｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡Grace｡★･ﾟ:*:･｡

The morning sun was too bright, the birds were too loud, and the piece of paper taped to your cabin door was too smug.

You stared at the updated activity schedule, coffee mug halfway to your lips, and felt your eye twitch. 

10:00 AM – Lake activity (Cabins 4 & 7) 

Co–Leaders: Reader & Arthur F

“No,” you said out loud to no one. “Absolutely not.”

“What’s wrong?” Emma called from inside the cabin, where your campers were slowly walking up. 

“Nothing,” you lied, ripping the schedule off the door. “Just… a change in plans.”

A change in plans named Arthur. 

You stormed toward the main lodge, where Margaret was inevitably having her morning coffee and pretending she hadn’t just ruined your day. But before you could make it three steps, Flo intercepted you, looking far too innocent. 

“Morning!” She said brightly. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Don’t”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know about this.” You shoved the schedule at her. “Lake activity? With Arthur? Both our cabins?”

Flo studied the paper with exaggerated interest. “Huh. Would you look at that.”

“Flo.”

“What? Margaret makes the schedules, not me.”

“Margaret, who you were talking to for twenty minutes last night after dinner.”

“We were discussing… camp spirit?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You love me too much.” Flo looped her arm through yours, steering you away from the lodge. “Besides, it’s just one activity. Two hours, max. You can survive two hours with Arthur.”

“I survived four years of this rivalry. I can survive anything.” You pulled free, heading back toward your cabin. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“No one expected you to be!” Flo called after you, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

Arthur saw the schedule at 7:47 AM, which gave him exactly thirteen minutes before he needed to wake his campers for breakfast. 

Thirteen minutes to process the fact that Margaret had assigned him to co-lead an activity with you. 

He read it three times, hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something else. Anything else. They didn’t.

By 8:15, he’d cornered George outside the mess hall. 

“Did you know about this?”

George looked at the schedule, then at Arthur, then back at the schedule. “About… the lake activity?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re terrible at it.”

“I’m actually quite good at playing dumb, thank you very much.” George’s grin was infuriating. “And yes, I may have heard something about Margaret wanting to encourage more collaboration between cabins.”

“Collaboration?”

“Team building. Synergy. All those fun words.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “This is your doing. Yours and Bach’s and-”

“Mate, we’re just counsellors. We don’t make the schedules.” George clapped him on the shoulder. “But hey, look on the bright side. At least you’ll have help managing both cabins. That’s like, what, twenty kids? You love being prepared. This is very prepared.”

“Reader doesn’t do preparation.”

“Then maybe you’ll balance each other out.” George’s expression turned slightly more serious. “Look, I know you two have your… issues. But you’re both good at this job. Maybe it won’t be the disaster you think it’ll be.”

Arthur wanted to argue. Wanted to point out all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons why you couldn’t work together, all the evidence from the past four years that proved this was a terrible idea.

But his campers were waiting, and Arthur was nothing if not punctual.

“Fine,” he said. “But when this goes badly, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” George said, in a tone that suggested he would not.

By 10:00, you were standing at the lake with your campers, watching Arthur’s cabin file down the path with military precision. Of course, they were on time. Of course, they were already in their swimsuits with their towels folded identically. Of course, Arthur had probably already given them a safety briefing and assigned buddy pairs and colour-coded their suncream.

Your campers, by contrast, were a beautiful mix of mismatched towels and inside jokes and barely contained energy.

“Is it true we’re doing activities with Cabin Seven?” Jake asked, bouncing on his toes. 

“Yep.”

“Are we gonna beat them?”

“It’s not a competition, Jake.”

“Everything’s a competition when Arthur’s involved,” Emma said wisely, and you couldn’t exactly argue with that.

Arthur reached the lake, clipboard in hand, looking unfairly put-together for someone who was about to spend two hours in the sun with twenty children. His eyes met yours for a fraction of a second before you both looked away.

“Morning,” he said stiffly.

“Morning,” you replied, equally stiff.

“Look, I’ve got a rotation planned out. Fifteen minutes per station, five minute breaks between them. I’ve sorted the kids by swimming level so everyone’s doing something they can handle, and-”

“Or,” you interrupted, “We could just let them pick what they want to do and move around when they feel like it.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying not to get defensive. “Look, that’s… that’s not really a plan though, is it? I mean, I get what you’re going for. Freedom, spontaneity, all that. But with this many kids and only two of us?” He glances at his campers, then back at you, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice. “Someone’s gonna get hurt or left out, and then we’re the ones dealing with it.”

