｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡Grace｡★･ﾟ:*:･｡

Day Three

On Tuesday morning, you’d woken up earlier than usual but accepted your fate in not going back to sleep any time soon. You’d grabbed your schedule from the clipboard hanging by your cabin door, intending to review the day’s plan over coffee. 

That’s when you saw it.

9:00 AM- Supply inventory (Mess Hall storage) – Co-lead with Arthur F

11:30 AM – Activity prep: Archery range set up – Co-lead with Arthur F

2:00 PM – Meal planning meeting – Attend with Arthur F 

You stared at the paper. Then you flipped to Wednesday’s schedule. 

8:00 AM – Morning trail check – Co-lead with Arthur F

1:00 PM – craft supplies organisation – Co-lead with Arthur F 

6:00 PM – Campfire planning session – Co-lead with Arthur F

“What the hell,” you muttered. 

“Morning!” Flo chirped, appearing beside you with two mugs of coffee. She handed you one, her smile just a touch too innocent. “Sleep well?”

You held up the schedule. ‘Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“This. My entire week is double-booked with Arthur.”

Flo’s eyes widened in what you were pretty sure was fake surprise. “Really? That’s… wow. That’s a lot of overlap.”

“Flo.”

“I mean, you’re both senior counsellors,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Makes sense you’d be coordinating on stuff.”

“Every single day?”

“Camp’s busy.” She shrugged, but you could see the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence,” you repeated flatly.

“Yep. Total coincidence.” She patted your shoulder. “Better get to that supply inventory. Wouldn’t want to keep Arthur waiting.”

She disappeared before you could interrogate her further.

Arthur was already in the mess hall storage room when you arrived, clipboard in hand, looking like he’d been awake for hours. Knowing him, he probably had been.

“Morning,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. 

“Morning.” You stepped into the cramped space, immediately aware of how small it was. Shelves lined every wall, stacked with canned goods, dry pasta, and industrial-sized containers of peanut butter. There was maybe three feet of floor space between you. ‘So. Supply inventory.”

“Yeah.” He glances at his clipboard, then at the shelves, then back at his clipboard. “I, uh. I noticed we’re scheduled together a lot this week.”

“You noticed that too?”

“Kind of hard not to.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. “I tried to swap out of a few things, but apparently, there’s always I can’t. Bach needs to supervise the younger campers. George is leading the ropes course. Arthurs got the music workshop.”

‘How convenient.”

“Very convenient.” His jaw tightened. “They’re not subtle, are they?”

“Not even a little bit.”

You stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between you. The storage room smelled like cardboard and dried herbs, and the single lightbulb overhead cast everything in a slightly yellow glow. Arthur shifted his weight, and his shoulder brushed against a shelf. He was close enough that you could see the faint freckles across his nose, and the way his t-shirt had a small tear near the collar. 

“Well,” you said finally. “We’re here. Might as well actually do the inventory.”

“Right. Yeah.” He cleared his throat, consulting his clipboard. “Okay, so we need to count everything, check expiration dates, note anything that’s running low. I’ve got a system-”

“Of course you do.”

Arthur ignored you, “-where we go shelf by shelf, top to bottom, left to right. That way we don’t miss anything.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to suggest just eyeballing it or doing it in whatever order felt natural. But the thing was, his system actually made sense. And you were stuck in a tiny room with him for the next hour, so picking a fight seemed counterproductive.

“Fine,” you said. “Top to bottom, left to right. Let’s do it.”

If Arthur was surprised by your lack of argument, he didn’t show it. He just nodded and turned to the first shelf. 

You worked in silence for a while, calling out items and quantities while Arthur marked them down. It was almost peaceful, in a weird wat. Methodical. The kind of task that didn’t require much thought, just attention to detail. 

“Twelve cans of diced tomatoes,” you said. 

“Got it”

“Eight boxes of pasta.”

“Noted.”

“One absolutely massive jar of pickles that I’m pretty sure has been here since the camp opened.”

Arthur actually smiled at that – small, but real. “I think that jar’s older than we are.”

