Skimpy Thong and Singed Towel

"I sprinted back to camp screaming about fire, only to discover Jamie had built a campfire—then proceeded to set myself ablaze while contemplating his underwear choices."

Towelling myself dry on the dusty bank of the lagoon, the sense of tranquillity I had felt in the water began to ebb away like a retreating tide. The afterglow of that overwhelming experience still hummed beneath my skin, a residual warmth that made the mundane act of drying myself feel almost sacred. But as I stood there, the air seemed to shift around me, losing the purity that had enveloped me so completely moments before.

Something was different, and it wasn't just the transition from water to land.

Instinctively, I lifted my nose to the air, sniffing like a dog catching an unfamiliar scent. The gesture felt ridiculous even as I did it—Paul Smith, businessman and pianist, reduced to primitive animal instincts in this place where nothing made sense and everything demanded attention.

I turned my gaze towards what I believed was the direction of our camp, squinting against the light that seemed to fall differently here than it did on Earth. My heart lurched in my chest, missing a beat entirely before resuming at double speed.

Am I seeing things?

A small trail of grey smoke was snaking its way into the sky, a serpentine accusation rising from the direction of everything we'd built today. It stood in stark contrast against the clarity of the atmosphere I had become accustomed to—that endless, unmarked blue that offered nothing but emptiness. Panic surged within me, icy and sharp, cutting through the lingering warmth of the lagoon like a blade through silk.

"The tent!"

The words ripped from my throat before conscious thought could intervene, raw and desperate.

It has to be the tent on fire. There's nothing else here!

The realisation propelled me into action with a ferocity I hadn't known I possessed. Somewhere beneath the terror was a thread of bitter irony—all that work, all that struggle with the poles and the canvas, all of it turning to ash while I'd been floating in a lagoon having what amounted to a spiritual experience. The universe had a cruel sense of timing.

Wrapping the towel tightly around my waist—modesty persisting even in crisis—I grabbed my clothes in a hasty bundle and took off towards the camp. My feet barely seemed to touch the ground, each stride fuelled by adrenaline that tasted metallic on my tongue. As I ran, the dampness of my skin mixed with the fine dust of the Clivilian ground, creating a gritty paste on my legs that would have bothered me immensely under normal circumstances. Each footfall sent a cloud of dust swirling into the air, marking my frantic passage like smoke signals of my own.

"Jamie! Fire!"

I shouted as I neared the final hill that separated me from the camp, my voice strained with fear and exertion, cracking on the second word like a pubescent boy's. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating—the tent, the mattress Luke had hauled through the portal, the sheets that still smelled of Earth. All of it, burning.

"Fire!"

I called out again as I crested the peak of the small incline, the imagined sight of our camp consumed by flames already burning behind my eyes. I could see it so clearly in my mind—the canvas collapsing inward, the supplies we'd so carefully organised reduced to cinders, Jamie standing helpless in the face of destruction.

"For fuck's sake! I know there's a fire!"

Jamie's response cut through the air with an irritation so potent I could almost taste it. Beneath the annoyance was something else—amusement, perhaps, or the particular satisfaction of someone who'd been waiting to deliver a punchline.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my frantic momentum collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut. My eyes widened as they settled on the scene before me, the adrenaline that had fuelled my sprint draining away so quickly I felt momentarily lightheaded.

The campfire, crackling merrily at the centre of our little camp, was the source of the smoke. Not the tent. Not our supplies. Just a perfectly constructed fire, flames dancing in a ring of stones that Jamie must have arranged while I was busy having my encounter with the lagoon.

"I got the campfire started."

Jamie's tone had softened now, perhaps sensing the depth of my embarrassment, or perhaps simply enjoying it too much to prolong the moment of my humiliation.

"Oh."

It was all I could manage in reply, the single syllable carrying the full weight of my foolishness. The heat of my flushed face competed with the warmth of the fire, and I wasn't sure which was winning.

"That's great."

My words felt inadequate, a poor bandage over the gaping wound of my overreaction. Relief and mortification tangled inside me like fighting cats, neither willing to yield dominance.

The small campfire before us crackled and popped with a cheerfulness that felt almost mocking, as Jamie tossed another piece of kindling into its heart. The flames leapt eagerly to consume the offering, their dance hypnotic in a way that momentarily distracted me from my embarrassment.

"All I could see from over the hill was smoke. I was worried that it may have been the tent. We've got nothing else here."

The explanation tumbled out of me, my voice still tinged with the residual adrenaline from my mistaken panic. It sounded reasonable enough—logical, even. Anyone would have assumed the worst under the circumstances. Anyone would have run.

"Obviously."

