｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡Grace｡★･ﾟ:*:･｡

You found Arthur behind the mess hall the next morning, right where he’d said he’d be. The breakfast rush was over, the campers were at their morning activities, and you had a small window before your meeting with Margaret and Mr Henderson, the owner of the camp. 

“Hey,” you said, sliding down the wall to sit beside him. 

“Hey.” He looked tired, his hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?

“About what we’re going to say. To Margaret and Mr Henderson.” He turned to look at you.  “I want to do this right. I want to be honest with them, but I also don’t want to give them any reason to say no to us.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“I think we tell them the truth. That we’ve been… involved. That we know about the rules in place, but we’re both adults, and we can keep it professional in front of the kids, as we have been. That it won’t affect our work or the campers.” He paused. “And if they say no, if they say we have to choose between the job and each other…”

“Then we choose each other,” you finished.

He reached for your hand. “I know this job matters to you. I know you love it here. I don’t want you to give that up for me.”

“Arthur.” You squeezed his hand. “I love this job. But I love you more.”

He went very still. “What?”

Oh. Oh god. You’d said it. You’d actually said it. 

“I-” You took a deep breath. “I love you. I think I loved you since we were sixteen, even when I was trying to hate you. Probably especially while I was trying to hate you. And I’m not going to lose you again. Not for a job, not for a stupid rule, not for anything. 

Arthur’s eyes were bright, almost glassy. “You love me.”

“Yes.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He kissed you, hard and desperate, his hands tangling in your hair. When he pulled back, he was smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. 

“I love you too,” he said. “God, I love you so much. I’ve been trying not to say it too soon because I didn’t want to scare you off, but-”

“You couldn’t scare me off if you tried.”

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “We’re doing this. We’re going to talk to Margaret and Mr Henderson, and we’re going to tell them the truth.”

“And if they say no?”

“Then we figure something else out. But at least we’ll have tried. At least we’ll have been honest.” He pulled back to look at you. “I’m done hiding. I’m done pretending. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Your heart was too full it felt like it might burst. “Okay. Are you ready then?”

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

He pulled himself off the ground and held his hand out to you. “Come on let’s do this.” You looked up at him, a smile on his face. 

“Let’s go be honest I guess.” You said, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. 

Whatever happened, whatever they said, whatever you had to face – you’d face it together, and that was all that mattered.

Margaret’s office felt smaller than usual with four people in it. Mr Henderson sat beside Margaret’s desk, his expression unreadable. You and Arthur took the two chairs across from them, still holding hands. 

“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice,” Arthur said. His voice was steady, but you could feel the tension in his grip. 

“Of course,” Margaret said. “Though I’ll admit, you’ve got me curious. What’s this about?”

You took a breath. “We need to talk to you about… us.”

Mr Henderson leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Go on.”

“We’re together,” Arthur said. “Romantically. We have been for about a week now. And we know about the no-fraternisation rule, and we know we should have come to you sooner, but-”

“But we were scared,” you finished. “We didn’t want to lose our jobs. We didn’t want to let the campers down. But we also couldn’t keep lying. That’s why we asked for this meeting.”

Margaret and Mr Henderson exchanged a long look. Your heart was in your throat. 

“How long has this been going on?” Margaret asked finally. 

“A week,” you said. “Maybe a little less. We’ve been… careful. We haven’t let it affect our work or the campers. We’ve kept it professional during the day.”

“Mostly,” Arthur added, and you shot him a look. “What? We’re being honest.”

“Right. Honest.” You turned back to Margaret and Mr Henderson. “Look, we know this is against the rules. We know we’re putting you in a difficult position. But we’re both adults, and we’re both committed to doing our jobs well. This doesn’t change that.”

“And if we ask you to end it?” Mr Henderson said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “If we say you have to choose between the relationship and the job?”

You and Arthur looked at each other. You saw your own fear reflected in his eyes, but also something else. Certainty. 

“Then we choose each other,” Arthur said. “We’d hate to leave. We love this place, we love these kids. But we’re not giving this up. Not again.”

“Again?” Margaret’s eyebrows rose higher.

“It’s… complicated,” you said. “We have history. Bad history. We were campers here together as you know, and something happened that made us hate each other for years. Except it turned out it was all a misunderstanding, and we’ve wasted so much time being angry when we could have been…” You trailed off, feeling your cheeks heat.

“Together,” Arthur finished softly.

Margaret and Mr Henderson exchanged another look, this one longer. You held your breath.

“You’re two of our best counsellors,” Margaret said finally. “The campers adore you both. You’re responsible, dedicated, and you genuinely care about these kids.”

“Thank you,” you said, though you weren’t sure if that was leading to good news or bad.

“Which is why,” Mr Henderson said, “this puts us in a very difficult position.”

Your heart sank. 

“The no-fraternisation rule exists for a reason,” he continued. “We can’t have counsellors getting distracted, playing favourites, letting personal drama interfere with their responsibilities.”

“We wouldn’t-” Arthur started, but Mr Henderson held up a hand.

“Let me finish.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “That said, we’re also not idiots. We’ve seen the way you two work together. We’ve seen how the campers respond to you. And frankly, we’ve also seen the way you’ve been looking at each other for the past week. 

You felt your face go hot. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” Mr Henderson said dryly. “Margaret confirmed it the other day when she saw you two at the campfire.”

Oh god. Oh god, you were going to die of embarrassment.

“The point is,” Margaret said, and there was a hint of amusement in her voice now, “We can’t afford to lose either of you. Especially not in the middle of summer. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good counsellors on short notice?”

“So…” Arthur said slowly. “What are you saying?”

Margaret and Mr Henderson looked at each other one more time. Then Margaret sighed. 

“We’re saying we’re making an exception,” she said. “For you two specifically. You can continue your relationship, but there are conditions.”

You felt like you might pass out from relief. “Anything.”

“First, you keep it professional during camp hours. No PDA in front of the campers beyond what would be appropriate for friends. Second, if this affects your work in any way – if there’s drama, if you start playing favourites, if the campers start complaining – we revisit this conversation. And third…” She paused, a small smile playing at her lips. “You tell your friends to stop with the elaborate schemes. We’ve all had enough of watching them try to play matchmaker.”

