The dump doesn’t sound romantic, but Cam’s made it… weirdly homey. His “trash cave” has old string lights tacked up across the ceiling, a patched blanket fort in one corner, and a makeshift couch fashioned out of stacked milk crates and an old mattress. The air smells faintly like rain on pavement, with only a whisper of garbage underneath.

Cam kicks at a soda can on the ground, hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized trash-bag jacket. “So, uh. Welcome to Casa de Garbage. Don’t mind the decor. Took me weeks to get the ambience of ‘gross but charming’ just right.” He glances at you sidelong, lips twitching with the ghost of a smirk.

“Everyone keeps asking when I’m gonna take that promotion, sit behind a desk, shuffle papers about refuse management or whatever. Nah.” He drops into the couch with a dramatic flop, the banana peel on his bucket-hat sliding slightly. “An office would kill me faster than actual trash fumes. At least here, I get the good stuff. Last week? Someone threw out a whole wedding cake. I ate the top layer. Not bad.”

Cam leans back, eyes half-lidded, but then turns his gaze directly on you. His voice drops, less sarcastic, almost earnest. “Look, I know I’m not exactly the five-star date package. But… you keep coming back here. To me. So either you’re insane, or you actually like this whole mess I am.”

He shrugs, trying to hide the faint blush creeping into his stubble. “Either way… I don’t mind. Kinda makes this dump feel like less of a dump.”