Chapter Text
To say you were feeling annoyed would be an understatement. Your whole summer had pretty gone down the drain, along with your cheerful camper spirit. This job was one of the things you had looked forward to since starting last year (yeah, it was that fun). Everything had been so enjoyable; your co-workers were friendly and inviting; the children were—well, tolerable, to an extent. Being a summer camp counselor was really one of the best decisions you had ever made, and all that came with it was so perfect—with the exception of onendetestable little hitch.
Kim Namjoon
You bent your plastic spork, angrily folding it in all odd directions when it didn't snap in half like you had planned. Glaring bullets into the back of a head covered in nauseating pink, you felt irritation boiling within your stomach. He was just sitting there, eating cereal (unfortified, mind you), wearing his stupid, stupid 'vintage' long sleeved shirt and talking to his friends with a stupid, stupid smile on his stupid face. You groaned in frustration, alarming those sitting around you.
Jimin, who had been reading a relatively thick novel in the seat next to your, removed his glasses, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, please refrain from destroying all the sporks. Or else we'll be forced to eat with our hands within the first month."
You only unfolded the damaged piece of plastic and proceeded to stab at your neglected salad. "But it's all because of that mongrel," you pointed the deformed utensil at the current object of your undying hatred and rage, "that my summer is completely ruined!"
"It's not that bad," Taehyung mused, smiling rays of sunshine.
At this, you turned to glare—or well, as close to a hateful look as you could muster; this was Taehyung, after all—at the blissful teen sitting with your hands folded neatly before your.
"Tae, you traitor!" You wailed. "How could you let him switch!"
But the older male could only raise his hands in defense, unable to conjure up the correct words to prevent you from detonating. You felt like crying; you felt like screaming and flipping all the tables in the mess hall. How could he—! He just let that beast, Yoongi was it?—casually cross off names and rewrite them (this means a lot, by the way, because you do not take lists lightly), and then he went and kidnapped your best friend, dragging him by the wrist as if he was some sort of suitcase. Even worse, Jimin didn't seem to mind at all!
And then—oho, and then, the most dastardly person of all has the audacity to glare at your, as if it was all your fault. Unforgivable—
"You're partners with Namjoon now, Y/N?" Hoseok joined in; he was clearly enjoying the chaos of it all.
"Why, yes. Thank you for reminding me, Hoseok, and I thought you were in charge of 'hope' here," your voice dripped sarcasm, but Hoseok only coughed up a laugh.
"But what's so bad about that?"
You could only stare at Hoseok, unblinking. "What's so bad at about it? What's so bad!? Just because you are friends with him doesn't—"
"Relax, kid," Jin interjected, leaning back in his chair. "Y/N is just sexually frustrated is all."
You sputtered and choked on air. "I'm what—"
Jin smirked and flipped his hair back with a flick of his wrist revealing his 'Camp Manager shirt. "You don't have to hide it, hun. We can all feel the sexual tension in the air when you're flirting with Kim Namjoon over there."
"F—Flirting—!?"
"Yup. You're totally sendin' him the 'do me' vibes."
"No, I am not!"
"You are." Jimin snickered, hiding behind his book.
"I agree. I've seen the way you two look at each other." Taehyung considered thoughtfully, eyes shimmering with delight. "And isn't he kind of cute?"
You, having enough of this ridiculous, idiotic discussion, abruptly stood; your chair slid back with a groan. "You are all bitches, hoes, sluts, whatever. I hate you. Go die."
As you stalked off, your friends exploded in fits of laughter, completely unfazed by your harsh words (that really had no meaning behind them, as they all knew). Really, you just made it so easy for them.
.
.
.
You were not a morning person. Especially when the pillow you slept on the night before smelled like mold and glue and other unidentified odors. And especially when you were up until who knows when, ruminating about why the world was so against you. The relief you had felt upon discovering that your partner was indeed not Kim Namjoon was instantaneously crushed before you had the time to even relish in it.
Sure it wasn't as if the world was ending or you was dying of cancer or anything like that. Honestly, a small part of your found enjoyment in arguing with the pink haired teen. If anything, a conversation (such a civil way of putting their interactions, isn't it?) with him was never boring and bland. But other than that, you really could not stand the guy.
His 'I don't give a shit' attitude was just grating on your nerves; he could at least have the decency to pretend he didn't hate you like you murdered a puppy or something of the sort. Well, it wasn't like you didn't hate him as well—they were both guilty of that.
But you also couldn't deny that Namjoon was not exactly hard on the eyes. He had about him a roguish charm; his dark, dark eyes and sculpted jawline; the perfectly tousled coral hair that no one should be able to pull of somehow worked for him; and not to mention his abs. The boy was cut. You had witnessed firsthand his toned and defined display during the swimming portion of last year's summer camp, and honestly, had he not been so absorbed in half-drowning, half-playing with a kid, he would have never let your live down that blush staining your light skin.
You grabbed at your hair, tugging it into tangled messes. Were you actually finding Namjoon attractive? It really was too early for your to be thinking straight—your brain didn't fully kick in until it was at least eleven AM, you reasoned with yourself. The dirt and sediment crunched beneath your hiking boots, and you kicked up some dust, taking pleasure in blowing it around everywhere. You glanced at your wristwatch (seriously, when's the last time you had to wear one of these?); 8:59AM. The children would be here at ten, as the camp leader had mentioned.