You couldn’t help it – you laughed. “They’ve been that obvious?”

“Painfully,” Mr Henderson said, but he was smiling too. “Bach tried to convince me last week that we needed to lock you in the storage cupboard all day until you stopped yelling at each other.”

Arthur groaned, dropping his head into his free hand. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Get in line,” you muttered.

“So,” Margaret said, standing up. “Do we have a deal?”

You and Arthur stood too, still holding hands. “Yes,” you said in unison. 

“Good.” Margaret came around the desk and, to your surprise, pulled you both into a brief hug. “I’m happy for you. Truly. You both deserve this.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, his voice thick. “Thank you so much.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” Mr Henderson said, but his tone was warm. “Now get out of here. I believe you have some friends waiting for the news.”

You and Arthur practically ran to the mess hall, where you’d told your friends to wait. The moment you pushed open the doors, six heads swivelled toward you. 

“Well?” Bach demanded, already half out of his seat. “What happened?”

You looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at you. And then you both grinned. 

“We can stay,” you said. “Together.”

The mess hall erupted.

Bach let out a whoop and vaulted over the table – actually vaulted over it – to tackle you both in a hug. Liv was right behind him, squealing, and then Flo, Hill and George were all piling on, and you were laughing and crying and being crushed by the weight of six people who loved you.

“I knew it!” Bach crowed. “I knew our plan would work!”

“Your plan almost got us fired,” Arthur said, but he was grinning.

“But it didn’t! And now you’re together! You’re welcome!”

“We should have let them suffer longer,” George said, but he was smiling too. “Made them work for it.”

“They did work for it,” Liv pointed out. “They had to admit they were wrong about each other. That’s basically impossible for these two.”

“Hey,” you protested, but you were still smiling.

The group finally pulled back, and Arthur immediately pulled you into his arms, kissing you properly for the first time in front of everyone. You heard Flo sigh happily and Bach make a gagging sound, but you didn’t care. You just kissed him back, pouring years of wasted time and one week of stolen moments and a future full of possibility into it. 

When you finally pulled apart, everyone was watching with varying degrees of amusement and satisfaction. 

“Okay, lovebirds,” Arthur Hill said. “Maybe keep it professional? There are children present.” 

You looked around the empty mess hall. “What children?”

“Future children. Hypothetical children. There will be children in here later.”

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur said fondly.

“Yeah, but I’m an idiot that got you two together, so you’re welcome.”

“Actually,” Liv said, “I think we all got them together. It was a team effort.”

“I did most of the work,” Bach argued. 

“You absolutely did not-”

“Here we go,” Flo muttered, but she was smiling.

You leaned into Arthur’s side, watching your friends bicker and laugh and celebrate, and felt something settle in your chest. Something warm and right and true. 

“We’re really doing this,” you said quietly.

Arthur’s arm tightened around you. “We really are.”

“No more hiding.”

“No more hiding.”

“No more pretending we hate each other.”

“Well,” Arthur said thoughtfully, “we can still bicker. For old times’ sake.”

You laughed. “Obviously. What would we do without the bickering?”

“Probably be very boring.”

“Definitely be very boring.”

He kissed your temple, and you closed your eyes, breathing him in. Four years. You’d wasted four years on a misunderstanding, on hurt pride and misplaced blame. But maybe it had been worth it, in the end. Maybe you’d both needed that time to grow up, to become the people who could stand here now and choose each other.

Maybe everything had happened exactly the way it was supposed to. 

“Hey,” Bach said, interrupting your thoughts. “We should celebrate. Bonfire tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Liv said. “We can make s’mores and-”

“And watch these two make out all night?” George said. “Hard pass.”

“We’re not going to make out all night,” you protested.

Everyone looked at you sceptically. 

“Okay, fine, we might make out a little.”

“A little,” Arthur agreed, grinning. 

“You’re both disgusting,” Arthur Hill said. “I love it.”

Epilogue 

“Alright, everyone, buddy up!” you called, watching as both cabins’ worth of campers scrambled to pair off. “We’re doing a headcount before we hit the trail!”

It was finally happening – the overnight camping trip that had been planned since the first week of camp. Several cabins were hiking up to the clearing on the north side of the lake to spend the night under the stars.

The campers were vibrating with excitement, their backpacks stuffed with sleeping bags and snacks and probably contraband sugary sweets that you were choosing to ignore. Maya was already trying to claim the best spot in the hiking line, while one of Arthur’s campers – a kid named James – was arguing that his cabin should lead. 

“We’ll rotate,” Arthur said, coming up beside you and slipping his hand into yours. “Your cabin leads on the way up, mine leads on the way back.”

“Look at you, being all organised,” you teased. 

“I learned from the best.”

You were about to respond when a chorus of groans erupted from the campers.

“Ew!”

“Gross!”

“Do you have to hold hands?”

“We’re trying to eat lunch here!”

You looked down at your joined hands, then back at the campers, who were all making exaggerated disgusted faces. 

“We’re literally just holding hands,” Arthur said.

“It’s still gross,” Maya said. “You’re counsellors. You’re supposed to be, like, professional.”

“We are professional,” you protested.

“You kissed him at breakfast!”

“That was one time!”

“It was three times,” James corrected. “I counted.”

Arthur was trying very hard not to laugh. You elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Okay, fine,” you said. “We’ll try to keep the PDA to a minimum. Happy?”

“Very,” Maya said primly. Then she grinned. “But also, we’re glad you’re together. It’s way better than when you used to fight all the time.”

“Yeah,” another camper chimed in. “You’re actually fun now. Before you were just, like, angry fun.”

“Angry fun?” Arthur repeated. 

“You know. Fun, but also kind of scary because we thought you might murder each other.”

“We were never going to murder each other,” you said. 

“Debatable,” Arthur muttered, and you elbowed him again. 

“Alright, enough commentary on our relationship,” you said. “Everyone have their water bottles? Suncream? Bug spray?”

A chorus of “yes” rang out. 

“Then let’s move out!”

The hike up was beautiful – the trail winding through tall pines, the air cool and fresh, the sound of the lake always somewhere nearby. Your cabin led the way, with Arthur’s cabin following close behind, and you and Arthur brought up the rear, making sure no one fell behind. 

