The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the towering trees surrounding Camp Dawnbrook. The lake shimmered in the distance, and cicadas chirped lazily in the heat. Down the gravel trail, a group of guys approached the last cabin on the row — Cabin 12 — duffel bags slung over shoulders, sweat clinging to their backs, and uncertainty in the air.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the wooden walls were decorated with old camp photos and cheesy motivational signs. Eight bunks lined the room, four on each side. It smelled like pine, old dust, and something vaguely like bug spray.
A guy with silvery-pink hair, sun-kissed skin, and a soft, heart-shaped smile was the first to step in. He wore a loose yellow tee and denim shorts, and his movements were light, like he was dancing through the world. He turned, looking back at the others.
“Okay, not bad. I’m Jimin, by the way. I call this bed.”
He dropped his bag onto a bottom bunk near the window and flopped down dramatically.
A taller guy followed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He wore cargo pants, a plain white shirt, and a canvas satchel covered in pins. His dimples showed as he looked around with a mix of awe and awkwardness.
“Namjoon,” he said quietly, setting his books on the nearest shelf before carefully organizing his stuff. “I hope there's a library here.”
Behind him, a lean guy with sharp eyes and platinum blond hair stepped inside. He wore black from head to toe, headphones hanging around his neck, and a permanent scowl like the sun offended him.
“Yoongi,” he muttered. “Don’t touch my bed. Don’t wake me up. Don’t be loud.”
He took the bottom bunk in the darkest corner of the cabin and pulled his hoodie up.
Suddenly, the door banged open.
“Why is it so far from the parking lot!?” A tall guy with bright eyes and tan skin stumbled in, laughing breathlessly. He had messy hair, neon green shorts, and a massive water bottle hanging from his side.
“I’m Hoseok, but everyone calls me Hobi!” He beamed. “This is gonna be fun, right?”
He made a show of inspecting each bunk before flopping onto one in the center like a starfish.
Trailing behind him was a quiet guy in oversized clothes and a floppy bucket hat that nearly covered his eyes. His voice was smooth and deep as he glanced around with slow curiosity.
“Taehyung,” he said, as if it were a secret.
He wandered over to a bunk by the window and sat down cross-legged, gazing out as if he were already painting the view in his mind.
A few seconds later, the door creaked open again — this time gently. In walked someone who looked like he belonged in a magazine: tall, broad shoulders, flawless skin. His suitcase had wheels, and he clearly packed like someone who’d never been camping.
“I’m Seokjin,” he announced. “This cabin needs better lighting. I call top bunk. Also, if you snore, sleep outside.”
He flipped his mirror open and started fixing his hair immediately.
And then — the last one sauntered in like he owned the place.
He wore a black tank top, had tattoos curling down one arm, and a lip ring that caught the light. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was a boyish spark hidden beneath all that edge.
“Jungkook,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, he added, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless I’m hungry.”
He smirked and threw his bag onto the top bunk above Yoongi’s.
The cabin fell into a momentary silence, all of them strangers, all of them in the same boat — new faces, awkward beginnings, the start of something they couldn’t yet name.
The air buzzed with potential.
Outside, gravel crunched again.
Someone else was approaching.