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Connor whined, hanging off of his brother’s t-shirt, “Can’t you do it, Travis?” He begged.
Travis sighed, pushing Connor’s head away, and rolled his eyes, “I already told you I can’t. I’m leading the younger campers on a hike through the forest. And Chiron said he wanted you and Mitchell to clean and organize the weapons shed. And no offense, little bro, but I am definitely not going anywhere near that shed after what Clarisse and Ciel did to the poor place.”
Connor pouted, “You are a terrible brother.” He said, dropping to the ground and crossing his arms over his chest like a temperamental child. Fuck you, Travis. How can you not help your little brother out?
Travis laughed and pressed his hand against the crown of Connor’s head, “Aw, you don't mean that. I’ll see you at dinner, ‘kay?”
Connor huffed and grumbled in response to stupid Travis as his brother left the cabin with a gaggle of the younger campers. He will get his revenge later for sure. Maybe he’ll steal and hide all of Travis’ left socks or something stupid like that. Travis always goes on and on about how he can tell the right sock from the left sock. Connor always thought that was stupid and never really believed it, but maybe it was time to test the theory, right? Why did Clarisse and Ciel have to fight over every little thing? It’s their fault too, Connor decided. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t be stuck alone with Mitchell for who knows how many hours! His heart can’t handle that kind of stress!
Mitchell whistled, leaning against his shovel, “Damn… this is so much worse than I imagined.”
Connor nodded in agreement, feeling as if Mitchell had just read his mind. Clarisse and Ciel had done a number on the poor, poor shed. It may as well be a pile of splinters now. Singed, smelly splinters. Connor toed at the burnt dirt with the tip of his worn-down Converse, hacking when too much of the dust kicked up with his movement and the brisk wind.
Mitchell clapped him on the back a few times before rubbing circles between his shoulders, “Are you okay?” He asked, his nose wrinkling at the smell of the burnt everything around them. No boy had the right to be that cute. “Don’t kick it up, Con.” Mitchell laughed.
Connor rubbed the side of his neck– which was getting hot (more from the embarrassment of choking on his spit and burnt dirt in front of his crush than the summer sun)– and pointed at a pile of crispy rubble far from Mitchell, “My bad. I’ll, er, get started over there, then?”
Mitchell grinned, flexing an arm, “We’ll get done in no time, Stoll.”
His grin– like every other thing about Mitchell– was beautiful and infectious. It spread to Connor’s face. How could anyone not like this boy? He’s far too likable for his good. Connor moves toward the rubble, trying not to make it obvious that his attention is glued to Mitchell’s dimples. Would it have killed Travis to throw him a bone just this once and switch places with him? There is no way that Connor would be getting any quality work done.
Well, at least Connor gets to look at Mitchell– sparingly , of course. Connor’s not a creep.
They worked for the next half an hour in near silence apart from the bustling of camp life around them. Connor noticed a faint humming coming from Mitchell. It was cute and it sounded familiar, but Connor couldn’t place the song or where he heard it. It’s eating up at him as he grabs burnt and splintered boards and piles them up, separating every semi-fixable weapon he can find into a separate pile.
A sudden icy, shock of cold against his nape makes him jump and reach back to shield his neck.
His eyes caught Mitchell and he felt his face heat up at the other boy’s amused expression, “Sorry,” Mitchell giggled, holding out a cold water bottle to Connor, “you were so focused. It was cute and I couldn’t help myself.”
Connor blushed, taking the bottle, “You almost gave me a heart attack, y’know.” He pouted.
“Aw, Con,” Mitchell draped himself over Connor’s back, “I’m sorry, forgive me,” he said teasingly.
Connor shoved an elbow between them playfully, trying to ignore the heat creeping up the wet spot on his nape. He’s too much. Mitchell is too much for Connor’s poor little homosexual heart. His perfect smile, his bright, honey-brown eyes, and his curly pink hair will be the death of Connor. Connor watched as Mitchell laughed out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mitchell’s chocolate brown roots coming in, contrasting with his cotton candy pink hair. It’s time for Mitchell’s bi-monthly color change. He wonders what color Mitchell will choose next. He’s been doing different shades of pink for a while now, but before that, his hair had been blue. Before the blue, it had been purple. And before that, it had been switching between shades of red and orange.
His head snapped the other way when Mitchell glanced up at him, still giggling and humming that song that Connor couldn’t name.
“Hey, Mitchell?” Connor’s mouth moved without his brain.
Mitchell paused, “Hm?”
Connor stammered, stumbling over his words. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. His ears felt hot, “Uh, I, um, that song? The one you’re humming–”
“Oh!” Mitchell brightened, his grin was brilliant and almost blinding. It pulled at his cheeks and deepened his dimples. “It’s by Cyndi Lauper. It’s, like, my favorite song ever! True Colors , that's what it's called. It’s, like, an oldie, but a goodie. My ma’s obsessed with it. I feel like you’re a Cyndi Lauper type of guy. What do you think? I have a ton of her songs downloaded on this really old iPod Vale snuck in. You should've come over sometime. We can have a little song date.”
