel chewed his lip, wanting to say something but not sure of the right words. He needs someone to wake him up , Jamie had written, when Laurel had messaged him on Instagram. But really, Laurel had been the one sleepwalking. He felt wide awake now, despite his fatigue, nerves tingling, pulse beating a tattoo in his throat. Maybe it was the ozone in the air, or the gathering pressure of the storm, but he felt more alive than he had in a long time, aware of the blood rushing through his veins, his tongue swiping across his teeth. “Thank you,” he said finally.