Chapter Text
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Everything sucks .
This is why summer will forever be marred for him. He used to love summer, loved it like he loved blowing up the neighbor's mailbox, or, or—eating cake. Yeah, cake is awesome. But no , those wonderful days just had to be ruined the moment he entered high school, the moment he made his worst possible mistake in all of history. Kim Namjoon became a counselor for a children's summer camp.
Damn Hoseok for talking him into doing this two years ago. Damn him for getting him stuck doing this for every goddamn summer in all his high school years. And most of all, damn this stupid bus and everyone in it—and he was not cranky because he totally forgot his headphones.
"If your backpack leans on my leg one more time, I will rip off your dick and make you wear it like a sock," the mint haired male next to him mused, as if casually showing him a coupon in the magazine he was currently flipping through.
Namjoon bit back a retort and opted to will his insides from regurgitating what little breakfast he had that morning. He did not ask to sit next to Min Yoongi, the biggest douche he's ever had the displeasure of meeting. He did not ask for the bus to have a seating chart, and he certainly did not want the seating chart to be organized by age. (I mean who does that?)
The bus ran over a pothole, sending the entire vehicle and all the passengers hopping up and down involuntarily in their seats. Namjoon felt an unbearable wave of nausea, and grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest.
He hated everything right now.
Namjoon dragged himself to Cabin 7, a firm scowl set on his features. He kept repeating in his
mind how much better this was than spending an entire summer home with his dad, who often volunteered to help those in need and Namjoon would be forced to go with him everywhere— and he was not in the mood to tend to old people with urine on their shirts.
The wood of the cabin held the familiar scent of pine and must, and he abhorred every bit of it. Ignoring the nostalgia of the carvings on the wall, he strolled over to his bed—the only non-bunkbed, 'cause there was no way in hell he was going to share with one of the gremlins he would be assigned. They would surely rock the whole frame, and Namjoon would be awarded with a very realistic dream of ships sailing into stormy waters.
Picking up the linen, he studied his 'home' for the next several months. The pillows were gross. He made a mental note to switch his cases with the cleanest ones in the room before anyone noticed.Oh yeah and nab a pair of earbuds from someone, preferably Hoseok.
"I see somebody's the picture of enthusiasm."
The pink haired teenager turned to give his friend the 'fuck off' look because he was so not in the mood to deal with his shit right now.
"What do you want, Hoseok?"
Hoseok shrugged, moving from his spot at the open door to jump onto Namjoon’s bed. Much to his dismay, the entire mattress wiggled and wobbled like a vat of gelatin. Great.
"I wanted to give you some hope. I mean this summer won’t suck that bad"
Namjoon roughly shoved him off the bed using his foot. This didn't seem to bother the other male in the slightest.
"Be a good boy or ‘hope’ to someone else and go play somewhere else—I have things to do."
"Like what—hiding your porn? Y'know, the kids found my stash last year." Hoseok smirked and stood, brushing himself off.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. "That's because you put it in a really suspicious box that had 'Keep Out' on it—what, did you expect those little shitheads to listen?"
Hoseok opened his mouth and closed it, deciding against his reply.
"Well, isn’t Faith and Namjoon," A cheerful voice cried out and a third male appeared, leaning against the door frame. Namjoon muttered a curse under his breath and pulled out a pair of headphones from Hoseok’s pack.
Jin was no doubt the most handsome man out of all of their entire school and possibly the whole summer camp. With his long, shiny hair and spotless skin - It was like if he were some separate species from humans. God, sometimes Namjoon couldn't stand him for being too perfect.
"It’s Hope, not Faith." Hoseok nodded to him in acknowledgement but proceeded to ignore him, continuing his heated discussion with Namjoon about good places to store erotic magazines and whatnot. Of course, this evolved into a full-on fist fight—or rather, a competition between who can slap the other faster. Namjoon really hated losing to his friend in anything, and that included petty arguments.
"You and Namjoo can flirt later. It’s time for lunch”, Jin smiled, snickering at his own joke as he left.
"Did he just call me Namjoo?" Namjoon complained.
"That's what bothers you?"