Jamie's reply came with a sneer that could have curdled milk. The word dripped with condescension, a reminder that whatever fragile camaraderie we'd built earlier was still balanced on a knife's edge.

Shrugging off Jamie's remark—what else could I do?—I remained standing there, awkwardly clutching my clothes under one arm, my mind racing for a solution to the problem of drying off without giving Jamie more ammunition for his evidently well-stocked arsenal of contempt. The towel around my waist suddenly felt precarious, a flimsy barrier between my dignity and complete exposure.

Despite the tension, I couldn't help but observe him. It was the kind of assessment I'd learned to make quickly in business—sizing up a person, cataloguing their strengths and weaknesses, forming an impression that might prove useful later. Luke had chosen well, at least in terms of aesthetics. Jamie, standing a little under six feet, presented a compact yet impressively muscular figure. His body spoke of discipline—regular gym sessions, careful attention to diet, the kind of physical maintenance that required dedication.

And on manscaping, my mind added unbidden, an involuntary observation as my gaze lingered momentarily on Jamie's well-defined abs. He was casually pulling his t-shirt over his head in a display of nonchalance and confidence that seemed designed to emphasise every muscle, every carefully cultivated contour. The contrast between his ease in his own body and my current state—damp, dusty, clutching a bundle of clothes like a security blanket—was not lost on me.

"Don't let the fire go out."

Jamie's voice cut through my thoughts, a clear instruction that yanked me back to the present moment and the practicalities of our situation. His directive was simple enough, but it carried the weight of everything we were facing—the need for warmth as night approached, the comfort of flame in this empty landscape, the basic human requirement for light against the darkness.

Shaking my head in an attempt to dispel the lingering fog of embarrassment and redirect my focus, I voiced the concern that had been gnawing at the edges of my mind since I'd stopped panicking about the tent.

"Are you sure having a fire is the best thing?"

The words tumbled out, laced with a hesitance that mirrored my internal conflict. Fire meant visibility. Fire meant announcing our presence to whatever might be out there in the vastness we hadn't yet explored.

"What if there is something out there and our fire... attracts it?"

Jamie paused, his movements halting midway through the act of unzipping his jeans. The gesture was so casual, so unbothered by my presence, that I found myself simultaneously admiring and envying his comfort with his own body. He looked up at me, his expression shifting from casual indifference to serious contemplation.

"You really think there might be something else out there?"

The question hung between us, heavier than the smoke still rising from our little fire.

"Maybe."

I shrugged, my response a non-committal veil over the torrent of possibilities that raced through my mind. The truth was, I had no idea what might lurk beyond the flickering reach of our campfire. We'd seen no life beyond the water itself—no insects, no animals, no birds in that empty sky. But absence of evidence wasn't evidence of absence. The unknown was fertile ground for the seeds of fear and speculation to take root, and my imagination was apparently an excellent gardener.

"I'm sure it'll be fine for now. We'll make sure we put it out shortly after nightfall."

Jamie offered the reassurance with a practicality that seemed as much for his own benefit as for mine. His words were meant to comfort, and while they did little to dispel the cloak of apprehension that had settled around my shoulders, the logic was sound. We'd be careful. We'd take precautions. It was all we could do.

Without further discussion, Jamie wasted no time in shedding the remainder of his clothes. The act was performed with a defiance that seemed directed at the universe itself—at our situation, at our constraints, at everything that had been stripped away from us. His jeans joined his shirt on the ground, and then, with a carelessness that spoke of absolute confidence, he threw the bundle against the tent and sprinted toward the river bank.

"Hey! Wait!"

The words escaped me in a rush, a futile attempt to bridge the distance between caution and recklessness. My breath caught in my throat as I watched, the last vestiges of my concern momentarily suspended by the spectacle unfolding before me.

My voice had impeccable timing—or perhaps the worst timing imaginable. It caught Jamie moments before he launched himself into the air, poised to embrace the river's cool embrace with the abandon of a child cannonballing into a swimming pool. But as Jamie pulled back, attempting to heed my call, his foot betrayed him. The soft, treacherous dust that lined the bank offered no purchase, and physics did the rest.

I couldn't resist.

The laughter that had been building just beneath the surface burst forth, a release of tension and absurdity that the situation more than warranted. As Jamie slid to an ungraceful stop, landing on his rear in a spectacular cloud of dust, the laughter overtook me completely. It bent me double, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes, the kind of uncontrollable mirth that feeds on itself and refuses to be contained.

"I'm so sorry."

I managed to gasp out the words between fits, my voice hitched and broken by the laughter I couldn't suppress. It was one of those moments where the absurdity of the situation rendered me helpless, where all the fear and tension and embarrassment of the day channelled themselves into this single, ridiculous instant.

"What?"

