23
Campbell
The fire crackled, embers floating up into the frosty night air, but I barely noticed any of it. I focused on Hazel. She wasn’t even doing anything remarkable—just sitting a few seats away, laughing at one of Nate’s stupid jokes with a burned marshmallow on her stick. She occupied my mind.
I tried to look away, to tune into the conversation Kyle was having about his disaster of a snowboarding trip last winter, but my gaze kept drifting back to her. The way her hair fell into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear without thinking. The way her laugh wasn’t loud but full, like it meant something. She had this quiet presence that sucked all the air out of the space, leaving me scrambling for a breath. And she didn’t even know she was doing it. That was the worst part.
She reached for another marshmallow, and for the second time tonight, she caught me staring. Her eyes met mine for a split second before she glanced away, the firelight catching the faint pink blooming on her cheeks. I clenched my jaw, trying not to grin like an idiot. Of course, she’d noticed. Of course, she looked away. Hazel was always shy and unaware of her influence over others. Over me.
“You’re single-handedly ruining the art of roasting marshmallows, you know that?” I said, leaning back in my chair and smirking as her brow furrowed.
“Some of us like things well-done.” She shot back, holding up the charred blob like it was some kind of trophy.
“That’s not well-done; that’s cremation,” I teased. I grabbed a stick and speared a marshmallow on it. “Here, guess I have to teach you again .”
I didn’t wait for her to protest. I moved to sit beside her, close enough that I could feel the faint warmth of her body even through the chilly night air. Her perfume hit me first—something soft and floral that wrapped around me, sinking under my skin like it belonged there. My pulse kicked up, but I forced myself to focus on the fire, turning the marshmallow over the flames.
Our shoulders brushed as I leaned closer, and it was like being electrocuted. I clenched my free hand into a fist, trying not to think about how close she was, how her knee bumped mine when she shifted. The golden, perfect marshmallow had me so wound up I thought I might snap. I handed it to her, careful not to let my fingers linger on hers, even though I wanted to. Too much.
“See? That’s how it’s done.” She stared at it for a second, then took a small bite. She made this quiet hum of approval, and it went straight to my chest like she’d hit me with a sledgehammer. “Satisfied?” I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
She glanced at me, her lips curving into a small, soft smile that I couldn’t stop staring at.
“Maybe.”
I leaned back, forcing myself to look away. My gut remained tense despite the fire. I sipped my beer, distracting myself more than enjoying it. The taste, however, was unpleasant; bitter, unlike the sweetness nearby.
She started talking to Nate, and it took everything in me not to watch them. Her laughter rang out again, natural, and it made my chest tighten. He said something, leaning closer to her, and she smiled—this wide, bright smile that felt like a punch to the gut. I told myself it didn’t matter. That she could talk to whoever she wanted, laugh with whoever she wanted. It wasn’t like she owed me anything. But the knot in my chest tightened, anyway. I dragged my gaze back to the fire, gripping my beer so hard the bottle might’ve cracked.
Friends left, going inside or back home. The quiet became apparent only when I looked up and saw just us two near the fire. Hazel sat across from me, her legs tucked under her, staring at the flames like they held the answer to something she couldn’t figure out.
I hesitated. I should’ve gotten up, gone inside, and left her to whatever she was thinking about. But I couldn’t. Looking soft and lost, she seemed uncertain of her place here. So, instead, I stood and moved to the chair beside her, easing into the seat.
“You okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
She turned to look at me, her eyes meeting mine. They were softer than usual, like she’d let her guard down without realizing it.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.
“Christmas. My sister.”
I tilted my head, studying her.
“What about her?”
A humorless laugh escaped Hazel’s lips.
“She’s just perfect, you know? She’s got this amazing career, a fiancé who adores her, and then there’s me.” Hazel gestured, her smile turning self-deprecating. “The quiet one who writes in her room and burns marshmallows.”
I frowned, my chest tightening at how small she sounded.
“Hey.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, and she blinked at me. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you’re not enough,” I said, my voice softening. My eyes stayed locked on hers, the words coming out before I could stop them. “You’re more than enough, Hazel.”
