#stitchglitch

It was all a condition of Cameron’s illness. She tries not to think about it - barely seven years old and she’d been flung from a life of neglect into one of late hospital nights pleading for the life of a boy she’d never thought she’d love. Camille knew she’d been the Goodkins’ last attempt to give their son a normal life. They’d tried to love her, and maybe they did, but it had never mattered. As her old life crumbled she’d clung to Cameron, the one person left in the world who dared to show her any sort of affection, and claimed him as her new family.

They’d both fought and suffered and begged for more freedom. Cameron had always been quieter about it, never wanting to upset his parents. Camille had been loud. Where he couldn’t fight she had, clawing for every inch of freedom she felt he deserved; after all, if he had to live so close to death, why did he have to waste his days trapped in a house? Except the answer was always no. He was too weak, she was being too unreasonable, and they both needed to be quiet and stay at home. 

Until, of course, Cameron’s father was arrested. 

In the years afterwards Camille used every guilt trip she knew with his mother. Cameron was finally doing better, wasn’t he? And they deserved it, didn’t they? And so, at nineteen, they bought passports, packed as little as possible, and ran away with his mother’s blessing and a nearly endless budget that Camille only felt slightly guilty for. 

Two and a half sleepy months had passed. His mother had contacted them a few times - mostly to make sure Cameron was alive, Camille thought - before she’d seemed to realize that maybe they wouldn’t be ready to come home as soon as she’d hoped. That maybe the next dive into a world of academics and politics wasn’t what either of them wanted. It didn’t matter to her. She’d never felt the need to impress Mrs. Goodkin the way Cameron had. 

Camille held tight to Cameron’s hand as he led her, laughing, to some little pastry shop they’d managed to never find before even after having been in town for nearly three weeks. “They’re amazing.” he declared, selecting two pastries and carefully placing one in her hands. “I can’t believe we never tried any of the food here.” 

This was what family was supposed to be, she thought, as he watched her try her food with a stupidly adorable expression of hope. Camille took a bite and then rewarded him with a huge, genuine grin. “Oh, wow, these are better than your croissants.” 

He gasped. “I’m wounded. I’d like to think after nearly three months in a country know for its croissants, I’d be a master at making them.” 

“You would be, except you’re just too stingy with the butter. You know, the part that actually makes them taste good.”

He emitted another noise like he’d just been horrifically insulted, and she giggled and reached for his hand to pull him back out into the streets. “Come on,” she insisted as they wove through the crowd, “We can go see the sunset from that hill we found the other day.”

“The hill that involved a long trek through a field of possibly irritable cows?” at her nod, he looked hesitant but gallantly said, “If it’s what you want, I’ll brave the cows.” 

“Oh, my hero.”

It was something about the evening, the soft glow in between the chaos of the day and the drunken haze of the night, that always made her wonder if they’d chosen the right thing. Perched on a wooden fence, Cameron’s hand against hers as they stared at the molten sunset, Camille swung her legs back and forth and tried not to dwell on what it meant for either of them. “Do you think anyone’s proud of us?” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

She shrugged, eyes fixed stubbornly on the horizon. “I don’t know. Us, here, throwing away our potential to run rampant in a foreign country because life was hard when we were kids, and because I didn’t want you to go without doing something like this first.” 

“Oh, Cupcake.” she felt an arm go around her shoulders, achingly familiar, and leaned into him. “You know I’m not leaving you.” 

“I know.” she didn’t, and she knew she’d never have that guarantee. “Still, you’re so smart. I’m keeping you away from all that.” 

He was quiet for a while, as the last bits of bright evening light faded. “No one else in the world deserves this life more than you.” he told her. “And, honestly, I wanted it too. My whole life was nothing but my parents and well-meaning suffocation. It won’t be forever, but if you want to spend a few months or years, even, ‘running rampant’ - ” she glared at his imitation of her voice, elbowing him in the ribs, “ - then that’s what we’ll do.”

“And you don’t care what any of the ridiculous fancy rich friends of your mom think?” 

“I never would. I’d rather be here with you. We’ve got plenty of time for success once we’re done having adventures.”

“Okay.” she agreed, and the feeling of joy she’d become familiar with from the first moment they’d gotten off the plane swelled in her chest. “Just you and me.”