Jamie's voice floated back, tinged with confusion and—was that a hint of amusement? He remained grounded, making no immediate effort to rise, as if conceding to the ridiculousness of his predicament. The dust settled around him like a shroud, coating his skin in the same rust-coloured layer that covered everything in this place.

Just breathe. Breathe.

I mentally coached myself, attempting to quell the laughter that still shook my frame. It was a futile effort; the humour of the moment was too potent, too perfectly absurd to be suppressed by mere willpower.

Finally, Jamie pushed himself up, his movements hesitant as he turned on the spot, seemingly disoriented from his unexpected descent. I caught my breath, my laughter momentarily forgotten as I took in his appearance—dust-covered, slightly dazed, and wearing...

What the heck is Jamie wearing?

The question screamed in my head, curiosity piqued by the incongruous choice of underwear for our wilderness setting. The bright green thong—because that's unmistakably what it was—stood out against Jamie's dust-covered skin like a beacon of... something. Fashion statement? Personal preference? A deliberate choice to maintain some sense of his normal life in this abnormal situation?

Discretion, I decided, was the better part of valour. I opted not to voice my wonder aloud. Some questions were better left unasked, some observations better left unspoken. We were all carrying pieces of our old lives here, clinging to whatever remnants of normality we could maintain. If Jamie's happened to include minimal underwear choices, who was I to comment?

Instead, I shifted the topic, pointing in the direction from which I had come.

"There's a good little lagoon just over the way, near the end of the river's bend."

The words felt almost conspiratorial, as if I was sharing a secret rather than simple directions. Perhaps I was. The lagoon had felt like mine, somehow—a private discovery, a sacred space. Offering it to Jamie felt like an act of generosity that surprised me.

"Thanks."

Jamie's reply carried a note of genuine gratitude, albeit slightly strained as he brushed off the fine layer of dust that had claimed his legs as casualties of his fall. The simple word did more to thaw the ice between us than anything else that had happened today. Then he moved past me, a determined stride in his step, leaving a trail of dust in his wake as he headed toward the lagoon I'd just vacated.

I couldn't resist another light chuckle, my gaze inadvertently following his retreat. Particularly the dust-covered aftermath of his misadventure, which clung to places that would have been entirely covered by more substantial underwear choices.

There's no way that dust didn't get into that skimpy thong.

The thought was a small, private amusement that lightened the weight on my shoulders, if only for a moment. A reminder that even in the strangest circumstances, there were still things to laugh about. Still moments of levity to be found amid the fear and uncertainty.

I turned back toward the fire, intending to assume my duties as its guardian—

"Ahh, shit!"

The exclamation tore from me as I suddenly became aware of the heat creeping up the towel wrapped around my body. In my distraction—watching Jamie's dusty departure, mentally cataloguing the absurdity of thong-wearing in survival situations—I had edged too close to the campfire. The flames, apparently feeling neglected, had eagerly latched onto the corner of my towel, licking at the fabric with a hunger that was rapidly spreading.

Panic replaced amusement in an instant. I hastily discarded the towel, now properly alight, onto the ground, and frantically rolled it in the dust to smother the flames. The fire fought back briefly before surrendering to the suffocating embrace of the Clivilian earth, leaving behind a singed, dirt-caked remnant of what had been a perfectly serviceable towel.

Standing there, momentarily exposed and slightly singed, the warmth of the fire against my bare skin was a stark contrast to the cooling of the afternoon air. The irony wasn't lost on me—I'd run back to camp in a panic about fire, only to set myself ablaze through sheer inattention.

At least Jamie should be at the lagoon for a while.

I reassured myself with a wry smile, finding a sliver of solace in the thought. It was a moment of vulnerability, tempered by the small comfort that, for now, Jamie's attention would be elsewhere. He wouldn't witness this particular piece of my ongoing humiliation.

I collected my scattered clothes, pulling them on with a haste born of the need to restore some semblance of dignity before anyone returned. The fabric felt strange against my still-damp skin, but strange was becoming the new normal in this place.

The fire crackled beside me, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn't just tried to consume me. I regarded it with a mixture of gratitude and wariness—the same complicated relationship I was developing with everything about this world. Essential and dangerous. Comforting and threatening. A source of light and a potential disaster.

Perhaps that was Clivilius in a nutshell. Perhaps that was life itself.

I settled at a safer distance from the flames, watching them dance in the gathering afternoon, and allowed myself a moment to simply be. The lagoon's lingering warmth still hummed beneath my skin, a secret I would carry until I understood what it meant. Jamie was off having his own encounter with the water. And I was here, slightly singed but intact, guardian of a fire I'd very nearly become fuel for.

Not the worst day I'd ever had, all things considered.

Not by a long shot.