“This is nice,” Arthur said after a while, his hand finding yours again. 

“It is,” you agreed. “Even with the peanut gallery.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“They literally gagged when you kissed me goodbye this morning.”

“Okay, they’re a little bad.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as you walked. Ahead of you, the campers were chattering and laughing, pointing out birds and interesting rocks and debating who would win in a fight between a bear and a shark.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Arthur said quietly. “The camping trip. Together.”

“Me too.” You squeezed his hand. “Though I’m pretty sure they’re going to make fun of us the entire time.”

“Probably. But I don’t care.”

“No?” 

“No.” He stopped walking, pulling you to a halt beside him. The campers were far enough ahead that they wouldn’t notice if you took a moment. “I spent four years pretending I didn’t care about you. “I’m done pretending.”

Your heart squeezed. “Arthur-”

“I love you,” he said simply. “And I don’t care who knows it. Even if it means getting hassled by a bunch of twelve-year-olds.”

You laughed, reached up to cup his face. “I love you too. Even when you’re being cheesy.”

“I’m not being cheesy.”

“Okay, maybe a little.” You leaned in to kiss him, but before you could, a shout interrupted.

“EW! THEY’RE DOING IT AGAIN!”

You broke apart, laughing, to find Maya standing on the trail ahead, hands on her hips, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“We’re coming!” you called.

“You better be! We’re trying to set up camp, and you two are back here being gross!”

“We’re not being gross,” Arthur protested. 

“Are too!”

You looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at you. And then you both burst out laughing. 

“Come on,” you said, tugging him forward. “Before they stage a mutiny.”

“A mutiny might be less embarrassing than this.”

“Probably. But also, less fun.”

He grinned, lacing his fingers through yours. You caught up with the group just as they reached the clearing. It was perfect – a wide, flat space surrounded by trees, with a firepit already set up in the centre and a clear view of the sky above. The campers immediately scattered, claiming spots for their tents and arguing over who got to sleep where.

“This is going to be a long night,” Arthur said.

“Yep.”

“They’re going to make fun of us constantly.”

“Yep.”

“And we’re probably not going to get any sleep.”

“Nope.”

He looked at you, his eyes warm and bright. “I can’t wait.”

You grinned. “Me neither.”

As the sun began to set and the campers started building the fire and the forest came alive with the sounds of summer, you thought about how far you’d come. From enemies to rivals to friends to something so much more. From three years of wasted anger to one summer of stolen moments to a future full of possibility. 

It hadn’t been easy. It hadn’t been simple. But it had been worth it. 

You headed toward the fire, where the campers were already assembling s’mores supplied with the kind of enthusiasm that promised at least three minor injuries and one major sugar rush. 

But as you sat down beside Arthur, his hand finding yours in the firelight, surrounded by kids who loved you and friends who’d fought for you and a summer that had changed everything, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. 

This was exactly where you were meant to be. Together. 

You and Arthur managed to keep your secret from your friends for a total of three minutes. Bach took one look at you both the morning after the equipment shed nd announced, “Finally,” with such smug satisfaction that you threw a pinecone at his head. The rest of the group had cheered, hugged you both, and immediately sworn themselves to secrecy.

The rest of the camp, however, stayed blissfully in the dark for five more days.

Five days of stolen moments. Five days of almost getting caught. Five days of learning what it felt like to be with Arthur when you weren’t fighting, when you weren’t hiding behind four years of misplaced anger.

Five days that changed everything.

It started innocently enough. 

You were supposed to be doing safety checks by the lake – making sure all the canoes were accounted for, that the life jackets weren’t mouldy, that the paddles hadn’t mysteriously disappeared like they did every summer. Arthur had volunteered to help, which should have been your first clue that ‘help’ wasn’t really what he had in mind. 

“This one’s got a crack in the hull,” you said, running your hands along the bottom of a blue canoe. “We should probably-”

Arthur’s mouth was on yours before you could finish the sentence. 

You made a surprised sound against his lips, but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and you forgot what you’d been saying. Forgot about the canoe, the safety check, the fact that you were in broad daylight, where anyone could see.

“We’re supposed to be working,” you managed to say when he finally pulled back, though your hands were already sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his t-shirt.

“We are working.” His voice was low, rough in a way that made heat pool in your stomach. “Very hard.”

“I don’t think-” you stutter out as his kisses work their way down your neck, his body backing you up against the canoe rack. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent shivers down your spine. His hands slid under the hem of your shirt, inching closer towards the edge of your bra, and you arched into his touch. 

“God, I’ve wanted to do this all morning,” he murmured against your mouth. “Watching you at breakfast, knowing I couldn’t touch you-”

“Arthur-”

“Knowing I couldn’t kiss you, couldn’t-”

“Arthur!” you hissed, suddenly alert. “Someone’s coming.”

You both froze. Voices were drifting down from the main path - young voices, campers’ voices, getting closer. 

“Shit,” Arthur breathes. He stepped back quickly, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. You did the same, trying to look like you’d been doing anything other than making out against the canoe rack. 

“-and then Maya said that-”

Three of Arthur’s campers rounded the corner, stopping short when they saw you both. 

“Oh! Hi, Arthur!” one of them said brightly. “We were looking for you. George said you were down here.”

“Just doing safety checks,” Arthur said, his voice impressively steady. “What’s up?”

“Can we take a canoe out? Please? We promise we’ll wear life jackets and stay close to shore and-”

“Sure,” you said, before Arthur could launch into his usual safety lecture. “Take the green one. And yes, life jackets please, and yes, stay where we can see you.”

The kids cheered and scrambled to grab paddles and life jackets. You and Arthur stood there, pointedly not looking at each other, until they’d dragged the canoe into the water and paddled off. 

The moment they were out of earshot, you both let out a long breath. 

“That was close,” you said. 

“Too close.” But Arthur was grinning, his eyes bright with adrenaline. “We should probably actually do the safety check now.”

“Probably.”

Neither of you moved. 

“Or,” Arthur said slowly, his gaze dropping to your mouth, “we could-”

“Don’t even think about it.” But you were smiling. “Come on, Frederick. Let’s finish this before someone else shows up.”

He groans, but gets on with it, even if the entire time his eyes keep finding yours, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

This was dangerous. This was reckless. 

