The first week of camp always felt the same — sticky heat, clashing personalities, and counselors yelling about friendship bracelets and flag football like it meant something.

You weren’t really buying it.

Not that you hated it. Just… didn’t fit. Not with the cliques, the overly bright smiles, the matching t-shirts. You preferred the space between activities, the quiet corners — somewhere people wouldn’t look at you too long or expect you to act like someone else.

That’s probably why you noticed Travis.

He never tried to fit in, either.

He was always just there — sitting on the cabin steps alone during free time, trailing behind groups on the way to the mess hall, eyes always scanning the tree line like he was waiting for something to happen. He didn’t talk much. But when he did, it was always sharp. Controlled.

You’d caught his eye a few times, usually in passing. It wasn’t much. But there was something in the way he looked at you — like he saw the same thing in you that you saw in him.

Today was supposed to be lake day. But you’d bailed early, faking a headache, retreating to the empty fire circle behind the cabins. The air was cooler in the shade, and you liked the stillness.

You were sitting on one of the old logs, picking at the moss with your nails, when you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned — and of course, it was him.

Travis paused when he saw you, like he hadn’t expected anyone to be there either.