“Should we… do something about it?”

“Probably, but I’m not brave enough to open it.”

“Fair.”

You reached for a box on the top shelf, stretching up on your toes. Your fingers just barely brushed the edge. Arthur noticed, stepped closer without thinking, and reached over your shoulder to grab it.

For a second, you were very aware of how close he was. The warmth of him at your back, the smell of his soap - something clean and woodsy. His arm extended past yours, and you could see the lean muscle of his forearm, the wat his fingers wrapped around the box with easy confidence.

He handed it to you and stepped back quickly, like he’d just realised what he’d done. 

“Thanks,” you said, your voice coming out higher than intended.”

“No problem.”

You cleared your throat and checked the label to avoid looking at him any longer. “Uh. Granola bars. Looks like… twenty.

“Twenty. Got it.”

The rest of the inventory passed in a blur of canned goods and awkward shuffling around each other, trying to avoid anymore almost-touches. By the time you finished, you were both eager to get out of the cramped space. 

“See you later?” Arthur asked, almost sounding hopeful as you stepped back into the mess hall. “For the archery set-up?”

“Sure.”

He nodded, already turning away. But then he paused, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth… you were right. About the pickles. We should probably do something about that jar.”

You couldn’t help it. You smiled. “I’ll add it to the list.”

Day Four

By Wednesday evening, you’d spent more time with Arthur in three days than you had in the previous four summers combined. And the worst part? It wasn’t entirely terrible.

The archery range setup has been surprisingly smooth. Arthur had a plan, you’d suggested a few modifications, and somehow, you’d ended up with a system that actually worked better than either of your original ideas. The meal planning meeting had been less successful – you’d argued about whether to have a themed dinner night (you were pro, Arthur was con), but you’d eventually settled on a “camp classic” menu that made everyone happy.

Now you were sitting in the campfire circle with Arthur, a notebook between you, trying to plan Friday’s campfire program. 

“We should have a solid plan,” Arthur said, tapping his pen against the notebook. “A clear order of events. Maybe start with a welcome song, then some games, then the main activity, then close with another song.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It’s not boring. It’s organised.”

“It’s predictable.” You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the darkening sky. “Campfires should be spontaneous. Fun. We should have a loose idea and then just… see where the night takes us.”

Arthur looked pained. “That’s not a plan. That’s just hoping things work out.”

“Things usually do work out.”

“Usually isn’t good enough when you’ve got forty kids sitting around a fire.”

You sighed. This was going nowhere. You’d been going in circles for twenty minutes, and you were no closer to an actual plan than when you’d started.

“Okay,” you said finally. “What if we compromise?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You want to compromise?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m capable of compromise.”

“I’ve never seen evidence of that.”

“Well, you’re about to.” You sat up, pulling the notebook toward you. “What if we have a structure, but we build in flexibility? Like… we have a set opening and closing, but the middle is looser. We prepare a few different activities and games, and then we read the room and pick what feels right in the moment.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, considering. You could practically see the cogs working in his head, weighing the pros and cons. 

“That… could work,” he said slowly. “We’d need to prep everything in advance, though. So we’re ready for everything.”

“Obviously.”

“And we’d need to agree on the opening and closing songs.”

“I can live with that.”

He picked up the pen and started writing. “Okay. Opening song: ’40 years on an iceberg?’ Classic, everyone knows it, easy to get the kids engaged.”

“Perfect. And for closing… ‘Taps’? Or is that too serious?”

“Too serious. What about ‘The Campfire’s burning’?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

For the next hour, you actually worked together. Arthur suggested a structured game, you suggested a storytelling circle. Arthur wanted to prepare three backup activities, but you convinced him that two were enough. You wanted to include a silly song with hand motions. Arthur found one that wasn’t too chaotic. 

By the time the sun had fully set, and the first stars were appearing overhead, you had a plan. A real plan. One you both contributed to, one that felt good.

“This is going to be great,” you said, looking at the final list. “The kids are going to love it.”