.
Just an hour to kill before your life became a living hell. Wonderful.
.
.
At ten in the morning you took your place next to your (dreadful) partner in the line of counselors as they awaited the arrival of the buses full of children. You noted the scowl firmly set on his brows, lips tugged downward in an evident frown. Giving him a once-over, your eyes lingered on his khaki shorts and up to his collar. You pursed your lips in a tight line; it wasn't your fault you may sort of have a thing for defined collar bones. And how did he make that shirt look so good—
Your hair flew about wildly as you shook your head. Stop ogling him, Y/N. What ever happened to pride and dignity? Fixing your side ponytail, you sighed, mentally preparing yourself for this endeavor—
"Well don't you look like shit."
You didn't even flinch at the deep, insulting voice that resonated beside your. Turning to him, you flayoud him a smug grin.
"Why, how sweet. I can say the same for you." You batted your long lashes at him, reveling in his obvious discomfort.
"I see you got rid of those ugly pig tails," he commented.
"I, for one, like to change my style every so often," you placed a delicate hand on your chest. "Not that you would know anything of the sort, having had the same hairstyle since you were born."
He scoffed. "Doesn't matter what you look like—you're still a bitch."
"And you're still a juvenile dickhead."
"Can you back up? Your breath smells like ass."
Your smile faltered just slightly, and you glanced down at his feet. "You're wearing sandals. I could easily smash your toes with my ironclad boots."
"I will throw you into the lake."
"Well, I'll—"
"Can you two lovebirds please just shut the fuck up?" Yoongi grumbled, slipping on his headphones. These were immediately tugged off by a frowning Jimin, who shot his partner a disapproving look.
Before any more discord could occur within the group of teenagers, a line of buses pulled into view, rolling to a stop several yards away. The doors opened simultaneously with a hiss, and for a moment everything was silent. Not a cough or a chirp or a rustle could be heard. And then, with an ear-splitting cacophony of screams, a sea of rabid children poured out from the vehicles.
They practically stampeded their way to surround Jin, as he fought to keep his balance against the crowd of hands that grabbed at him, some intending to hug, while others were simply trying to cause trouble. Despite the rough housing, the young camp manager could only laugh and bellow out affectionate greetings.
"Now, now, children, settle down," they instantly quieted, staring at the Jin expectantly. "Welcome to Camp Fairy Tail! And for some of you, welcome back! This year, we have decided to do something a little different." At this, they all gasped and whispered amongst each other as if he had just told them something scandalous. "That's right, this year each cabin will be paired with another of the opposite gender. So now, a group will consist of a cabin of boys and a cabin of girls. Doesn't that sound fun?" The young boys all groaned in unison, complaining about how girls were boring and didn't even play Pokemon ('cause who doesn't like Pokemon?). The females only chattered in excitement, squealing and giggling.
As the youngsters, ranging from ages of 12 to 15 were assigned their appropriate cabin leaders, you crossed your arms over your chest, tapping your fingers on your arm. You stole a glance at your partner and smirked at his expression of utter acrimony.
"What's got you so grim?" You inquired, not really caring for his answer. Annoying him while he was already upset had its own perks in your book.
"Guess who got stuck with the 'upper' level?" He ground out, eyes holding infinite displeasure.
Your jaw hung open. "No."
But you knew—there were no lies in that look he gave your, no joking tone in his voice. The 'upper' level of kids, as the counselors liked to refer to it, consisted of the adolescent campers—a.k.a. the most hormonal and horniest batch. You had been blessed with the 'lower' level last summer, a grace for your first year on the job presumably. But your luck had run out. Oh god, this was so bad, so very, very bad—
"You're hot."
You stopped pacing to swivel your head at the lewd statement. Coffee eyes fell on the smug, grinning face of a young boy, about thirteen years of age perhaps. Why, this little shit—
"What's your name?" He questioned your, inching ever so closely. Your lip curled up in disgust; what was up with kids being so perverted at such youthful ages? Feeling violated was a huge understatement; you just wanted to wrap your hands around his scrawny little neck and—
"Keep it in your pants, kid," Namjoon interjected flatly, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. You blinked in mild surprise as the pink haired teen continued to drag the kid away to the rest of the forming group. "Don't wander off, Truman."
Struggling in vain against his iron grip, the young boy exclaimed, "Hey, that's not my name!"
"Don't care. From now on, you are Truman."
You bit back your laughter and settled for a smirk instead. Truman. What an perfectly awful name—
"Excuse me," a voice from behind you brought your attention back to the situation at hand. "Are you our cabin leader?"
You blinked at the giant statue of young boy standing meekly before you and smiled, ruffling his dark black hair. "Yup. Name's Y/N."
"I'm Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Please take care of me!" He recited in a stiff manner before bowing so low, his hair almost brushed the dirt. You giggled, patting the boy on the back. It was a relief, to say in the least; manners were quite rare among young teens these days.
You sighed, eyes traveling to watch the group of rowdy boys chattering in glee with the male you hated with a passion of a million and some exploding stars. Next stop, 'icebreaker' activities—those were always horrible. Grabbing your clipboard from an enthusiastic Taehyung, you blew a raspberry and examined the list of names. You glanced down at the girls before you, grinning brightly with stars in their eyes. Sixteen counselors, six kids each—shouldn't be so bad, right?
.
.
.
Now if only you could just survive two and a half more months of this.