(no subject)
They take their time walking home; the party was good but long, and Brad's comfortably exhausted, with Terry's hand in his. Every now and then, he sneaks a look at her in that dress. She looks fucking incredible. His own costume, he has to admit, has been fairly comfortable.
The fog's coming down fast.
"I'm definitely holding onto this jacket," he says, and he's got his mouth open to say more, but then something happens. Something shifts. The fog breaks up.
The wind is wiping at the tent-lines. Terry's hand is still in his.
Camp Mathilda.
Brad looks around him.
"What the fuck?"
The fog's coming down fast.
"I'm definitely holding onto this jacket," he says, and he's got his mouth open to say more, but then something happens. Something shifts. The fog breaks up.
The wind is wiping at the tent-lines. Terry's hand is still in his.
Camp Mathilda.
Brad looks around him.
"What the fuck?"