“Kids aren’t that fragile, Arthur.”

“I know that,” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not saying they are. I just… I like knowing what’s happening. It helps me be useful instead of just standing around hoping nothing goes wrong. They can enjoy themselves and still be organised about it.”

“Not everything needs to be a military operation, Arthur.”

“It’s not about being military. It’s about making sure nobody drowns, and everyone gets a turn at everything.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to stay patient. “Look, structure doesn’t mean no fun. It means-”

“Excuse me!” A small voice cut through your argument. One of Arthur’s campers, a girl named Sophie, was raising her hand like she was in class. “Are you two going to fight the whole time? Because if so, can we just start swimming?”

The entire group of campers stared at you expectantly.

You felt your face heat. “We’re not fighting.”

“You’re definitely fighting,” Jake said helpfully.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely embarrassed. “Okay, fair point. We’re… we’re bickering. But it’s not a fight, it’s just-” He glanced at you, then back at the kids. “We have different approaches, that’s all.”

“You’re fighting,” Emma corrected. “Our counsellor and you always fight.”

“They’re like an old married couple,” Another camper added, and several kids giggled. 

You wanted the lake to swallow you whole. 

Arthur looked like he was doing complex mental math to avoid acknowledging what had just been said.

“Right,” you said, clapping your hands together. “How about this. Arthur’s groups can do their rotation, and my campers can free swim, and we’ll see how it goes.

It was kind of a compromise, which was hard to offer. But Arthur looked equally pained to accept it, which made you feel slightly better.

“Fine,” he said. 

“Fine,” you echoed.

The campers exchanged glances that said they knew something you didn’t.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur’s structured rotation had collapsed into cheerful chaos, and your free swim had organised itself into an impromptu relay race.

“I don’t understand,” Arthur muttered, watching his carefully planned groups dissolve as campers from both cabins started mixing together. “I had a system.”

“Kids don’t care about systems,” you said, but there was less bite in it than usual. You were too busy watching Emma teach one of Arthur’s campers how to do a handstand in the shallow water.

“Clearly.” Arthur made a note on his clipboard, then seemed to realise how ridiculous that was and put it down. “Although I suppose they are… having fun.”

“Was that painful to admit?”

“Excruciating.”

You bit back a smile.

A shriek from the water made you both turn. Two campers – one from each cabin – were arguing about relay race rules, voices getting louder. 

You moved at the same time Arthur did, both of you wading into the water.

“Hey, hey,” you said, reaching the kids first. “What’s going on?”

“He said our team cheated!” one of your campers, Maya, said indignantly. 

“We didn’t cheat,” the other camper, one of Arthur’s, protested. “You false started!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Okay,” Arthur said, his voice calm and authoritative in a way that made both kids stop arguing immediately. “Let’s review what happened. Maya, you went before the whistle, correct?”

Maya’s face fell. “I thought I heard it.”

“That’s an honest mistake,” Arthur continued. “But in competitive swimming, a false start means the team has to restart. That’s the rule.”

You expected Maya to argue, but instead, she just looked disappointed. Before you could step in, Arthur crouched down to her level.

“But,” he said, “Since this isn’t a competitive swim meet, and we’re all here to have fun, I think we can let it slide this time. As long as everyone agrees to listen for the whistle going forward.”

Both campers nodded eagerly, crisis averted and ran back to their teams.

You stared at Arthur. “Did you just… bend a rule?”

He looked caught, running a hand through his hair. “I mean… technically, I was just being reasonable about it.”

“You bent a rule.”

“Okay, yes, fine, I bent a rule.” He glanced away, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “But in my defence, the rule exists for actual competitions, and this is just-” He stopped, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

“Completely ridiculous.”

“The point is, she’s eight. She tried her best. And sometimes…” He trailed off, then looked back at you with something almost vulnerable in his expression. “Sometimes the spirit of the thing matters more than the letter of it.”

“Arthur Frederick made a judgment call that prioritised fun over rules. I need to record this monumental moment.”

“Don’t you dare.” But there was something in his expression that wasn’t quite annoyance. Almost like he was fighting a smile. 

You turned away before you could analyse that too closely. 

The relay race resumed, and you found yourself standing next to Arthur at the water’s edge, both of you watching the campers. Somewhere along the way, you’d fallen into an easy rhythm – you’d call out encouragement, and he’d keep track of the teams, you’d help a struggling swimmer, and he’d make sure everyone stayed hydrated, you’d crack joke, and he’d maintain order.