Arthur smiled – not the polite one he usually gave you. “Yeah. I think they will.”

You caught yourself smiling back. Caught yourself noticing the way the firelight danced across his face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Then you remembered who you were smiling at, and you looked away quickly. 

“We should probably head back,” you said, standing up and brushing dirt off your shorts. “It’s getting late.”

“Right. Yeah.” Arthur stood too, gathering the notebook and pens. “See you tomorrow? For the supply run?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As you walked back toward the cabins, you were very aware of him beside you. The comfortable silence between you. The way your footsteps fell into sync without either of you trying.

This was getting dangerous.

Day Five

The camp truck was old, temperamental, and smelled faintly of gasoline and pine needles. You climbed into the passenger seat while Arthur took the driver’s side, and for a moment you both just sat there, staring at the dashboard. 

“So,” you said finally. “Town?”

“Town.” Arthur agreed. 

He turned the key. The engine sputtered, coughed and then roared to life. Arthur put it in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, and just like that, you were alone with him. Really alone. No campers, no other counsellors, no convenient excuses to cut the conversation short. 

The first ten minutes passed in silence. You watched the trees blur past the window, tried not to think about how aware you were of Arthur’s hands on the steering wheel, the way he drove with easy confidence, one hand at ten o’clock and the other resting on the gear shift. 

“So,” Arthur said eventually. “This is weird.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. “Yeah. This is definitely weird.”

“I mean, we’ve been working together all week, but this is…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Different.”

“No audience.”

“Exactly.” He glances at you, then back at the road. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re terrible at your job.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I just-” He shifted in his seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I know we don’t agree on a lot of things. And I know I can be… rigid. About rules and structure and all that. But you’re good with the kids. They love you. And that matters more than whether or not you follow my schedules.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Arthur Frederick, king of organisation and plans, was admitting that maybe rules weren’t everything?

“Thanks,” you said finally. “That’s... actually really nice of you to say.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m just…” You paused, trying to find the right words. “I guess I didn’t think you noticed. That I’m good with the kids, I mean.”

“Of course I noticed.” He said it like it was obvious. Like he’d always noticed. “You make them feel safe. Like they can be themselves. That’s not nothing.”

Your chest felt tight. You looked out the window again, trying to process this. Trying to figure out when Arthur had stopped being just your rival and started being… something else. 

“You’re good with them too,” you said quietly. “They trust you. They know you’ll look after them, that you’ll be fair. That matters just as much.”

Arthur didn’t respond, but you saw his grip on the steering wheel tighten slightly. Saw the way his jaw worked, like he was trying to figure out what to say.

The rest of the drive passed in a more comfortable silence. When you reached town, Arthur parked in front of the general store, and you both climbed out, grabbing the shopping list from the glove compartment.

The store was busy – summer tourists stocking up on supplies, locals doing their weekly shopping. You and Arthur navigated the aisles together, checking items off the list. Marshmallows. Graham crackers. Chocolate bars. Industrial-sized containers of bug spray. They all went into the shopping cart that Arthur pushed along behind you. 

“Oh my god,” you said suddenly, stopping in front of a display. “Do you remember these?”

You held up a package of the colourful, overly sugary sweets you’d both loved as campers. The ones that turned your tongue blue and gave you a sugar high that lasted for hours.

Arthur’s face lit up. “I haven’t seen those in years.”

“We should get some. For the kids.”

“The kids, or for us?”

“Both?”

He laughed, and it made something warm bloom in your chest. You grabbed three packets and tossed them in the cart, and Arthur didn’t even protest.

You were in the checkout line when Arthur’s phone buzzed. The cashier was scanning your items, and you were both standing there, waiting. He pulled it out, frowning at the screen.

“Everything okay?” you asked. 

“Yeah, just-” He showed you the text. It was from Bach: Have you two killed each other yet?

You rolled your eyes. “So dramatic.”

Arthur hummed in agreement and typed back a response, you caught a glimpse of it over his shoulder: Still alive. Barely.

