Chapter Text
The sign-up sheet had somehow been pinned to the notice board outside the syndicate's headquarters, and the next thing Hudson knew, he was standing in the humid July air, wearing a ridiculous forest-green sweat shirt that clung uncomfortably to his shoulders, trying to untangle a massive knot of extension cords while dodging stray pinecones.
Camp Pine Crest was supposed to be a peaceful retreat—an escape from the neon-lit grit of the city, the constant weight of weapons under jackets, and the perpetual smell of ozone and gunpowder. Instead, he was waiting for tomorrow's arrival of the campers with a mounting sense of dread.
"Hey. Hudson.”
Hudson didn't even look up as a heavy duffel bag hit the wooden floor of the front porch with a loud thud. He knew that drawl anywhere.
"If you brought a blender, Callum, I am throwing it into the lake," Hudson muttered, finally snapping the plastic zip-tie holding the cords together.
Callum leaned against the doorframe of Cabin 4, looking effortlessly infuriating in his own green camp polo, sleeves rolled up over bare arms, and sunglasses pushed back into his messy hair. He offered a slow, lazy smirk, taking in Hudson’s tight grip on the extension cord like it was a lifeline.
"A blender? Please. I brought something much more practical," Callum said, stepping past him into the cabin and tossing a bagged snack right at Hudson’s chest. "A portable espresso maker, a carton of cigarettes, and your favorite stale pretzels. Kept strictly out of reach of the tiny monsters arriving tomorrow morning."
Hudson caught the pretzels with a reflex honed by years of dodging more dangerous projectiles, a reluctant grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You're lucky you're useful, Callum. Otherwise I would have left you stranded at the bus stop three towns over."
"Please. You'd miss me within the hour. And, you looooove me," Callum shot back easily, leaning his hip against the edge of a bare metal bunk frame. "Besides, who else would keep you from losing your mind over Dolly's ridiculous schedule on day one?"
"Right. Because Dolly as camp director and Dakota as her co-director is a recipe for absolute martial law," Hudson sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose at the mere thought of taking orders from the two of them.
Cabin 4 was as rustic as advertised, which was a polite way of saying it smelled faintly of mildew, old cedar, and the lingering dread of every counselor who had ever stayed there before. Twelve metal-frame bunk beds lined the main bunkroom, mattresses covered in crinkly plastic sheets that rustled aggressively with every breath of wind.
At the very back of the cabin, past the rows of twin beds, was a tiny partitioned sleeping space separated from the main room only by a thin, faded green curtain hanging from a cheap metal rod. Inside the small partitioned area were two twin beds pushed close together, a warped wooden dresser, and nothing else.
Callum walked straight past the rows of empty beds, unzipped his duffel, and tossed it onto the left twin bed behind the curtain. He poked his head back through the opening, raising an eyebrow at Hudson. "Hope you like sleeping close, Hud. There’s barely enough room to breathe back here, let alone stretch out."
Hudson followed him in, dropping his own bag onto the right twin bed. The space was claustrophobic, the sort of cramped quarters that forced an uncomfortable, hyper-aware proximity. You couldn't turn around without brushing shoulders. You couldn't breathe without the other person hearing it.
"We take turns guarding the curtain," Hudson said dryly, eyeing the thin piece of fabric that offered the illusion of privacy and nothing more. "If one of the kids tries to launch a sneak attack tomorrow night while we're sleeping, you're on the front line."
"Relax. I've survived worse than ten-year-olds with water guns," Callum murmured, stepping just a little too close, his shoulder bumping companionably against Hudson's in the tight space. "Though I admit, sharing a tight back room with you wasn't on our bucket list for the summer."
By ten o'clock that night, the camp was completely silent. The kids wouldn't arrive until tomorrow, leaving the grounds in an eerie, pitch-black stillness.
Back in Cabin 4, the bunkroom was entirely empty, rows of metal frames standing bare and waiting under the moonlight. But behind the green curtain, the air was close and warm.
Hudson was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, unbuttoning his green polo shirt in the dim light cast by a single flickering bulb outside. The curtain was pulled shut, separating the small back room from the rest of the dark cabin.
Callum slipped through the opening, ducking his head to avoid the low frame, and dropped heavily onto the edge of the adjacent bed. The narrow space forced them close, the gap between their two mattresses practically nonexistent.
"Quiet before the storm," Callum whispered in the dim shadows, his voice a low, rough rumble. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, his muscles visibly tense from a full day of setting up camp activities.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Hudson replied quietly, leaning back against the rough wooden wall of the cabin. "Tomorrow morning, reality hits."
Callum let out a soft huff of laughter, shifting slightly. Because of the limited space, his knee pressed firmly against Hudson's thigh. Neither of them moved to pull away. In the tight, shadowed confines of the back room, away from the impending chaos of the kids and away from the rest of the camp, the air suddenly felt thick, heavy with an entirely different kind of tension.
Callum turned his head, his dark eyes catching the faint sliver of light leaking through a tear in the curtain. He reached out, his hand coming up to rest casually against the back of Hudson's neck, fingers sliding into the hair at the base of his skull with a familiar, easy intimacy born of years hiding things from everyone else.
"Let the kids come tomorrow," Callum murmured, his gaze dropping to Hudson's mouth before rising back to meet his eyes, a slow, crooked smile touching his lips. "We’ve got bigger problems to worry about tonight."
Hudson didn't pull away. Instead, he let out a low breath, leaning into the touch just a fraction before catching Callum by the wrist.
Outside the thin green curtain, the rest of the camp slept on in the dark, entirely unaware.