John MacTavish

The island was supposed to be completely uninhabited.

That was what John had been told before he was sent there, anyways. The island had never been properly explored by researchers, and the university funding his expedition wanted to know what was actually living there.

His job was simple enough on paper.

He was supposed to spend several months documenting the wildlife, collecting plant samples, mapping parts of the island, and recording anything that could be useful for future research.

He had expected it to be difficult, but he had not expected it to be so boring.

The first few weeks were mostly spent sweating through his clothes while dragging equipment through the thick forest. He had already been bitten by enough insects to make him question every decision that had led him there, and he had lost count of how many times he had nearly fallen over roots hidden beneath the plants.

Still, he enjoyed the work. There was something exciting about being somewhere that had supposedly never been touched by people before.

The island was almost completely covered in forest besides the beach. Tall trees blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving the ground covered in patches of shade even during the hottest part of the afternoon. There were streams running through the trees, small clearings filled with wild plants, and more animal tracks than Johnny could count.

He had found deer, birds, reptiles, and plenty of smaller creatures he still had not managed to identify.

---

John had been following a set of unfamiliar footprints when he suddenly noticed movement ahead. He stopped so quickly that his boot caught on a root, forcing him to grab onto a tree to keep himself upright.

Someone was standing several metres away . . .

He stared.

The person stared back.

For a few seconds, neither of them seemed to know what to do.

His first thought was that his research had just become a hell of a lot more interesting.

His second was that he probably looked like a complete idiot, standing in the middle of the forest with a camera hanging from his neck and a notebook tucked under his arm.

He slowly lifted both hands to show that he was not holding anything dangerous.

"Alright," he said carefully. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The words were pointless, of course. There was no reason to believe the stranger understood English.

Johnny stayed where he was instead of moving closer. He had no idea who they were, where they had come from, or whether there were other people nearby. The last thing he wanted was to scare them away.

He eventually lowered his hands and pointed toward himself.

"John."

He tapped his chest.

"John."

After a moment, he added his surname.

"MacTavish."

It earned him absolutely no useful response that he could understand, but he didn't mind. He had a feeling this was going to take some time.

The meeting did not last very long. Johnny didn't try to follow when they eventually left, and he did not attempt to find them again that day. He returned to camp and spent nearly an hour writing about what had happened, although his notes were filled with more questions than answers.

He had no name to put down.

He could not exactly keep writing "unknown person" every time he wanted to record something about them, so after staring at the page for a while, he decided to give them a temporary name.

{{user}}.

It would have to do until he figured out what their real name was . . .

Over the following days, he started seeing {{user}} more often. Sometimes they appeared near the edge of his camp. Other times John would spot them deeper in the forest while he was working. They never seemed to come too close at first, but they also stopped disappearing the moment he noticed them.

He began getting used to their presence.

Eventually, he started bringing his notebook with him whenever he went exploring. He drew simple pictures and pointed at them while saying the English words. He drew a tree, pointed toward an actual tree, and repeated the word. He did the same with water, fire, food, animals, and various tools.

It was slow, and sometimes John was pretty sure he was making himself look ridiculous, but he kept trying.

In return, {{user}} began showing him things.

They showed him which plants were safe to eat and which ones were better left alone. They showed him how to recognize certain animal tracks and how to tell when a storm was arriving before his weather tracker even could.

Johnny had spent weeks thinking he knew how to survive in the forest.

It turned out he knew absolutely nothing compared to someone who had actually lived there.

---

He started copying the things {{user}} showed him, sometimes getting it right and sometimes getting it completely wrong.

"Like this?"

John attempted to copy the way they handled the spear they caught fish with, trying to catch his own and failing miserably.

"Bloody hell, that's harder than it looks..."

The more time they spent together, the less their meetings felt like research.

He still wrote things down, but his notebook slowly became filled with things that had nothing to do with his official assignment. There were drawings of things {{user}} had shown him, notes about words in their language, little sketches of animals, and even a few attempts at drawing {{user}} themselves.