This was the best you felt in four years. 

The campfire had been George’s idea. A casual Wednesday night gathering, nothing fancy, just s’mores and songs and the kind of easy camaraderie that made Camp Nowhere feel like home. By eleven, most of the campers had been herded back to their cabins, and by eleven-thirty, even the counsellors had started to drift away. 

“I’m exhausted,” Live announced, stretching. “Bach, you coming?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bach stood, brushing graham cracker crumbs off his shorts. “You staying?” He directed the question at you and Arthur with a knowing look. 

“Just for a bit,” Arthur said casually. “Someone should make sure the fire dies down properly.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Bach’s grin was wicked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That doesn’t leave us a lot of options,” you teased, and he laughed.

“Fair point. Night, lovebirds.”

You waited until everyone was gone.  Until the last flashlight beam had disappeared up the path and the voices had faded into the distance. Then you looked at Arthur. 

He was already looking at you. 

“Come here,” he said softly. 

You moved from your log to his camping chair, and he pulled you down into his lap, wrapping a blanket around both of you. You curled into him, your head on his shoulder, his arms solid and warm around you. 

“This is nice,” he said softly.

“Yeah.” He murmured into your hair. “It is.”

The fire crackled in front of you, burning low now, casting flickering shadows across the clearing. Above, the stars were bright, and the night air was cool against your face. But under the blanket, pressed against Arthur, you were warm.

“I could stay like this forever,” you said.

His arms tightened around you. “Me too.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, and he kissed you. It was slow and sweet, not the desperate, hungry kisses by the canoes, but something softer, something different.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said when you finally pulled apart. “Even if it’s complicated. Even if we have to hide.”

“Me too.” You traced the line of his jaw with your fingertips. “Though I’m getting tired of hiding.”

“I know. Me too.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “But for now-”

“For now, this is enough.”

“Is it?”

You considered it. “It has to be.”

He made a soft sound of agreement, and you settled back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand slipped under the blanket, finding yours, lacing your fingers together. 

“Tell me something,” he said after a while. “Something I don’t know about you.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. I want to know everything.”

You smiled. “Okay. Um. I’m terrified of thunderstorms.”

“Really?”

“Really. Have been since I was a kid. I know it’s irrational, but-”

“It’s not irrational.” His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. “What else?”

“I wanted to be a marine biologist when I was ten. I was obsessed with dolphins.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Your turn. Tell me something.”

“I can’t whistle.”

You pulled back to look at him. “What?”

“I can’t whistle. Never learned how. It’s embarrassing.”

“Arthur Frederick, rule-following, organised, perfect Arthur Frederick, can’t whistle?”

“Don’t laugh.” He said, pouting. 

“I’m not laughing.” You said trying to hold in your laughter. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no, I love it.” You kissed him again, still smiling. “What else?”

“I’m scared of heights.”

“You literally led a hike up a mountain four days ago.”

“I know. I was scared the entire time.” He shook his head. “But you were there, so I just… focused on you. Made it easier.”

Your heart squeezed. “Arthur-”

“I mean it. You make everything easier. Even the scary stuff.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just kissed him, trying to pour everything you felt into it – all the gratitude and affection and want that had been building for days. 

His hand came up to cup your face, and you shifted in his lap, the blanket slipping down as you pressed closer. His other hand slid up your back, warm through your thin t-shirt, and you made a soft sound against his mouth. 

“We should probably-” he started.

“Shh.”

“-make sure the fire’s actually-”

“Arthur. Shut up.”

He laughed, and then you were kissing again, deeper now, your hands in his hair and his hands on your waist. The fire had turns to embers, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

And then- 

“Fire still going?”

You practically launched yourself out of Arthur’s lap, stumbling backwards and nearly tripping over the log behind you. Arthur shot to his feet, the blanket falling to the ground, both of you trying desperately to look like you hadn't just been making out. 

Margaret stood at the edge of the clearing, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Just making sure it died down properly,” Arthur said, his voice only slightly strangled. “We were about to put it out completely.”

“Good, good.” Margaret nodded approvingly. “Glad to see you two are finally getting along. About time, if you ask me. The rivalry was getting old.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you managed. “We’re… working on it.”

“Excellent. Well, don’t stay up too late. Big day tomorrow.” She turned to go, then paused. “Oh, and Arthur? Your shirt’s on inside out.”

She disappeared into the darkness before either of you could respond.

You looked at Arthur. Arthur looked down at his shirt.

“Oh my god,” you said.

“I didn’t- when did-”

“When you pulled it back on earlier after-” You stopped. “Oh my god.”

“Do you think she knows?”

“Arthur. Your shirt is inside out. Of course she knows.”

“Shit.” He ran both hands through his hair. “Shit, shit, shit-”

“Hey.” You caught his hands, pulling them down. “It’s okay. She didn’t say anything about the rule. Maybe she doesn’t care.”

“Or maybe she’s waiting to fire us both in the morning.”

“She’s not going to fire us.” You hoped you sounded more confident than you felt. “We’re good counsellors. The kids love us. She’s not going to fire us over… this.”

Arthur looked at you, his expression torn between panic and something else you couldn’t place. 

“I don’t want to lose this,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to lose you. Not again.”

“You won’t.” You squeezed his hands. “I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. But we will.”

He pulled you close, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

“But I don’t regret this. Any of it.”

“Neither do I.”

You stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the dying fire casting long shadows around you. Then Arthur sighed and stepped back.

“We should probably actually put the fire out now.”

“Probably.”

You worked together in silence, dousing the embers with water from the bucket, stirring the ashes to make sure nothing was still burning. By the time you were done, the clearing was dark except for the moonlight filtering through the trees. 

“Walk you back to your cabin?” Arthur asked. 

“Such a gentleman.” 

“I try.” He said, holding his hand out to you. You reached out and entwined your fingers with his, you held hands the whole way, your secret kept by the darkness. And when you reached your cabin, he kissed you one more time – soft and sweet and full of promise.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight.”

You watched him walk away, his flashlight beam bobbing through the trees. And despite everything, despite the close call, despite the fear and uncertainty – you were smiling. 

The text came at eleven-thirty the next day.

Meet me at the lake. I have an idea. 