It seemed like everyone had gathered at the mess hall in hopes of receiving a late lunch. Namjoon looked at the familiar faces all around, stabbing his macaroni with a plastic spork—it was quite possibly the worst mac and cheese he had ever tasted. Seriously, the noodles were hard and stale and the cheese smelled like socks. Glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye, he smirked in satisfaction at Hoseoks's expression, identical to his own. Even Hope couldn’t find hope in this meal.
"Oh my god—who the hell made today's lunch?" Hoseok poked his tuna sandwich with a careful finger, as if expecting it to bite it off if he aggravated it any further. A drop of a violet substance oozed down the crust, and he shuddered, stomach dropping.
"Er," Namjoon started, unable to produce the appropriate words. As the two were dissecting the mysterious sandwich, a pair of familiar faces came to a stop in front of their table. Upon noticing their presence, Hoseoks's face lit up instantly, and Namjoon—well, not so much. At all.
"I made lunch for everyone, since the cook hasn't arrived yet," Taehyung informed them, smiling brightly before hos expression quickly fell. With a pair of slouched shoulders he walked off. "Shit," Hoseok cursed, grabbing his (rather maimed) lunch. "Wow Taehyung this tastes really good!"
Namjoon watched his friend leave with an amused smile before turning his attention to the person before him—a.k.a. the very last person he wanted to see that summer. You. His eyes roamed over your figure without him realizing, and he noticed your long, smooth legs, the curve of your waist dipping in, your ample (ahem) assets, and of course, the smug look on your pretty little face, soft, pink lips upturned in a small smile. So what if your camp counselor shirt was a little tight, emphasizing your curves in just the right places, or who cared if your long hair was perfectly tied in low pigtails, stray hairs cascading over your shoulders. It wasn't like he was looking or anything.
"Why, if it isn't Kim Namjoon," your seemingly sweet voice was laced with malice.
"Y/N," he replied through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to clear his throat. To him you were the most insufferable girl in all of the world—no, in the entire galaxy even. You had joined the camo counselors the previous year, and not only did you immediately throw him the 'holier than thou' vibes before even learning his name, you had to go and find the most trivial things to complain and argue about. You made his summer worse than a living hell—you and your huge boobs and long legs and—
"I see you're still an angry hag," you commented, crossing your arms over your chest. Not that he was staring.
"I see you're still a bitch," he countered, stabbing his lunch with more vigor than before.
Your eyes narrowed, but the devious smile on pristine face widened just a bit. You leaned forward, placing a hand on the table.
"How has school been? Are you going to cry about not making honor roll?"
"Doesn’t matter now, thanks. And I was already offered a scholarship."
"Where? The community college next door?," you giggled. He glowered at you through dark, dark eyes.
"Yeah, well, shut up," he mentally kicked himself for not coming up with a better comeback.
You frowned a bit. "Still haven't fixed that attitude, huh?" You shook your head disapprovingly.
"Still haven't fixed your hair, huh." Your hair, Namjoon? Really. The knot of frustration in him expanded the more you continued to prod and jab at his pride.
You pouted, "What's wrong with my hair?"
He bit the tip of his spork, bending it a little. Unfazed by your act, he answered bluntly, "I hate pigtails."
"Your hair is pink. I don't think you should be criticizing other people's hair." You scoffed, flipping fallen strands of hair over your shoulder.
Namjoon eyed your shorts—or rather, the tiny piece of material that barely covered your bottom, and he scoffed at your choice of attire. But he noted the way it hugged your hips, and damn it, why did it have to make your ass look so good—
"Are you a hooker or a kid's camp counselor? Put some pants on," he smirked when your smile dissolved.
You leaned in further, grabbing a handful of his long sleeved shirt, "Yeah, and who wears a long sleeved shirt in summer? You dumbass."
"It’s vintag—"
"Well, aren't you two getting along swimmingly," another familiar face joined the two, smiling as He balanced a plate full of food on one hand.
"Yup we are just fine" Namjoon acknowledged Jin through gritted teeth, eyes never leaving your fierce eyes before him.
