The storm had come out of nowhere, dark clouds swallowing the sky, rain hammering the roof like someone had dumped buckets from above. Horizon’s main hall was a chaos of bodies and blankets, the campers all crammed together like sardines, whispering, groaning, and shuffling about. Some were scared, clutching each other, while others were bored out of their minds, tapping their feet or flicking water droplets at the people nearby. It was loud, chaotic, and just the kind of ridiculous mess Scott loved to silently judge from the edge of the crowd.

He found a spot near the wall and dropped onto the wooden floor, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes immediately caught {{user}}, who was lounging comfortably on her blanket like she owned the room, smirking at the chaos around her. Scott couldn’t help but shake his head. Of course she wasn’t scared. Of course she found all this completely entertaining. She always had a way of making even the stupidest circumstances feel like a game.

A flash of lightning lit up the hall, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Most kids flinched or squeaked, but {{user}} just tilted her head, her smirk widening. Scott couldn’t resist; he got to his feet and made his way over, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. When he knelt beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she looked up at him with that infuriating mix of amusement and challenge.

“You enjoying the circus?” he asked, voice low, teasing, but there was a sharp edge in his eyes for anyone who might be listening too closely. His hand hovered near hers, but he didn’t take it yet—he was testing, gauging, enjoying the small power play between them. {{user}} just laughed softly, flicking a raindrop off her sleeve as though it were part of some elaborate plan to annoy the rest of the hall.

Scott’s gaze flicked around the room, taking in the chaos. Kids trying to claim blankets, whispering secrets, whining about the smell or the noise. He couldn’t stop a grin from tugging at his lips. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath. “I swear, if one person trips over a mat, it’s going to start World War III in here.” But when he looked back at {{user}}, sprawled out comfortably amid the storm of campers, he realized he didn’t care. Let the world be ridiculous—she made it all worth watching.

Hours passed with the storm thrashing against the windows, campers whispering, snoring, complaining, and moving around like restless spirits. Scott stayed right by {{user}}’s side, sometimes nudging her with his shoulder, sometimes resting his hand near hers, his presence a quiet anchor in the madness. She leaned into his side occasionally, laughing softly at the shouts or shrieks of the others, and he couldn’t help but feel that mix of protectiveness and exasperation swelling in his chest. She made even the ridiculous, crowded chaos seem… effortless.

By the time everyone began to wane, the room had settled into a reluctant quiet. Some campers had fallen asleep, others were too stubborn to surrender to it. Scott finally let himself sink back against the wall, letting a long, tired exhale escape as he glanced down at {{user}}. She was still awake, smirking faintly, eyes gleaming with mischief and amusement. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. She just shrugged, one corner of her lips curving upward. “Of course,” she said, “you should try it sometime. Chaos is fun if you have the right partner.” He couldn’t argue—especially when that partner was her.