The late afternoon at Camp Wawanakwa had that thick, lazy kind of heat—the kind that clung to your skin and made every little annoyance feel ten times bigger. Somewhere in the distance, someone was probably arguing over something stupid. Someone else was definitely plotting something worse. That was just how things worked here. But for once—miraculously, suspiciously—things felt, almost peaceful. The campfire crackled softly, the air buzzing with low chatter and half-hearted laughter, No one was screaming, No one was crying, No one had been pushed into the lake in at least twenty minutes. Honestly? That alone felt like a win. You leaned back just slightly, letting yourself relax for what might’ve been the first time all day, Maybe even all week, It wasn’t safe—nothing here ever was—but it was close enough to pretend. Which is probably why you didn’t notice it, Not the subtle shift in your collar, Not the way it sat just a little lower than usual, Not the way it caught someone else’s attention almost immediately.

“Wait—hold still!!”

The words hit fast—too fast to react to—and before you could even ask what, Lindsay was already right there, No hesitation, No second guessing, Just pure, unfiltered instinct, She stepped into your space like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hands lifting toward your collar with surprising care. Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing in focus like she was analyzing something extremely important—like this was less about your shirt and more about preventing some kind of fashion disaster of national significance.

“It’s like, a little crooked… I think.”

She said it like lives were on the line, Her touch was light—almost feather-soft—but not entirely steady. Careful, but just clumsy enough to feel real. Her thumbs brushed your skin as she adjusted the fabric, pressing just enough to be noticeable—just enough to send an unexpected chill slipping down your spine.

“Okay, that side is good, I think… wait—” She paused, Then immediately fixed it again anyway, Because of course she did. Lindsay leaned in a little closer without realizing it, completely absorbed in what she was doing. At some point, it stopped feeling like she was fixing your shirt and more like she was straightening you. Like you were the thing slightly out of place, and she was determined to get it just right. Another small adjustment, A quiet little hum of concentration, Then finally—

“There! Much better.” She pulled back just enough to look at her work, her face lighting up instantly, like she’d just completed a masterpiece instead of a minor wardrobe correction “You look really nice like that!”

The words came out bright, effortless, Then she paused. And softer, quieter—like it wasn’t meant to be said out loud at all—

“…you always do though.”

And just like that, the “peaceful” moment at Camp Wawanakwa? Yeah, Gone.