"As if," you scoffed and effectively ended the momentary stare-down, letting go of your fistful of Namjoon’s shirt. Namjoon looked down and his now wrinkled shirt and then glared at you, but you only greeted Jin , completely ridding Namjoon from your attention. Namjoon went back to picking at his food and wondered, how can your entire mood just change in the span of seconds? He grimaced. You were so annoying, he just wanted to hibernate until summer ended, so he wouldn't have to deal with your never ending moodswings..
A voice boomed out from the speakers, and all eyes fell on the small, 30ish to 40ish man standing in the middle of the hall, microphone in hand. Namjoon leaned his chin on his hand, barely listening to the annual 'welcome back' speech from their quirky, unorganized leader, who despite his age, refused to retire from a children’s summer camp. Then once again, Namjoon found his eyes wandering towards a certain figure again, traveling up your long, slender legs to your curvaceous—
- Stop it, Namjoon. He pulled at a handful of his pink hair, willing himself to think of poodles and Hoseok in drag and pancakes—anything but you.
"—and so that is why we will be pairing up for more interaction between girls and boys," Namjoon choked on his own spit and gawked at the camp leader, whose mischievous smile looked quite suspicious. "I've already assigned the partners, so go see Jin for the list. That is all. Enjoy the rest of the day because the little monsters—I mean, children will be here tomorrow!"
Partners? Partners with girls ? Oh god, kill him. Someone please murder him right now—doesn't matter how, just do it. Here, use a spork or this stale macaroni or—
"Looks like we're partners this summer!" His head snapped up at the voice, eyes traveling skyward to see—orange? Namjoon blinked and stared at the beaming boy before him. His unkempt, orange hair was kept back with a flick of the boy’s wrist. The boy waved, a friendly gesture with no underlying hatred—unlike someone ; he snorted. Oh, he was your friend—Jim, was it? No, that can't be right…
"Er, Jimmie?" He tried, offering him an awkward grin.
His smile fell a fraction of a centimeter, and he pouted softly. "It's Jimin."
"Oh, right. My bad," he gave him an apologetic look. The two shook hands and exchanged brief introductions before Namjoon was roughly pulled out of his seat and dragged out the door, leaving a very confused Jimin blinking to himself.
"Ow—what the hell, dude!" Namjoon glowered at the culprit, rubbing his wrist. Yoongi didn't meet his glare, but instead chose to squish a bug under his shoe, kicking up dust and rocks.
"Your partner is Jimin, right?"
The pink haired teen cocked his head to the side. Why did it matter to him? Unless — His eyes widened and a smirk tugged at his lips. Could it be…
"Someone's got a crush," he nudged the other male in the ribs, poking his face until he finally snapped. Slapping his offensive hand away, Yoongi scowled, looking rather conflicted.
"Shut up. No I don't."
"Then why did you—"
"Switch with me."
Namjoon blinked. "What."
"I said switch with me, bitch."
He put his hands up in defense, amusement bubbling up inside. "No need to be so rude, Yoongi.
I'll switch—but what do I get in return?"
The mint haired teen grabbed him by his shirt. "My foot not up your ass."
"Mm, I don't know. It doesn't seem fair enough—"
"I'll take your dish washing shift for two weeks," he reasoned, sighing and running a hand through his hair.
"A month."
" Three weeks."
"A month."
"Fuck you."
"Well, then, I guess I'll just head back to Ji—"
"Fine. FINE. A month of dishwashing. Deal?"
Namjoon smiled, greatly enjoying his moment of victory. Who would've thought that the cold hearted asshole Yoongi, would have a thing for the sweet and innocent Jimin?
"Alright, deal."
They shook on it, firmly gripping the other's hand, neither wanting to lose the display of dominance.
"So," he started as the two re-entered the mess hall, where counselors everywhere were partnering up, some looking flustered and others looking relieved. "Who was your partner?"
Yoongi suddenly stopped walking, a devilish smirk plastered onto his face, pointing towards the far corner of the room. Namjoon frowned—well that didn't look good. Slowly, his eyes settled on the very area where two camp counselors stood chatting, looking rather impatient and confused. Next to his former partner stood the object of his utmost animosity and (sexual) frustration. Oh, no; please don't let it be—
"Y/N."
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Day one of summer camp — things have already gone to shit.
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