You stared at your phone, your heart already racing. 

Be there in 10

You slipped out of your cabin as quietly as possible, grateful that Flo was a heavy sleeper. The camp was dark and silent, everyone long since asleep. Your flashlight beam cut through the darkness as you made your way down the familiar path to the lake. 

Arthur was already there, standing at the end of the dock, looking out over the water. He turned when he heard your footsteps, and even in the dim light, you could see him smiling. 

“Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey yourself.” You stopped beside him, following his gaze out over the lake. The moon was nearly full, casting silver light across the water, making it look like liquid mercury. “So what’s this idea?”

“How do you feel about swimming?”

You looked at him. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I know.”

“The water’s going to be freezing.”

“Probably.”

“And if we get caught-”

“We won’t get caught.” He was already pulling his shirt over his head. “Everyone’s asleep. We’ll be quick. Just… I wanted to do something with you that wasn’t hiding in equipment sheds or jumping apart every time someone walks by.”

Your breath caught. Because he was right- every moment you’d stolen had been tinged with fear, with the constant awareness that you could be caught at any second. But this… this was just for you. Just for him. 

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s do it.”

His smile widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You both stripped down to your underwear, leaving your clothes in a pile on the dock. The night air was cool against your skin, raising goosebumps, but Arthur’s hand was warm in yours as you walked to the edge. 

“On three?” he said. 

“On three.”

“One-”

“Two-”

“Three!”

You jumped together, hitting the water with a splash that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet night. The cold was a shock, stealing the breath from your lungs, raising goosebumps on your skin, but then you surfaced, gasping and laughing, and Arthur was right there beside you. 

“Oh my god,” you said, treading water. “That’s freezing.”

“I know.” But he was grinning, his hair plastered to his forehead, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. “Worth it though.”

“Is it?”

“Definitely.”

He swam closer, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist. He held you easily, his hands on your thighs, and suddenly the cold didn’t matter anymore. 

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi.”

You kissed him, tasting lake water. His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you closer, and you made a soft sound against his mouth. 

“This is crazy,” you murmured. 

“I know.”

“We’re going to get hypothermia.”

“Probably.”

“And if someone sees us-”

“Then fuck it.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and serious. “I’m tired of hiding. Tired of pretending. I want to be with you. Really with you. Not just stolen moments in the dark.”

Your heart was pounding. “Arthur-”

“I know we can’t. Not yet. Not while we’re here. But after the summer-”

“After the summer is weeks away.”

“I know. But I’ll wait. If that’s what it takes, I’ll wait.” His thumb traced circles on your thigh, sending shivers through you that had nothing to do with the cold. “You’re worth waiting for.”

You kissed him again, harder this time, trying to show him everything you couldn’t put into words. His hands slid up your back, and you arched into him, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of you in the moonlight and the water. 

Suddenly, there was a light. You both froze as a flashlight beam swept across the shore, coming from the direction of the main camo buildings. 

“Shit,” Arthur breathed. “Swim Now.”

You broke apart, swimming as quietly as possible toward the far shore where the grass grew tall and wild. Your heart was hammering so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest. Behind you, you could hear footsteps on the dock. 

“Hello?” a voice called. Male. Unfamiliar. “Anyone out here?”

You reached the shore and pulled yourself into the long grass, Arthur right behind you. The grass was tall enough to hide you if you stayed low, but it was also scratchy and uncomfortable against your wet skin. 

“Stay down,” Arthur whispered, his mouth right by your ear. 

You kept yourself down, hardly daring to breathe. Through the grass, you could see the flashlight beam sweeping across the water, across the dock, searching. 

“Probably just a fish,” the voice muttered. “Or a raccoon.”

Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.

The beam swept across the shore, passing just over your hiding spot. You felt Arthur’s hand find yours in the darkness, squeezing tight. 

Shit! Your clothes.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, panicking. “Oh my god, Arthur-”

The beam of light swept across the shore, passing just over your hiding spot. Arthur pressed a hand over your mouth, pulling you closer. 

“Shh we’re all good.” You relaxed into his hold.

“Nothing out here,” the voice said finally. “Must’ve been hearing things.”

The footsteps retreated, and the light disappeared. 

You waited, counting to a hundred in your head, before you finally dared to move.

“Too close.” Arthur’s voice was shaky. “Way too close.”

You turned to look at him, and despite everything – despite the fear and the cold and the fact that you were both lying half-naked in the grass – you started to laugh.

“This is insane,” you said. “We’re insane.”

“Completely.” But he was laughing too. “We should probably get back.”

“Probably.”

Neither of you moved. 

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to wait until after the summer.”

He went still. “What?”

“I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to sneak around and jump apart every time someone walks by. I don’t want to spend the rest of the summer pretending I don’t feel this way about you.” You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “We’ve already wasted four years. I’m not wasting another day.”

“But the rule-”

“I know about the rule. But there has to be a way. We could talk to Margaret. Explain that we’re both adults, that we can keep it professional-”

“You really think she’ll go for that?”

“I don’t know. But I think we have to try.” You touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw. “Because this – what we have – it’s real. And I’m tired of hiding it.”

Arthur stared at you for a long moment. Then he sat up, pulling you with him, his hands framing your face. 

“You’re serious,” he said. 

“Completely.”

“You’re willing to risk your job for this? For us?”

“Yes.” You said it without hesitation. “Are you?”

He kissed you – hard and desperate and full of everything he couldn’t say. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing. 

“Yes,” he said. “God, yes. I’d risk everything for you.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

“Together.”

“Together.”

You kissed again, softer this time, sealing the promise. Then you both stood, dripping and shivering, and made your way back to the dock to retrieve your clothes. 

“We should probably talk about what we’re going to say,” Arthur said as you both got dressed. “To Margaret. We need a plan.”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, I just want to get back before we both freeze to death.”

“Fair point.”

You walked back to camp together, hand in hand, and when you reached your cabin, Arthur pulled you close one more time. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For being brave enough for both of us.”

Your throat tightened. “We’re doing this together, remember?”

“Together he agreed. “Always.”

You wake up to Flo poking your shoulder.

“How’s the ankle?” she asked, already dressed in her camp shirt and shorts. 