Connor fumbled with the water bottle in his hands, “H-huh?”
Mitchell rolled his eyes fondly and reached up on the tips of his toes to ruffle Connor’s hair, “I said you should come over sometime so we can listen to music, dummy. I’m like ninety-eight percent sure that you’ll love it.”
“Oh,” Connor said, nodding stupidly, “Yeah. Yeah. For sure.”
Mitchell smiled brightly, “Good.”
Connor spent the next hour alternating between freaking out, fighting the urge to scream, and hauling rubble until he could barely feel his arms. This was not, as Chiron claimed, a two-man job. This crush thing is getting out of hand. It’s not even Connor’s first crush– that honor belongs to Zyan Malik (yes, he’s a Directioner, and no, he’s still not over the breakup– even if he will never admit it to anyone). He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to not show his feelings. It’s never been this difficult before.
Usually, it’s a piece of cake. Connor can get away with just being friends with the guys he has liked. They play around and goof off, Connor clings a little (just to indulge in the fantasy), and everything is fine and normal and nothing ever goes wrong. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to do that with Mitchell.
“Hey,” Mitchell’s voice cut through his train of thought as he snapped his fingers under Connor’s nose. “Are you listening to me, Con?”
Connor shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the curls back, “Oh, uh, my bad. I was off somewhere else for a sec. What were you saying, Mitch?” Connor lets a rehearsed smile fall over his face, looking up at Mitchell.
Mitchell gestured to a crate that hadn’t been there before, “Some of the Hephaestus kids dropped this off a couple of minutes ago. We should start filling it. One of them said to take it to the Big House’s attic once we finish.”
“The attic?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Connor shrugged, “Okay, then. I have this pile.” He gestured to the pile of half-burnt, smelly, soot-covered knives, swords, shields, and spears. It became hard to swallow when the sun began to sink over the horizon. It cast a golden halo of light over Mitchell’s head. It, unfortunately, did not clash against his neon pink hair like one would expect. How was someone so attractive all the time? Was it in Mitchell’s blood or something– Okay, so that was a stupid question .
Mitchell tapped the crate with his foot, “Great. Let’s get started then. We’re pretty much done after this. The Hephaestus kids are going to start rebuilding tomorrow morning, I think.”
Connor nodded, grabbing a stack of shields and dropping them into the crate with a resounding clatter. He winced, “Ooh, sorry.”
There was another sharp clatter and Mitchell stuck him with his elbow playfully, “They’re busted up either way. A couple of dents won’t matter in the long run.”
“Okay,” Connor muttered, his stomach flipping. This is too much. Too much. He would much rather chase seven-year-olds and angsty tweens around the monster-ridden forest. I like him. I like him a lot. Travis is such an ass… why does he hate Connor so much?
“I like you.” Connor blurted before he could stop himself.
Mitchell froze, staring up at Connor. “Connor,” Mitchell whispered. Neither moved for a moment until Connor tried to shift and, like a dumbass, tripped over his own two feet. He pitched forward, taking Mitchell and the crate down with him.
Mitchell squeaked in shock as they tumbled down the stairs. The crate opened at some point, spilling the weapons as they fell. Connor heard a crack that churned his stomach and landed on top of Mitchell a second later. Mitchell groaned underneath him. “Are you–” Connor pushed himself up, flinching at the sudden hiss Mitchell let out. He gasped, realizing that one of the daggers from the crate had ended up in Mitchell’s shoulder and Connor had just pushed it in further, “Oh gods, Mitchell, I’m so sorry– oh gods, are you okay? No, don’t answer, that's a stupid question. Chiron!”
“Connor,” Mitchell said.
“Chiron! Mitchell’s hurt!” Connor called out again, in the direction of Chiron’s office.
“Connor,” Mitchell said again.
Connor squeezed Mitchell’s hand, “Chiron!”
Finally, he heard Chiron’s office door creak open.
“Oh my,” Chiron gasped, “Connor, go tell William to bring a stretcher for our dear Mitchell.”
“Co–”
Chiron shushed Mitchell, “Hush, child.”
Connor nodded, scrambling to his feet. He cringed when he saw the angle at which Mitchell’s leg was bent. Between his leg and the dagger in his shoulder, Mitchell must be in a lot of pain. Connor rushed out of the big house and toward the infirmary. Gods, just how stupid is he?
How could he just tell Mitchell he liked him?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
This wouldn’t have happened if Travis had just traded with him instead of making a big old fuss about the situation.
“Will,” Connor exhaled, grabbing onto the blonde the moment he spotted him, “I need you to get a stretcher and head to the Big House. Mitchell’s hurt.”
“What–” Will looked around, “Kayla, cover for me here. Austin, grab a stretcher. Connor, take us to Mitchell. Do you have any idea what injuries he has?”
Connor bit his lip, feeling guilty and ashamed, “We fell down the stairs. He hurt his leg and his shoulder. Chiron asked me to come get you.”
“Oh gods,” Will exhaled, his eyes taking in the scene. He gestured for Austin to set down the stretcher and help him move Mitchell onto it. “How?”