It shouldn’t have worked. 

It definitely shouldn’t have felt natural. 

“Your campers are good swimmers,” Arthur said after a moment. 

“So are yours.” You paused. “Sophie’s got real potential. Has she done competitive swimming?”

“Her parents mentioned it. I’ve been encouraging her.” Arthur glanced at you. “Jake’s got good instincts in the water. Natural leadership.”

“Yeah, he does.”

It was possibly the first civil conversation you’d had in four years.

From the dock, you could see Liv and Bach watching you both with identical expressions of barely contained glee. Flo was with them, and even from this distance, you could see her grinning. 

You were going to kill all of them. 

“I think we’re being set up,” Arthur said quietly.

“Oh, definitely.”

“Should we… do something about it?”

“Like what> They’re not technically breaking any rules. They’re just annoying.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. “No, they’re just being incredibly obvious.”

“Subtlety has never been Bach’s strong suit.”

“Nor Liv’s.”

You both watched the campers for another moment, and you tried to ignore how comfortable this felt. How easy it was to stand next to Arthur and just… exist without fighting.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, but your voice came out quieter than you intended. “Between us, I mean. This was just… today was just a one-off.”

Arthur was quiet for a long moment. He shifted his weight, gripping his clipboard a bit tighter. “Right. Yeah. Obviously.” He cleared his throat. “We have different approaches to camp, and that’s- that’s fine. We can work around it when we have to.”

“Exactly when we have to.”

“Yep,” Arthur added, but he didn’t sound convinced. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “The campers benefit from having too different perspectives, so-”

“So we’re professional about it.”

“Professional.” He nodded, but he still wasn’t looking at you. “That’s all this is.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe yourself. But standing there in the aftermath of actually working together, actually laughing together, it felt like you were both trying to stuff something back into a box that had already been opened. 

“Right,” you said finally. “Professional.”

When Emma’s team won the relay race and both cabins erupted into cheers, you and Arthur exchanged a glance that was almost fond, but you both looked away quickly. Like acknowledging it would make it real. Like if you didn’t hold each other’s gaze too long, you could keep pretending this was just about the kids. 

But your heart was racing, and you were pretty sure his was too. 

The gravel crunched under the tyres as you pulled into the familiar car park of Camp Nowhere, and despite the sunshine streaming through your windshield, you felt that old knot form in your stomach. A whole year away hadn’t been enough to forget. It never was.

You could see Flo’s car already parked near the main lodge, and relief flooded through you. At least you’d have backup.

The air smelled like pine needles and lake water – the scent of every summer since you were twelve. You’d grown up here, first as a camper, then a counsellor in training, and now, for the third year running, as a full counsellor. Camp nowhere was home in a way your actual house never quite managed to be.

Except for one very significant problem. 

“Reader! Oh my god, finally!” Flo came barrelling down the lodge steps, her ginger curls bouncing as she threw her arms around you. “I’ve been here for twenty minutes and Liv’s already inside setting up the activity board with Bach. Save me from being the third wheel before the summer even starts.”

You laughed, squeezing her back. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you to suffer alone.”

“Plus,” Flo lowered her voice conspiratorially as she helped you grab your duffel from the trunk, “he’s already here.”

Your stomach dropped. “It’s been five minutes, Flo.”

“Arthur arrived at eight-thirty sharp, because of course he did. He’s probably already colour-coded his cabin assignments and laminated the safety procedures.” Flo rolled her eyes, but there was affection there, too. Despite everything, your friends loved Arthur. They loved both of you. 

They just hated that you hated each other. 

“Let me guess,” you said, shouldering your bag. “He’s already cornered the head counsellor about ‘improvements’ to the schedule.”

“Bingo. Though to be fair, George is taking bets on how long it takes before your first argument of the summer. Hill put money on before lunch.”

“That’s insulting. We can definitely make it to at least twelve-thirty.”

Flo snorted. “That’s the spirit.”

Arthur had arrived at Camp Nowhere at precisely eight-thirty, which gave him a full ninety minutes before the mandatory counsellor meeting to inspect his cabin, review the updated safety protocols, and prepare his welcome packets for his campers. 

Some people – one person in particular – might call this overkill.

Arthur called it being prepared. 

His cabin was in decent shape, all things considered. Same wooden bunks, same slightly musty smell that would fade once he got the windows open and aired it out, same view of the lake through the trees. He’d already mentally mapped out where everyone would sleep, which campers would need the bottom bunks, and who should be separated for optimal focus during quiet hours. 