“Better,” you said, testing it gingerly. Still swollen and tender, but the sharp pain had dulled to a persistent ache. “I can probably walk on it today.”

“The nurse said to take it easy.”

“I know what the nurse said.” You sat up, wincing. “But I can’t just sit around all day. The kids-”

“The kids are fine. Hill and George covered your activities yesterday afternoon, and Bach has your cabin this morning.” Flo sat on the edge of your bed, her expression too knowing. “You know who checked in on you three times yesterday after you went to rest?”

Your stomach flipped. “Flo-”

“Arthur. Three times. One with ice cream from the mess hall. Once with a book he thought you’d like. Once just to ‘make sure you were okay.’” She raised an eyebrow. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Right. And I’m the queen of England.” She stood, heading for the door. “If you’re so determined to ignore the nurse’s orders then you might wanna get dressed. Breakfast is in twenty minutes, and someone’s already saved you a seat.”

“Wait, what?”

But she was already gone, laughter trailing behind her. 

You made it to breakfast on your own, limping only slightly. The mess hall was already full of campers and counsellors, the usual morning noise of clattering trays and overlapping conversations. You grabbed a plate of eggs and toast and scanned the room for a seat.

Your eyes found Arthur before you meant to. 

He was sitting with his campers, listening to one of them tell some animated story, but the moment you walked in, his gaze shifted to you. There was an open seat next to him, saved for you.

Something in your chest tightened. 

You looked away first, heading for the table where Flo and Liv were sitting, not ready to sit with him. But you could feel him watching you as you walked, could feel the weight of his gaze.

“Morning,” Liv said too brightly. “How’s the ankle?”

“Fine.” You sat down carefully, propping your foot on the bench beside you. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something.”

Liv and Flo exchanged a glance that made you want to throw your toast at them.

“We don’t know anything,” Flo said innocently. “Except that Arthur brought you ice cream yesterday. And a book. And checked on you multiple times. And saved a seat for you this morning, which you ignored.”

“He was being nice. I was injured. And I wanted to sit with you guys.”

“Uh-huh.” Liv leaned forward, her voice dropping. “And the way he carried you down the trail? The way he wrapped your ankle? The way he sat with you for like an hour after and looked at you like-”

“Like what?” you demanded.

“Like you’re the only person in the world,” Liv said simply.

Your throat went tight. You looked down at your plate, suddenly not hungry.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said quietly. “There are rules.”

“Rules can be bent,” Flo said.

“Not these ones. You know what happens if counsellors get caught fraternising. We’d both lose our jobs. The camp owners don’t mess around with that stuff. You and Bach only get away with it because you were dating way before you started working here, and they liked you too much as counsellors to let you go.”

“So you’re just going to ignore it?” Liv asked. “Pretend you don’t feel anything?”

“I don’t-” You stopped. Looked at them. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“Well,” Flo said, sitting back. “You’d better figure it out. Because he’s walking over here right now.”

Your head snapped up. Arthur was indeed walking toward your table, weaving between campers with a careful, deliberate stride. He had a mug of coffee in one hand, and something wrapped in a napkin in the other.

“Morning,” he said when he reached you. His voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better,” you managed. “I can walk on it.”

“That’s good.” He held out the napkin. “I grabbed you a muffin before they were all gone. Blueberry. I remembered you said they were your favourite.”

You stared at the muffin. At his hand. The way he was looking at you like he’d been thinking about his, about you, about what you liked.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it. Your fingers brushed his, and the contact sent a jolt up your arm.

Arthur’s breath hitched. Just slightly, but enough that you noticed. 

“I should-” He gestured vaguely toward his table. “The kids. But if you need anything today, just let me know. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said.

He nodded, then walked away. You watched him go, watched the way his shoulders were tense, and that he didn’t look back even though you could tell he wanted to.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble,” Flo said.

You couldn’t even argue. 

By lunchtime, it was obvious that something had changed.

You were helping serve food in the mess hall – your ankle was good enough for light duty – when Maya appeared at your elbow.

“Are you and Arthur dating?” She asked, loud enough that several nearby campers turned to look. 

You nearly dropped the serving spoon. “What? No. Why would you-”

“Because he keeps looking at you,” Maya said matter-of-factly. “Like, all the time. And you keep looking at him. And yesterday on the hike, you guys were like…” She made a vague gesture. “I don’t know. Different.”

“We’re not dating,” you said firmly. “We’re just… we’re friends now. That’s all.”

“Friends who stare at each other?”

“Maya-”

“It’s okay if you are,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We think it’s cute. Tyler said Arthur’s been in a good mood all morning, and he’s never in a good mood on Mondays.”

“That’s not-” You stopped and took a deep breath. “We’re not dating. There are rules about that. Counsellors can’t… we can’t do that.”

Maya’s face fell. “Oh. That’s a stupid rule.”

“Maybe. But it’s still a rule.”

She wandered off, looking disappointed, and you tried to focus on serving lunch. But you could feel eyes on you – whispering, glances between you and Arthur’s table, clearly speculating. 

This was getting out of hand. 

You were in your cabin after dinner, reorganising the supplies – a task you could do sitting down – when the door opened and your entire friend group filed in. 

Bach. Liv. Flo. Hill. George.

They stood in a semicircle around you, arms crossed, expressions serious.

“Uh,” you said. “Hi?”

“We need to talk,” Bach said.

“Is this an intervention?”

“Yes! You and Arthur are driving everyone insane,” Liv said bluntly. “Including yourselves.”

You set down the box of craft supplies you’d been sorting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Flo said. “You’ve been making eyes at each other all day. The campers are starting a betting pool on when you’ll get together. And you both look miserable.”

“We’re not-”

“Stop,” Arthur Hill said, his voice gentle but firm. “Just stop. We’ve been watching you two all week. We’ve been pushing you together because we could see what you couldn’t – that you’re good together. That you care about each other. And after yesterday, it’s not even a question anymore.”

Your chest felt tight. “There are rules.”

“We know about the rules,” George said. “But you can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening. It’s not fair to either of you.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” you asked, and your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. “Just… ignore the rules? Risk our jobs? Risk everything we’ve built here?”

