As the sun dipped lower, painting the treetops in shades of orange and gold, hunger began to gnaw at the group. Backpacks were unzipped and plastic bags rustled as everyone dug out the food they'd promised to bring. Soon the quiet clearing was filled with the savory aroma of instant noodles bubbling in metal pots, skewered hotdogs sizzling over makeshift grills, and rice steaming in a small portable stove.
"Don't burn it this time," one friend scolded, hovering over the pan as another poked at it with far too much enthusiasm.
"It's not burning—it's just… extra grilled," came the defensive reply.
The group erupted in laughter, voices rising above the steady hum of the forest. Cooking outdoors turned quickly into controlled chaos. Someone dropped a handful of rice straight into the dirt, staring in despair while everyone else howled. Another nearly set the skewers on fire, flames licking dangerously high until Kai calmly shifted the sticks away from the heat. The rest of them were too busy laughing to be of much use, though their constant teasing kept the mood light.
Despite the clumsy start, the food eventually came together. A messy but edible feast spread across a large picnic cloth: bowls of noodles, plates of unevenly cooked rice, skewers stacked high, and chips torn open for "extra side dishes."
They gathered in a circle, knees brushing as they passed dishes around. Every bite came with teasing commentary—who had the worst cooking skills, who should never be allowed near fire again, and which hotdog was the most suspiciously charred.
Eli sat among them, chewing slowly as he listened. He wasn't usually the type to throw himself into the noise, but here, surrounded by laughter and the crackle of fire, he felt something loosen in his chest. The blend of voices, the faint hiss of the stove, and the low drone of crickets beginning to wake—it all felt strangely comforting, like the forest itself was wrapping around them.
"Eli," a voice cut through, pulling him from his thoughts.
He glanced up. Kai was leaning slightly forward, holding out a skewer. The hotdog was a little unevenly grilled, edges charred but still steaming.
"You didn't eat much," Kai said simply, his tone calm but certain.
Eli blinked, caught off guard. "I—oh. Thanks." His words came out softer than intended. He reached for the skewer, fingers brushing against Kai's for the briefest moment. Heat rushed to his neck, and he quickly looked down, pretending to focus on arranging food on his plate.
Kai didn't press. He only leaned back, taking a bite of his own food with the same steady expression, as though the moment hadn't been anything unusual.
But around the circle, at least two of their friends noticed. One smirked and nudged the person beside them, eyebrows raised in silent mischief. The other muffled a laugh behind a cup of noodles, clearly itching to say something but choosing, for now, to let it slide.
Dinner carried on with the same chaotic warmth—jokes about burnt rice, arguments over who should be "banned from cooking duty," and exaggerated groans about full stomachs. By the time the last skewer disappeared, the group was sprawled across the grass, bellies satisfied, voices softer now with the weight of food and evening air.
Eli leaned back, palms pressed into the ground behind him, head tilted toward the sky. The canopy overhead framed patches of deepening blue where the first stars blinked into view. His chest rose with a quiet sigh, lighter than it had been in weeks. He didn't have words for it—whether it was the laughter, the taste of food under open sky, or that fleeting brush of Kai's hand—but something inside him felt quietly full.
The night stretched ahead, promising more than just stars.