“Mate, you’re doing it again.”

Arthur turned to find George leaning against the doorframe, looking annoyingly relaxed in a Camp Nowhere t-shirt that had definitely seen better days. 

“What?”

“The thing where you plan everything down to the minute and forget that these are children who will immediately throw all your plans into chaos.” George stepped inside, glancing around. “Looks good though. Very… Arthur”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“It’s an observation.” George’s grin then turned wicked. “Speaking of observations, Reader’s car just pulled in.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened reflexively. “Good for Reader.”

“Oh, come on. Are you really going to do this again? Another whole summer of the two of you acting like you’re in some kind of cold war?”

“I’m not doing anything. I’m going to run my cabin, do my job, and make sure my campers have a good summer. What Reader does is none of my concern.”

George looked like he wanted to say more, but Arthur Hill appeared behind him, knocking on the doorframe. “Meetings in ten. And before you ask, yes, she’s here, and no, you can’t sit on opposite sides of the room because it’s not that big.”

Arthur didn’t dignify that with a response.

The mess hall looked exactly the same as it did every summer: long wooden tables, faded camp banners on the walls, the smell of industrial coffee brewing in the kitchen. You slid into a seat between Flo and Liv, accepting the mug Liv pushed toward you gratefully.

“Bless you.”

“You’ll need it,” Liv said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is going to be entertaining.”

“What’s going to be entertaining?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that Arthur’s already submitted a three-page proposal for ‘schedule optimisation’ and you haven’t even sat down yet.”

You groaned. “It’s been ten minutes.”

“Eleven,” Bach corrected, sliding into the seat across from you and immediately reaching for Liv’s hand. They were sickeningly cute, even after all these years. “But who’s counting?”

“Arthur, probably,” you muttered into your coffee.

As if you summoned him, Arthur walked in with Hill and George, and you hated -absolutely hated – that your eyes went to him immediately. He looked frustratingly good, as always. Tall, put-together even in casual camp clothes, hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. Which he probably had been, because Arthur stressed about everything. 

His eyes found yours across the room for a fraction of a second before you both looked away. 

“Subtle,” Flo whispered. 

“Shut up.”

The head counsellor, Margaret, called the meeting to order before you could elbow Flo in the ribs. Margaret had been running Camp Nowhere for fifteen years, and she had the kind of no-nonsense energy that made even the most chaotic counsellors fall in line. 

“Welcome back, everyone. Let’s make this quick so you can all get to your cabins before the campers arrive at noon.” Margaret launched into the usual announcements – safety checks, schedule changes, the reminder about the strict no-fraternisation policy between counsellors that made Bach and Liv exchange guilty looks. 

Then she got to cabin assignments. 

“Arthur, you’ve got Cabin Seven again. Reader, you’re in Cabin Four.”

Of course. The same cabins as last year. The same cabins that always ended up in competition with each other because your campers fed off the energy between you and Arthur like it was a sport.

“Now,” Margaret continued, “I want to talk about the activity schedule. We’re trying something new this year – more collaborations between cabins, more joint activities.”

You felt Arthur’s attention sharpen from across the room.

“With all due respect,” Arthur said, and you knew immediately where this was going, “the schedule worked well last year. The campers thrived on structure and routine. Changing things up could be disruptive for most of the kids who are returning from previous years.”

“With all due respect,” you countered, unable to help yourself, “the campers also thrived when we gave them flexibility and let them choose their activities. Structure’s great, but so is spontaneity.”

Arthur’s gaze snapped to yours, and there it was – that familiar spark of irritation. “Spontaneity is just another word for lack of planning.”

“And over-planning is just another word for control issues.”

“I don’t have control issues-”

“You colour-code your socks.”

“That’s called organisation-”

“Alright!” Margaret’s voice cut through the room like a knife, and you realised the entire table had gone silent, watching you and Arthur like this was dinner theatre. You definitely saw George slip Hill a tenner. “This is exactly why we’re doing more joint activities. You two need to learn to work together.”

Your stomach sank. 

Arthur looked like he’d just been sentenced to death. 

“Oh, this is going to be good,” George muttered, not quite under his breath.

Margaret ignored him. “Arthur, Reader, you’ll be co-leading the overnight camping trip in two weeks. Consider it a team-building exercise.”

“Margaret-” you started.

“Non-negotiable. Meeting adjourned.”

Arthur was going to strangle George.