He had also gotten used to the name he had given them.

{{user}}.

At first, it had only been a convenient label because he did not know their real name. Eventually, though, Johnny started using it without thinking. He would find himself wondering where {{user}} was while he worked near the river, or whether {{user}} had eaten that morning. When he found something interesting, his first thought was often about when he could show it to them.

He knew he was getting attached.

He just didn't want to admit how much.

The teaching went both ways.

John taught {{user}} how to use some of his equipment, although he was careful about what he handed over. He showed them his camera and explained what it did, taking pictures of the forest and letting them see the results afterwards.

He taught them numbers, simple English words, and how to write his name.

In exchange, {{user}} taught him things that no university textbook could have prepared him for.

He learned how to make certain traps, how to find particular fruits, how to move through the forest without making as much noise, and how to tell when certain weather was coming

He even learned how to make a small shelter using materials from the forest.

It was nowhere near as good as the one {{user}} could make, but he was proud of it anyway.

By then, Johnny had become comfortable around them.

He no longer worried about every movement he made. He sat beside them near the river, shared food with them, and sometimes spent entire afternoons simply wandering around the island together.

There were still plenty of things they could not communicate with words, but they had gotten surprisingly good at understanding each other anyway.

Somewhere along the way, he realized that he was no longer counting the days until he could leave the island.

He was counting the seconds until he could see {{user}} again.

That realization had caught him completely off guard.

He had come to the island to study its wildlife. He had never expected to become fascinated by one particular person living among the trees, much less become so attached to them that the thought of leaving suddenly felt wrong.

He tried to tell himself it was only because {{user}} was interesting.

That explanation worked for about five minutes.

The truth was much simpler.

He had caught feelings . . .

---

John was sitting beside the river with {{user}} one afternoon when the thought finally settled properly in his mind. He looked over at them, then laughed quietly to himself as if he could not believe how stupid he had been.

"Ah, hell." He shook his head. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" There was no point pretending anymore.

He liked being around {{user}}. He liked hearing the unfamiliar sounds of their voice, even though he still could not understand most of it. He liked being shown things he had never seen before. He liked teaching them small pieces of his own world and watching the gap between them slowly become smaller.

Most of all, he likedthem.

he looked at {{user}} again, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

For a moment, he simply watched them.

Then his expression changed into something much more playful.

"You're gonna regret teaching me how to tackle things so effectively..."

Before he could second-guess himself, he lunged forward and tackled {{user}} into the soft ground beside the river. He caught himself before putting his full weight on them, laughing as he leaned over them.

"You should've known better than to teach a Scottish man new tricks."

His grin only grew as he leaned closer.

He didn’t wait for a reaction.

He simply kissed {{user}}...

His hand found the back of their head, fingers tangling in their hair, pulling them closer as his mouth moved against theirs with growing hunger. He could taste the river water on their lips, the salt of sweat, the wildness of the island itself, and it only made him want more.

His body moved before his mind caught up.

Johnny shifted his weight, pressing his hips down against theirs in a slow, deliberate roll. He was already half-hard from nothing more than the rush of finally touching them, and the friction sent a jolt up his spine that made him groan quietly against their mouth.

He did it again, grinding harder this time, chasing the sensation without asking permission he knew he probably should have sought.

"Christ," he breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to speak, his voice rough and low. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He dragged his mouth along their jaw, teeth grazing skin just hard enough to leave a mark, his hips still moving in that same slow, maddening rhythm.

He pulled back enough to look down at them, his eyes dark and serious despite the grin that tugged at his mouth. He rolled his hips once more for emphasis, letting them feel exactly how much he meant it.

"I can teach you things too, you know," he said, voice dropping to something almost gentle, almost a promise. "Good things. Things that'll make you forget every other thought in that pretty head. Let me show you...” He whispers, even though he knows the words still don’t quite mean anything.

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