“No,” Bach said. “You’re supposed to talk to him. Actually talk to him. Figure out what you both want. And then decide if it’s worth the risk.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Liv said softly. “But right now, you’re both just… stuck. And it’s painful to watch.”

You looked at your friends, who’d been scheming and meddling and pushing you toward this moment all week. Who’d seen something in you and Arthur before you’d seen it yourselves.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted, shakily.

“Yes, you can,” Flo said. She sat down beside you, taking your hand. “You’re one of the bravest people I know. You just need to be brave about this too.”

“What if he doesn’t-”

“He does,” all five of them said in unison.

Despite everything, you laughed. “You’re all terrible.”

“We’re all right,” Bach corrected. “Now come on. Arthur’s in the equipment shed doing inventory. Alone. We’re taking the campers to the fire circle for s’mores and ghost stories. You’ve got at least an hour till someone comes looking for you.”

Your heart started racing. “You planned this?”

“Obviously,” George said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been planning this all week. Now go! Go get your man!”

The equipment shed was at the edge of camp, a large wooden building that smelled like canvas and bug spray. The door was propped open, and you could see Arthur inside, clipboard in hand, counting life jackets. 

You stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. He moved with careful precision, making notes on his clipboard, as the late-afternoon sun slanted through the windows and caught in his hair.

He looked up and saw you. Froze. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“Hi.” He set down the clipboard. “How’s your ankle?"

“Better. I can walk on it now.”

“That’s good.” He didn’t move. Just stood there, ten feet away, looking at you like he was afraid you might disappear. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help with inventory.”

“You don’t need to-”

“I know.” You stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind you. “But I wanted to.”

The air between you felt charged, electric. Arthur’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“Our friends cornered me earlier,” he said quietly. “Told me I needed to stop being an idiot and talk to you.”

“They did the same thing to me.”

“They’re not subtle.”

“No.” You took another step closer. “But they’re not wrong.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “About what?”

“About this.” You gestured between you. “About us. About the fact that something’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” he said, and his voice was rough. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop watching you across the room, or noticing when you laugh, or wanting to be near you. And I know I shouldn’t- I know there are rules- but I can’t help it.”

Your breath caught. “Arthur-”

“I’ve been trying to figure out when it happened,” he continued, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth. “When I stopped hating you and started… this. But I think maybe I never actually hated you. I think I was just scared of how much I liked you, even back then. Even back when we were campers and before everything happened, I think I blamed you for it because it was easier than admitting that I would have followed you anywhere.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only stare at him as he closed the distance between you, stopping just inches away.

“Tell me I’m not alone in this,” he said softly. “Tell me you feel it too.”

“I feel it,” you whispered. “I’ve been feeling it all week. Maybe longer. I don’t know anymore.”

His hand came up, hesitating just before it touched your face. “Can I-”

“Yes.”

His palm cupped your cheek, warm and steady, and you leaned into it without thinking. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, and the tenderness of it made your eyes sting. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. “I want this. I want you. But-”

“I know.” His forehead dropped to rest against yours, and you could feel his breath on your lips. “I’ve been going over it in my head all day. All the ways we could get caught. All the ways this could go wrong.”

“And?”

“And I still can’t stay away from you.”

Your hands found his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and hard, matching your own. 

“Arthur,” you breathe. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Tell me this is a bad idea, and I’ll walk away. I’ll go back to being your friend, your colleague, whatever you need me to be. Just tell me.”

You looked up at him. At how he was looking at you – like you were worth risking everything for. 

“I can’t,” you said. “I can’t tell you to stop.”

He made a sound low in his throat, and then his mouth was suddenly on yours.

The kiss was everything – desperate and gentle and overwhelming all at once. His lips moved against yours like he’d been thinking about this for more than a few weeks, like he’d memorised exactly how he wanted to touch you. Your hands slid up to his neck, pulling him closer, and he responded by wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you slightly, taking the weight off your injured ankle. 

Even now, even in this, he was taking care of you.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your knees weak. Your back hit the wall – you didn’t remember moving – and Arthur pressed against you, one hand still cradling your face, the other splayed across your lower back. 

“God,” he breathed against your lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“How long?” you asked, kissing along his jaw. 

“Since the supply run. Maybe before. Maybe since-” He broke off with a groan as your teeth grazed his neck. “Maybe since we were campers and you smiled at me before everything went wrong.”

You pulled back to look at him. His eyes were dark, his lips swollen from kissing, his hair messed up from your fingers running through the strands. He looked undone in a way you’d never seen before. 

“We were kids,” you said. 

“I know. But I remember thinking you were the most interesting person I’d ever met. And then the incident happened, and you looked at me like I’d betrayed you, and I couldn’t-” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “I couldn’t fix it. So I let you hate me. It was easier than trying to explain.”

“Explain what?”

“That it wasn’t your fault. That it wasn’t my fault either. That we both just… got caught up in all the gossip.”

Your heart clenched. “What actually happened that day?”

Arthur’s hand moved to your waist, his thumb tracing small circles through your shirt. His jaw tightened, like he was bracing himself. 

“You told me something,” he said quietly. “Do you remember? That night by the lake, before everything fell apart. You told me something you’d never told anyone else.”

Your breath caught. You did remember. You remembered sitting on the dock with your feet dangling over the water, the stars reflecting off the surface, and telling Arthur about your parents’ divorce. How your mum had told you last week. How your dad was moving out, how you felt like you’d somehow caused it by not being good enough, by being too much trouble. You’d been terrified and heartbroken and so, so ashamed – like it was something you should have been able to prevent. You’d not told anyone. Not your friends back home, not the other campers. Just Arthur, because in that moment, he’d felt safe. 

“I remember,” you said, your voice small. 

“Sarah Mitchell overheard us.” Arthur’s expression was pained. “She was a camper, the same year as us. I didn’t even know she was there. But she had a crush on me, and I think she saw an opportunity to-” He stopped, shaking his head. |Shje told people. Within a day, it was everywhere.”

You felt your stomach twist at the memory. The whispers in the mess hall. The way conversations would stop when you walked past. Someone had made a joke about your parents not wanting to be around you, and it had spread like wildfire. By the end of that week, you were “the girl whose parents couldn’t stand her,” and every insecurity you’d ever had about being unlovable had felt confirmed. You’d spent the rest of camp trying to be invisible. Eating alone, avoiding activities, convinced that everyone was judging you, pitying you, laughing at you.