Not literally, of course. That would be against camp policy and also illegal. But the thought was comforting as he stalked back to his cabin, George and Arthur trailing behind him like particularly annoying shadows.

“Co-leading,” Arthur muttered. “With Reader. For an overnight trip.”

“Look on the bright side,” Hill offered. “At least it’s only one night?”

“There is no bright side. She doesn’t follow protocols, doesn’t stick to schedules, and actively encourages chaos.”

“Reader’s campers love her,” George pointed out. “Just like yours love you. Maybe that’s the point.”

Arthur didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to acknowledge that you were good at this job, that the campers did love you, that maybe there was more than one way to be a good counsellor. 

It was easier to focus on the rivalry. On the incident, all those years ago, when everything had gone wrong, and you had-

No. He wasn’t going down that road. Not today.

“Just… help me set up my cabin, please,” Arthur said finally. “The campers will be here soon.”

By noon, the car park was chaos. 

You stood near the main lodge with your clip board, watching as cars pulled in and parents unloaded kids and duffel bags and sleeping bags. Returning campers were already sprinting towards friends, shouting greetings at counsellors.

“Reader!” A girl with braids - Emma, one of your campers from last year – came barrelling toward you. “Please tell me I’m in your cabin again!”

“Emma! Good to see you!” You checked your list. “You’re in luck. Cabin Four, bunk three.”

Emma pumped her fist. “Yes! Maya, we’re in Cabin Four!”

Another girl – Maya, new last year – grinned. “Thank God. I heard Cabin Seven is like military school.”

“Hey now,” you said, trying not to laugh. “Arthur runs a great cabin.”

“Yeah, if you like schedules and rules,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “No offence, but I’ll take your cabin any day.”

They ran off toward the cabin, and you couldn’t help but smile. This was why you did this job. Not for the rivalry, not for the competition – but for the kids who came back year after year because camp meant something to them.

“Reader’s cabin is the best!”

You turned to see a cluster of campers near the lodge – some new, some returning. A boy you recognised, Jake, was in the middle of what looked like a heated debate. 

“Are you kidding?” another boy argued. “Arthur’s cabin won the camp cup last year. He’s the best.”

“That’s because Arthur’s boring and makes everyone follow the rules,” Jake shot back. “Reader’s cabin actually has fun.”

“Arthur’s cabin has fun! We just also win things!”

“Okay, okay,” you intervened, stepping in before this turned into a full-scale argument. “How about we let the new campers decide for themselves? Both cabins are great.”

“But yours is better,” Jake said loyally. 

You bit back a smile. “Go get settled in, Jake.”

As the campers dispersed, you caught sight of Arthur across the lawn, surrounded by his own group of kids. He was explaining something, gesturing toward the lake, and even from here, you could see the way his campers hung on his every word. 

Damn him for being good at this. 

“They’re like mini versions of you two,” Liv said, appearing at your side. “It’s kind of adorable.”

“It’s kind of a problem.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a problem.” Liv’s smile was sly. “But maybe not the problem you think It is.”

Before you could ask what that meant, Flo called your name from your cabin, and you jogged over to help with the unpacking.

By the time the sun started to set and the campers were at dinner, Arthur was exhausted. 

Not from the work – he thrived on the structure of camp, the routines, the schedules. But from the constant awareness of you across the camp, laughing with your campers, bending rules just enough to make things interesting, being everything Arthur wasn’t.

“You’re brooding,” Hill said, sliding into the seat next to him at the counsellor’s table. 

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’re definitely brooding. You’ve been glaring at your pasta for five minutes.”

Arthur stabbed a piece of penne with more force than necessary. “I’m thinking.”

“About Reader?”

“About the camping trip and how it’s going to be a disaster.”

Hill exchanged a look with George across the table, and Arthur caught it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” George said innocently. “Just… maybe it won’t be a disaster. Maybe it’ll be good for you two to actually work together for once.”

“We don’t work together well.”

“Have you ever actually tried?” Liv asked, leaning forward. Bach’s arm was around her shoulders, and they both had that same knowing look that Arthur was really starting to hate.

“Yes. Years ago. It ended badly.”

“The incident wasn’t your fault,” Flo said quietly. “It wasn’t her fault either.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t see it that way.”

“Maybe,” Liv said carefully, “you should ask her about that.”

Before Arthur could respond, Margaret stood up to make the evening announcement, and the conversation died. 

But as Arthur glanced across the mess hall and caught your eye for the second time that day, he wondered if maybe his friends had a point.