“You don’t want to know.” Mitchell laughed woozily.
“I fell on top of him,” Connor confessed, “and I did that,” he pointed to the knife wound, “accidentally.”
Will dragged his hand down his face, “Oh my gods,”
“Connor,”
“Mitchell, can you shut your mouth?” Will sighed, he snapped his fingers and he and Austin each picked up a side of the stretcher.
Before Connor could follow them, Chiron stopped him and handed him a broom and a dust pan.
“How did it go?” Travis asked, taking a seat next to Connor at the Hermes table.
Connor hummed, playing with the spaghetti on his plate. He wasn’t paying much attention to Travis or anyone elkse for that matter. His mind was still on Mitchell. Travis snapped his fingers under Connor’s nose, “Huh?” Connor blinked, “What?”
“I said, how did it go? ” Travis said. “What’s up with you?”
Connor felt his ears heat up. It was a disaster, he wanted to say. Instead he stammered, “Oh, it, erm, went well. I finished fast.”
“Aren’t you going to ask about my day?” Travis asked.
Connor blinked. He never asks Travis about his day. “Oh, um, right. How was your nature walk?”
Travis smacked his palm against Connor’s forehead, “It was fine. Lots of bugs.”
“What are you doing?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Travis narrowed his eyes, “You never ask about my day.”
“You told me to ask about your day!” Connor hissed, sounding and feeling much more like himself.
“And when do you ever listen to me?” Travis shot back, “What’s wrong? Did something happen while you were moving the weapons?”
Connor’s face flushed, “No!”
Travis lowered his voice, “Does it have something to do with Mitchell? ”
Connor smacked his palm over Travis’ mouth. His cheeks were painfully red, “What? You’re crazy, man, haha.”
“Ow,” Travis moaned, pulling Connor’s hand away from his bruised mouth.
Chris sat down, his hoodie was tattered and burnt. He had either been dragged into helping Jake Mason or Clarisse had exploded again. “What’s up brothers from another mother?”
“Travis was just telling me about his nature hike with the kids,” Connor said before Travis could answer, slamming his hand against Travis’ back.
Travis coughed, “Right. It was okay-ish. No one was even remotely close to being eaten by anything.”
“Sounds like a bore.” Chris yawned, “Oh, Connor, dude, is Mitchell alright?”
Connor’s face flushed again.
“Did something happen to Mitchell?” Travis asked.
“It wasn’t—”
Chris barked out a heavy laugh, cutting Connor off, “Dude, Connor broke Mitchell’s leg and stabbed him in the shoulder.”
“You did what!?” Travis gasped, turning to face his brother.
“It was an accident!” Connor squeaked, his shoulders going up to his ears, “We were moving the weapons up to the attic in a chest and we tripped and the chest opened when we fell and a dagger happened to get caught in Mitchell’s shoulder.”
“Are you okay?” Travis asked.
Connor’s face was completely red at this point, “I’m fine. Mitchell’s the one that got hurt.”
“Hey, Connor,” Will tapped him on the shoulder.
“Will,” Connor coughed, “h-how’s, um, how’s Mitchell?”
Will held out a sheet of paper, “He’ll live. Other than making Kayla’s life hell, he’s fine. He wanted me to give you this.”
Connor took the slip, “I’m really sorry,”
“You didn’t break my leg,” Will shrugged, “visiting hours end at ten. If you’re going to see him do it before then.”
Will walked away. Connor stared at the slip of paper, almost debating whether or not to read it. Chris leaned over the table, “What’s it say, buddy?”
Connor turned away from Travis and Chris and covered the slip with his hands as he read it. He sat up straight, staring tensely toward the infirmary. “Are you okay?” Travis asked for what felt like the millionth time.
Come see me if you want to hear an answer ❤.
“Mitch?” Connor winced at the way his voice echoed in the nearly empty infirmary. Most of the bedridden campers were sleeping already and the Apollo kids had gone out for dinner.
“Connor.” Mitchell responded bluntly. “Ready to let me talk?” His face flushed, to the tips of his ears, with burning embarrassment. Mitchell gestured for Connor to take a seat at the end of his bed. They sat in silence for a few moments before Mitchell exhaled, “I like you too, dummy.”
“Huh?”
“I said, I like you too, dummy . I’m not saying it again. So there. You didn’t have to go and break my leg. You could have just asked me out on a date like a normal person and I would have said yes.” Mitchell huffed, nudging Connor with his good foot.
Connor stared at Mitchell dumbly. His expression must look really stupid because, after a second, Mitchell starts to giggle. “You like me?” Connor repeated. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, “Why?”
“Why do I like you? Well, because you’re cute and you’re funny and you’re smart. I like the way you laugh, and I think it’s adorable how you’ll stare at me but turn around and think you’re so slick when I catch you.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Connor opened and closed his mouth, like a big dumb fish. Mitchell rolled his eyes and grabbed Connor’s t-shirt, pulling him in. “C’mere, Stoll.” Mitchell said, pressing their lips together.