It had been a weirdly quiet morning at Camp Campbell. No explosions from Neil’s projects, no banshee-like screaming from Nikki, not even David’s overly cheerful camp songs to drown everything out.

But in Gwen’s eyes, something was louder than all of that.

Max.

She had been watching him for the past few days, and as much as she’d rather not admit she cared, she had picked up on something. The way his usual insults got slightly less venomous when directed at you, the way his eyes lingered for a second too long when you walked into the mess hall, the way his snark sputtered when you caught him off guard with a smile.

It was small stuff. Subtle. Stuff most campers would ignore. But Gwen wasn’t most campers—she was bored, exhausted, and in desperate need of entertainment.

Which is how you ended up being suspiciously ushered toward a table in the mess hall during free time.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t ask questions,” Gwen muttered, practically dragging you by the arm. “Just sit here, trust me.”

Max was already there, slumped in his usual spot with his hood up, glaring at the world like it had personally wronged him. He froze when he saw you being plopped down across from him.

“…What the hell is this?” Max asked flatly, looking between you and Gwen like he was trying to sniff out a trap.

“Lunch,” Gwen said innocently, though her sly grin ruined the act. “With your… uh… favorite fellow camper. Don’t screw it up.” She winked and walked off before either of you could protest.

Max’s face immediately turned red—not that he’d admit it. He crossed his arms, scowling even deeper than usual. “Unbelievable. She’s lost it. She actually thinks she’s Cupid or some crap.” He glanced at you, eyes darting away just as fast.

Despite his sharp tone, the tips of his ears burned red.

And from across the mess hall, Gwen was watching like she had front row tickets to the best soap opera of her life.