Then you looked away, and Arthur remembered exactly why this summer was going to be a nightmare. 

Later that night, after the campers were asleep and the counsellors had retreated to their own cabins, you sat on the porch with Flo and Liv, listening to the crickets and the distant sound of the lake. 

“So,” Liv said casually, “How long do you think you can avoid Arthur this summer?”

“I’m not avoiding him. We just… exist in separate spaces.”

“You’re co-leading a camping trip in two weeks.”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“Maybe it’ll be good,” Flo offered. “Maybe you’ll finally talk about what actually happened.”

“We both know what happened.”

“Do you though?” Liv’s voice was gentle. “Because from where we’re sitting, it looks like you’ve both been blaming each other for years over something that maybe wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

You didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to consider that maybe you’d been wrong, that maybe Arthur had been wrong, that maybe you’d wasted years on a rivalry that didn’t need to exist. 

“It’s easier this way,” you said finally.

“Easier doesn’t mean better,” Flo said. 

Before you could respond, you heard voices from the path – Bach, George and both Arthurs heading back to their cabins. 

“Goodnight, ladies,” Bach called, blowing a kiss to Liv. 

“Night,” you all chorused back, and you tried not to notice the way Arthur’s gaze lingered on you for just a moment before he disappeared into the darkness. 

In Cabin Nine, Bach waited until Arthur had left to do his final checks before he spoke. 

“So,” he said casually, “we’re all in agreement, right?”

“About what?” Hill asked, though his grin suggested he knew exactly what.

“About the fact that we need to do something about those two.”

George sat up on his bunk. “I’m listening.”

“They’re miserable,” Bach continued. “They’ve been miserable for years. And we’ve all just… let it happen.”

“What are you suggesting?” Arthur asked.

Bach’s smile was wicked. “I’m suggesting we help them out. Whether they like it or not.”

In Cabin Six, Liv was having the exact same conversation. 

“We have two weeks before the camping trip,” she said. Two weeks to make them realise they don’t actually hate each other.”

“And how exactly do we do that?” Flo asked.

Liv’s grin matched her boyfriend’s. “We get creative.”

Harry was having a good night. 

The party was better than he’d expected – good music, decent drinks, and enough familiar faces that he didn’t feel like he had to work too hard at being social. He’d been chatting with Ethan and Josh for the past twenty minutes, mostly taking the piss out of each other in the way they always did. 

“I’m just saying,” Ethan said, gesturing with his beer, “you’re nearly thirty, mate. When’s the last time you were in an actual relationship?”

“I’ve been in relationships,” Harry said defensively. 

“I said actual relationships,” Ethan clarified. “Not just shagging someone for a few weeks and then ghosting them.”

“I don’t ghost people,” Harry protested. 

“You do,” Josh said, grinning. 

“Name one time,” Harry challenged.

“Sarah,” Ethan said immediately. 

“That was different-”

“Emma.”

“She ghosted me first-”

“That girl from the club last month whose name you can’t remember.” 

“Okay, that’s fair,” Harry admitted. 

The guys laughed, and Harry shook his head, taking a drink. He knew they were just winding him up, but there was a kernel of truth to it. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship in… god, years, probably. It wasn’t that he didn’t want one, exactly. It was just that he was busy, and dating was complicated, and most of the time it was easier to just not bother. 

“I’m just saying,” Ethan continued. “you’re losing your touch, haz. Time was, you could pull anyone in this room. Now? I’m not so sure.”

“Fuck off,” Harry said, but he was smiling. “I could absolutely still pull anyone in this room.”

“Prove it,” Josh said. 

“What?”

“Prove it,” Josh repeated, his grin widening. “We’ll pick someone. Anyone here. If you can get them to fall for you, we’ll… I don’t know, pay for the entire trip to the World Cup final?”

“Wait, really?” Harry said incredulously.

“Sure”, Ethan said. “Not like you’re going to win.”

Harry scoffed, “This is gonna be too easy, anyone would be crazy not to-”

“But,” Josh cut him off. “You have to get them to fall in love with you by that awards thing.”

“But that’s only ten days away,” Harry argued. 

“Well, if you’re so good, then that won’t be a problem, will it?’

Harry considered it. It was a stupid bet, and he’d been backed into a corner. There was no way he could do it in ten days. But there was something appealing about it anyway – the challenge, the game of it. 

“Alright,” he said. “You’re on.”

“Brilliant,” Josh said, already scanning the room. “Let’s see… what about her?”