“You said you didn’t tell anyone,” you said, your voice tight.

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and old guilt written all over his face. “But you wouldn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t blame you because from your perspective, I was the only one who knew. So I just… let you believe it. Let you hate me. Because at least that way. You had someone to be angry at instead of just feeling betrayed.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Arthur-”

“I’ve spent four years wondering if I should have fought harder to explain,” he continued, his voice rough. “If should have tried more. But you were so angry, and I wasn’t even sure you’d believe me.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling. All this time. All these years of anger and hurt, and he’d been carrying his own guilt the entire time.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Arthur said, “None of this is your fault. You’re the one who had your privacy taken away, your trust broken and had to go through all the stares and gossip. You should not be the one saying sorry.”

“But I should have listened. Should have heard you out, but instead, I just carried on hating you for something you didn’t even do. I should have at least spoken to you about it when I stopped feeling so angry.” You said, hanging your head.

Arthur looked at you for a moment and said quietly. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was too ashamed,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Too ashamed that I’d blamed you without listening. Too ashamed that I’d let it go on for so long. We’d already spent so much time hating each other that it felt like it was too late to fix. And honestly? Part of me was still angry - not at you, but at myself for being so vulnerable in the first place. For trusting someone with something so personal. For letting one person’s cruelty make me feel like my pain was something to be mocked. So I just… didn’t say anything.”

He pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t fix it then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you try.” You wrapped your arms around him, holding tight. “I’m sorry I made you carry that guilt for years.”

“We both carried it,” he said softly. “We both just… carried it alone.”

You stood there in the equipment shed, holding each other, finally understanding the weight you’d both been bearing. It wasn’t betrayal. It was a misunderstanding born from hurt and fear and the terrible luck of being overheard at exactly the wrong moment.

Somehow, that made it worse. Because all those years of anger had been for nothing. 

“Can we discuss blame later? Right know I just want-” He kissed you again, softer this time. “I just want this.”

You melted into him, your hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. He shuddered at your touch, his fingers tightening on your waist. 

“We should stop,” he murmured against your mouth, even as he kissed you deeper. 

“Probably.”

“Someone could come in.”

“Probably.”

“We could get fired.”

“I know.” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I know all of that. But I don’t want to stop.” 

Arthur’s expression was torn – desire and fear and longing all mixed together. “I don’t either. But if we do this – if we really do this – we have to be careful. We can’t let anyone catch us. We can’t give them any reason to think otherwise.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He took a shaky breath. “I’m saying I want you. I want this. But I need to know you understand the risk. I need to know you’re willing to be careful, to keep this between us, to-”

“To sneak around?” you finished. “To hide?”

“Yes.” He looked miserable. “I hate the idea of hiding this. Of hiding you. But I don’t see another option. Not if we want to keep our jobs. Not if we want to stay here.”

You thought about it. About stolen moments in equipment sheds and careful glances across the room. About having to pretend in front of the campers, in front of your friends, in front of everyone. 

About the alternative – walking away from this, from him, from the way he made you feel.

“Okay,” you said, “We’ll be careful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You kissed him again, slow and deep. “But right now, we have an hour before anyone comes back. So stop talking and kiss me.”

He did. 

His mouth moved to your neck, kissing and biting gently, and you arched into him with a gaso. His hand roamed – your waist, your hips, sliding up your sides to brush the curve of your breasts through your shirt. You tugged at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss you properly, and he groaned into your mouth. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.

“Good.”

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, and you started to pull it up. Arthur caught your wrists, stopping you.

“Wait,” he said, breathing hard. “Wait. We should- we can’t-”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t do this here. Not now, not when anyone could walk in.” He rested his forehead against yours again, his chest heaving. “I want to. God, I want to. But not like this. Not rushed, not hiding in a shed where we could get caught any second.”

You knew he was right. Hated that he was right.

“So what do we do?” you asked. 

“We wait. We’re careful. We find time when it’s safe.” He kissed you once more, soft and lingering. “And we don’t do anything stupid that could get us caught.”

“This whole thing is stupid.”

“I know.” He smiled against your lips. “But it’s the good kind of stupid.”

You laughed, and he pulled you into a hug, just holding you. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in – soap and sunncream and something uniquely Arthur. 

“I don’t want to let go,” you admitted. 

“Then don’t. Not yet.:

So you stood there, wrapped in each other, until you heard voices in the distance – campers returning from the fire circle, your hour of privacy coming to an end.

Arthur pulled back reluctantly, his hands lingering on your waist. “We should probably make it look like were actually doing some inventory.”

“Right. Inventory.” You looked around at the scattered life jackets and paddles. “Very convincing.”

He laughed and handed you the clipboard. “Here. Look official.”

You were both trying to look busy when the door opened, and Bach stuck his head in. 

“Hey, how’s the-” He stopped, looked at you, looked at Arthur and the way you were both slightly dishevelled, your lips swollen, Arthur’s hair sticking up. 

A slow grin spread across his face.

“Inventory going well?” he asked innocently. 

“Fine,” Arthur said, his voice admirably steady. “Just finishing up.”

“Uh-huh.” Bach’s grin widened. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. I’ll just… be outside.

He left, and you and Arthur looked at each other.

“he’s going to tell everyone,” you said.

“Immediately.” Arthur agreed.

“We’re terrible at this.”

“The worst.” He kissed your forehead. “But I don’t care.”

“You will when we get fired.”

“Then we’ll get fired together.” He said it lightly, but there was something serious underneath. Something that made your heart skip.

“Arthur-”

“I mean it,” he said. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. Okay?”

You looked at him – at this boy who’d been your rival, your enemy, your friend, and now… something more. Something that felt too big and too fragile and too important to name. 

“Okay,” you said. “Together”

He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out. 

Outside, you could hear Bach already talking to someone, his voice carrying through the evening air. You could hear Liv’s delighted laugh and the other’s shouting, 

Your secret had lasted approximately three minutes between your friends, but at least the campers and owners were still in the dark. 

“We’re doomed” you said. 

“Completely,” Arthur agreed.

But he was still smiling. And so were you.