You snorted, and Arthur glanced at you, a smile tugging at his lips. And then you were both laughing, standing in the middle of the general store, laughing at your friends’ terrible scheming.

The cashier looked at you like you were insane. 

On the drive back, something had changed. You weren’t sure what, exactly, but the silence felt different now. Less awkward, easier. Like you’d crossed some invisible line and couldn’t quite figure out how to get back.

“Can I ask you something?” Arthur said as the camp came into view.

“Sure.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The question caught you off guard. You’d been expecting something lighter, something easier to answer.

“I don’t-” you started, then stopped. Because that wasn’t true, was it? Or at least, it hadn’t been true for a while now. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t anymore.”

Arthur pulled into the car park and put the truck in park. But he didn’t get out. He just sat there, hands still on the wheel, staring straight ahead.

“I don’t hate you either,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I ever really did.”

Your heart was beating too fast. This felt like dangerous territory, like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t take back.

“Then why-”

Before you could finish, George appeared beside the truck, knocking on the window with a grin. 

“Supply run successful?” he called.

The moment shattered. Arthur cleared his throat and opened the door. “Yeah. All good.”

You climbed out too, helping to unload the supplies, and tried not to think about the conversation that had been about to happen.

Day Six

You were in the middle of leading an art activity when Liv came running up, her face pale. 

“We need you,” she said. “Both of you. Now.”

You and Arthur exchanged a glance, then immediately followed her to the nurse’s station. One of the younger campers – a girl named Sophie from Hill’s cabin – was sitting on the cot, looking miserable. Her face was flushed, and she was shivering despite the warm afternoon. 

“Fever,” the camp nurse said grimly. Pretty high. I’ve caller her parents, but they’re three hours away. We need to keep her comfortable and monitored until they get here.”

“What do you need?” Arthur asked, already moving into problem-solving mode.

“Cold compresses. Water. Someone to sit with her. And we need to check the other campers – if this is something contagious, we need to catch it early.”

You and Arthur moved in sync. You grabbed the cold compresses and water while Arthur started organising the other counsellors to check their campers for symptoms. No discussion, no argument. Just smooth, efficient teamwork. 

For the next three hours, you took turns sitting with Sophie, keeping her comfortable, monitoring her temperature. When Sophie’s fever spiked, and she started crying for her mum, you held her hand and told her stories until she calmed down. When the nurse needed someone to run to town for medication, Arthur volunteered immediately.

By the time Sophie’s parents arrived and took her home, you were exhausted. You and Arthur stood outside the nurse’s station, watching the car disappear down the road.

“That was...” Arthur started. 

“Yeah.”

You’d worked together with no bickering, no competing. Just two people who knew what needed to be done and did it.

“We’re good at this,” Arthur said finally. “Working together, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We are.”

He looked at you then, and you saw something in his eyes that made your breath catch. Something that looked like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.

“We should-”

But then Hill appeared, breaking the moment. “Hey, you two okay? That was intense.”

“Fine,” you said quickly, stepping back and looking away from Arthur’s face.

Arthur nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. All good.”

But as you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you. And you knew – you both knew – that something had changed. 

“They’re not fighting anymore,” Flo said, leaning against the mess hall table.

The friend group had gathered after lights out, ‘planning the next day’s activities, when in reality they were debriefing on Operation Get Arthur And You Together.

“They’re not even bickering,” Liv added. “Like, at all. Did you see them today? They were completely in sync.”

“And the supply run,” George said. “Bach, you saw Arthur’s face when he got back. He looked like a changed man.”

Bach nodded. “Like he wasn’t sure what had changed.”

Arthur added. “Same with Reader. Flo, you said she was smiling at her phone yesterday?”

“Smiling at a text from Arthur,” Flo confirmed. “I saw his name on the screen.”

“So, Phase Two worked,” Liv said. “They’re not enemies anymore. But they’re not together either.

“They’re stuck,” Bach said. “They know something’s changed, but they don’t know what to do about it.”

“So, what’s Phase Three?” George asked. 

Bach grinned. “We push them over the edge.”

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.”