He nodded toward a girl near the DJ booth. Pretty, but Harry wasn’t interested/ 

“Nah,” he said. 

“Her?” Ethan suggested pointing to someone else. 

“Too young,” Harry said.

“You’re so picky,” Josh said. “And anyway, we’re the ones picking for you, remember?”

“I’m selective,” Harry corrected. 

“Okay. Her.” Ethan said, and something in his tone made Harry look up.

He followed Ethan’s gaze across the room, and-

Oh. 

She was standing near the windows with two other girls, holding a drink and laughing at something one of them had said. She was wearing a black dress that was simple but somehow incredibly effective, and even from this distance, Harry could tell she was gorgeous.

“Her,” Ethan said definitively. “That’s your target.”

Harry watched her for a moment longer. She was looking around the room now, her expression thoughtful, like she was searching for something. Or someone. 

And then for just a second, her eyes landed on him. 

Harry felt something shift in his chest – a spark of interest, maybe, or just the thrill of the challenge. 

“Alright,” he said. “Her.”

“Excellent choice,” Josh said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go get her, tiger.”

“Don’t call me tiger,” Harry said, but he was already moving.

You were trying very hard to look like you weren’t watching Harry. 

After agreeing to your friends’ insane plan, you’d positioned yourself near the bar, nursing your drink and doing your best to appear casual. Lauren and Mara had retreated to a nearby table, giving you space but staying close enough to watch the show. 

Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.

Harry was across the room with his friends, but you could feel his attention shifting. You’d caught him looking at you a few times, and each time, you’d made sure to look away just quickly enough to seem uninterested but not so quickly it looked suspicious. 

You were playing a game, and you were good at it. 

“You look like you’re plotting something,” a voice said from beside you. 

You turned, and there he was. 

Harry Lewis. Up close. Smiling at you like you were the most interesting person in the room. 

Your stomach did a complicated flip – part anger, part nerves, and something else you didn’t want to think about too much. 

“Do I?” you said, keeping your voice light. “I was just thinking about getting another drink.”

“Allow me,” Harry said, signalling to the bartender. “What are you having?”

“Rum and Coke,” you said. 

“Classic,” he said approvingly. He ordered your drink and another beer for himself, then turned back to you. “I’m Harry.”

“I know who you are,” you said, and then immediately wanted to kick yourself. Too eager. You were supposed to be playing it cool. 

But Harry just grinned. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Depends,” you said. “Do you want me to be a fan or a stalker?”

“Is there a third option?”

“Sure,” you said. “Vaguely aware of you but not particularly invested.”

Harry laughed, “I think I like that one best.”

The bartender set your drinks down, and Harry handed you yours. Your fingers brushed for just a second, and you felt a jolt of something you refused to acknowledge. 

“So,” Harry said, leaning against the bar. “If you’re only vaguely aware of me, does that mean I need to work harder to make an impression?”

“That depends,” you said. “Are you trying to make an impression?’

“Maybe,” he said. His eyes were very blue, you noticed. Annoyingly blue. “Is it working?”

You took a sip of your drink, looking at him over the rim of your glass. He was charming, you’d give him that. Confident without being arrogant, funny without trying too hard. If you didn’t know better - if you didn’t remember VidCon, didn’t remember the way he’d made you feel – you might actually like him. 

But you did know better. 

And the fact that he clearly didn’t recognise you, didn’t remember dismissing you three years ago like you were nothing – that made your blood boil. 

“You’re doing alright,” you said finally. 

“Just alright?” Harry said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. “I’m wounded.”

“I’m sure you’ll recover,” you said. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I might need some encouragement. Maybe your name would help?”

You hesitated for just a second – long enough to let him think you were deciding whether he was worth it – then smiled. 

“It’s Reader,” you said. 

“Reader,” he repeated, like he was testing how it sounded. “I like it.”

“I’m glad I have your approval,” you said dryly.

“See, this is what I mean,” Harry said, grinning. “You’re funny. I like funny.”

“Good to know,” you said. “I’ll add it to my list of your preferences.”

“You’re making a list?”

“I’m a very organised person.”

“I’m learning so much about you already,” Harry said. “Organised, funny, vaguely aware of me/ What else should I know?”

You tilted your head, studying him. This was it – the moment where you could either shut him down or reel him in. And despite every instinct screaming at you to tell him to fuck off, despite the anger still simmering in your chest, you found yourself smiling. 

“I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you said.

Harry’s grin widened. “Is this an invitation?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it,” he said. 

And just like that, he was hooked. 

