Chapter 371: Dying Fire
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the smell of smoke and damp earth. The second thing he noticed was… He had absolutely no idea where he was. Or, well, who he was.He sat up abruptly, groaning when his head spun. Around him stretched a forest so thick that sunlight could barely squeeze through the leaves. The fire burning beside him crackled weakly, sending up a little wisp of smoke. It looked like it was about to die out.
"Okay…" he muttered, staring at the flickering flames as if they could give him answers. "So… I'm in a forest. There's a fire. I have no clue who I am. Not a great start."
He patted himself down—no weapons, no bag, not even a clue about what he was doing here. His clothes were dirty, but at least he wasn't hurt. That was something. He stood, brushed the dirt off his pants, and looked around nervously.
The fire sputtered again, reminding him of its imminent demise. Panic rose in his chest. "Wait—no, no, don't you dare go out! You're literally the only thing between me and whatever's making those creepy noises!"
He darted around, trying to find dry wood. Which, in a wet forest, was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Everything was damp. He sighed dramatically and turned back toward the fire, hands on his hips. He was about to curse out the fire-
—when a sharp crunch sounded behind him.
He froze.
Another sound followed: the faint metallic scrape of a blade being drawn.
He turned slowly, his hands instinctively raised in surrender. "Uh, hello? We can have a friendly discussion... No need for violence."
Standing there was a man. Or, more accurately, barely standing there. His dark shirt was soaked with blood, his head was bleeding, and his knife—very sharp, very real—was pointed shakily right at him.
"You—" the man rasped before his knees gave out and he collapsed onto the forest floor.
"Ah! Hey, no, no, no—don't do that!" he yelped, rushing forward. He dropped to his knees and awkwardly turned the stranger over.
Wait, why am I even helping him? He pointed a knife at me!
The man was out cold. Up close, he looked a little less terrifying—his features were sharp, his hair black as night, his expression tense even in unconsciousness. "Wow," he murmured, blinking. "You're… Uh, kind of gorgeous for someone who just tried to stab me."
After a brief internal debate, he decided that good-looking people shouldn't die on his watch. He carefully dragged the stranger over to the leafy spot where he'd been sleeping, plopped him down, and stole the knife—just in case the guy woke up stabby again.
Then he sat back beside the weak fire, staring at the man with a mix of worry and curiosity.
"Okay, mystery man," he said softly. "I don't know who you are, I don't know who I am, and I'm ninety per cent sure this isn't how camping's supposed to go… But I guess we're in this together now."
He sighed, tossing another twig onto the fire, and muttered, "If you wake up trying to kill me, it would be a far less gruesome death than some wild animal getting to me."
He saw the man's face becoming paler by the second, lips losing colour, breath shallow and uneven. Panic set in—he didn't know this man, didn't even know himself, but the idea of being alone in this creepy forest made his stomach twist.
"Oh no, you don't," he muttered, tearing a strip from his shirt with all the skill of someone who had never done anything useful in his life. "You are not dying on me, mister. You look too expensive to bury."
He wrapped the fabric clumsily around the man's head, tightening it hoping it would stop some of the blood loss. It wasn't neat, but it was tight, and that counted for something, right?
The forest grew darker. The shadows thickened. The fire was now just a pitiful flicker, barely holding on. He stared at it, dread crawling up his spine.
"Okay… Okay. Don't panic. Fire's dying, forest's dark, wolves probably exist here… Yep, this is fine."
He glanced at the unconscious stranger beside him. "You know, you could help a little. Like, I don't know—wake up? Be useful? You already tried to kill me, maybe balance it out?"
Of course, the man said nothing. Typical.
He bit his lip, glanced around nervously, and inched closer. The fire hissed, a chill swept through the air. "I really don't wanna die cold and alone in the woods," he whispered. Then, after a pause, "…so, uh, hope you don't mind cuddles."
With that, he shuffled closer until he was hugging the unconscious man, muttering to himself, "Sorry, but you're stuck with me. I have no survival skills. I can't even remember my own name."
Just as he resigned himself to what was likely the worst (and last) night of his life, his hand brushed against something hard near the man's belt. He froze.
"Whoa, whoa, what's this? I swear I'm not that kind of desperate!" He fumbled around and pulled out a glass bottle. "Oh, thank the stars, it's not a weapon. Probably water?"
He popped the cork and immediately understood what it was. This man right here could be an alcholic.
He squinted at the unconscious man. "Really? You bring a knife and alcohol to the forest? What were you planning to do, stab trees and get drunk about it?"
Still, he wasn't complaining. "Well, Mr. Stabby, you won't be needing this tonight." He grinned, clutching the bottle like a sacred treasure. "Because this baby right here is fuel. Fire fuel!"
A/N: Please don't try this, don't pour alcohol into direct fire! It is not safe!
He splashed some onto the dying flames, flinching as they flared up instantly.
"Oh, thank goodness—okay, I'm a genius. I'm a survivalist prodigy." He looked over at the unconscious man, "See that? I just saved your ass."
The man didn't move.
He sighed dramatically. "Fine. Be that way"
He huddled back beside the newly revived fire, half-freezing, half-proud, muttering under his breath, "Yep. Me and Mister Stabby. We're gonna make it through the night… Hopefully without catching fire."
"Mmmf-"