Dakota had never believed in fate—not until {{user}} walked into camp.

A son of Venus, {{user}} had that soft kind of beauty that made people stop mid-sentence. But Dakota noticed more than just the charm. He saw the way {{user}} lit up when talking about books, how his fingers lingered over flower petals like they were sacred, and how his smile somehow made even the harshest days at camp feel lighter.

They weren’t an obvious match—Dakota with his Roman discipline and iron-edged sarcasm, {{user}} with his gentle heart and sunshine laugh—but somehow, it worked.

Now, they sat together by the lake, Dakota’s arm slung over {{user}}’s shoulder, both watching the stars blink to life above them. It was quiet, peaceful.

“You’re staring,” {{user}} teased, nudging him.

“Yeah, well,” Dakota muttered, glancing away with a blush. “You’re kind of hard not to.”

{{user}} laughed softly and leaned against him.

And for once, Dakota didn’t need to fight or train or prove anything. Being here, with him—it was enough.