An hour later, you were sitting across from Harry at a small table in an upscale restaurant a few streets away from the party. 

You weren’t entirely sure how it had happened. One minute you’d been trading banter at the bar, the next he was suggesting you get out of there and grab some food. You’d agreed before you get out of there and grab some food. You’d agreed before you could think better of it, and now here you were, reading a menu that didn’t list prices and trying to remember the plan. 

But god, he was making it difficult. 

“So,” Harry said, settling down his menu. “Tell me something real.”

“Real?” you repeated/ 

“Yeah,” he said. “Everyone at these parties always does the same small talk – what do you do, how many followers do you have, blah blah blah. I want to know something actually interesting.”

You considered him for a moment. He seemed genuine, his expression open and curious. It would be so easy to give him something real, to let your guard down just a little. 

But you couldn’t afford to do that. Not yet. 

“Alright,” you said, “Something real. I’m terrified of birds.”

Harry blinked. “Birds?”

“Birds,” you confirmed. “Especially pigeons. They’re basically flying rats.”

“That’s… not what I expected,” Harry said, but he was smiling. 

“You said you wanted something real,” you said. “That’s real. Your turn.”

“Okay,” Harry said, thinking. “Something real. I’m scared of heights.” 

“Really? Don’t you and your friends do crazy things involving heights sometimes for your videos?”

“Yes, and no one knows. It’s embarrassing. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you said. 

The waiter came by to take your orders, and the conversation flowed easily after that. Harry told you about a disastrous video shoot from last week, and you told him about the time you accidentally posted a video on your account of you falling flat on your face. He made you laugh – really laugh, the kind that made your cheeks hurt – and you found yourself relaxing despite yourself. 

“So what made you want to start YouTube?” Harry asked at one point. 

You hesitated. The real answer was complicated – something about wanting to be heard, wanting to create something that mattered, wanitng to prove that you could. But that felt too vulnerable, too honest for someone you were supposed to be manipulating. 

“I liked the idea of making something that was mine,”  you said finally. “Something I had complete control over.”

“I get that,” Harry said. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Being your own boss.”

“Most of the time,” you said, “Sometimes it’s terrifying.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

There was something in his voice – a note of understanding, of shared experience – that made your chest tighten. You looked at him across the table, really looked at him, and for just a second, you forgot why you were here. Forgot about your first interation, forgot about the video, forgot about the plan. 

For just a second, he was just Harry. And you were just you.

Then your phone buzzed with a text from Mara.

How’s it going???

Reality came crashing back. 

Right. The plan. 

You were supposed to be reeling him in, making him fall for you so you could spend the next ten days miserable. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“You alright?” Harry asked, noticing your expression. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, putting your phone away. “Sorry. Just my friends being nosy.”

“About me?” Harry said, grinning. 

“Maybe.” You said. 

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably,” you said, but you were smiling. 

By the time you finished dinner, it was nearly midnight. Harry insisted on paying – “I asked you out, didn’t I?” – and then walked you outside to wait for your Uber. 

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said. 

“Yeah,” you said, and you were surprised to realise you meant it. “Me too.”

“Can I see you again?” Harry asked. “Like maybe tomorrow?”

This was it. The moment when you sealed the deal. 

“I’d like that,” you said. 

“Brilliant,” he said. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” you said.

Your Uber pulled up, and you moved to get in, but Harry caught your hand.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I talked to you tonight,” he said. “I almost didn’t but… I’m glad I did.”

Your heart did that flip again, and you hated it.

“Me too,” you said softly.

You got in the car and watched through the window as Harry waved, his smile still in place. As the car pulled away, you let out a long breath and pulled out your phone.

There were already a dozen texts from Lauren and Mara in your group chat. 

Lauren: OMG HOW DID IT GO Mara: did you get his number  Lauren: are you still with him Lauren: omg did you go back to his place Mara: omg you slut  Mara: ANSWER US

You typed out a quick response: mission accomplished. he’s officially hooked.

The replies came instantly.

Lauren: YES Mara: I KNEW IT Lauren: okay so when are you seeing him again

You stared at your phone, thinking about the way Harry had smiled at you, the way he’d listened when you talked, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you.

Tomorrow, you’d start. Tomorrow, you’d become the nightmare girlfriend from hell. Tomorrow, you’d make him regret ever approaching you at that bar. 

But tonight – just for tonight – you let yourself feel the smallest hint of guilt. 

You typed back.

tomorrow. the real fun starts tomorrow