Her lips parted, but she said nothing. The fire crackled between us, the only sound in the stillness. For a second, I thought she might lean in, and my heart slammed against my ribs. But then she looked away, her cheeks flushed, and the moment slipped through my fingers. I leaned back in my chair, exhaling. The tension was still there, humming in the space between us, thick and undeniable. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I didn’t feel it—or if I even wanted to.
**
I couldn’t sleep. Not even a little. The silence in the house was suffocating, the only sound being the ticking clock in the borrowed room, each second stretching out like a dull, unending pulse. My body was tired, aching even, drenched from hours of good-natured teasing and the bone-deep exhaustion of the bonfire. But my mind? It refused to quiet down. It kept circling back to her.
Hazel.
I rolled out of bed, feeling like I was dragging an anchor behind me, and padded to the door. Maybe a glass of water would help. Maybe pacing the kitchen would clear my head. But as I passed the staircase, something caught my eye—a flicker of movement outside. A figure standing out in the rain.
I froze. There she was.
Of course, it had to be her, standing out in the cold, with no jacket or anything to protect her from the chill. What the hell was she doing out there in the middle of the night, drenched to the bone? My pulse quickened, irritation flaring up before anything else. What was she thinking? Didn’t she care about the cold? The rain?
I cursed under my breath, throwing on a sweatshirt, and shoved my feet into shoes before making my way to the back door. The air outside hit me like a slap—cold, biting. The rain came down steadily, like an endless stream of icy needles, soaking into everything. Including Hazel. She was standing in the middle of the yard, arms outstretched as if she were trying to catch the rain on her fingertips. I could barely make out the shape of her through the blur of water and shadow, but I knew it was her.
“Hazel!” I called, my voice low but enough to cut through the steady drum of the rain.
She turned at the sound of my voice, and for a split second, there was that startled look on her face. Her eyes were wide, her hair already plastered against her face, and for a moment, I wondered if she was going to scold me for interrupting her moment.
“Campbell.” she said, her voice teasing, light, like she hadn’t just made the most ridiculous decision of the night by standing in the rain.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I asked, stepping further into the rain despite myself, my shoes squelching into the wet earth.
Despite her attempt at lightheartedness, a visible shiver betrayed her discomfort.
“I couldn’t sleep.” She glanced down, and for a moment, I caught a flash of something. Embarrassment? Vulnerability? “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
I raised an eyebrow, my frown deepening.
“Do what? Get hypothermia?”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes in that way that only she could pull off, “Dance in the rain.”
I paused. My irritation stilled for a second, replaced by confusion. Dance in the rain? What the hell? My gaze flicked over her—soaked through, the water streaming off her in thin lines like she was part of the storm itself. And yet, she looked happy. Maybe her outstretched arms, as if inviting the world into her open palms, caused that impression, or maybe it was her radiant face despite the absurdity of the situation.
Her smile softened, and she added, her voice barely audible over the rain.
“In all those cliché romance books I read, there’s always a scene where the characters dance in the rain. Something about it always felt magical. I guess I wanted to see what it was like.”
Magical.
The word hit me harder than I expected. A strange weight settled in my chest. She was so fucking… sincere. Like there was nothing else in the world but that moment, standing in the rain like she was living inside the pages of one of those books she was always reading. And here I was, annoyed, cold, and trying to wrap my head around why the hell I cared.
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, running a hand through my wet hair, trying to hide the way my heart was beating a little faster.
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug, but there was something more to her words now. Something defiant. “But I bet you’ve never tried it.”
I stared at her, this tug in my chest pulling me closer even though my better judgment screamed at me to walk back inside, out of the rain, and let her be ridiculous alone. But I didn’t move. And she didn’t stop smiling.
She twirled, her movements uncoordinated but full of a kind of joy I didn’t understand. And then she laughed. It wasn’t the quiet laugh she gave, the kind she tucked away in the corners of her mouth. This was something free—like she couldn’t help but let herself be swallowed by the moment. A sharp, genuine burst of sound that made my chest ache with something I couldn’t name. Hazel wasn’t supposed to be this carefree. Not around me. And yet here she was, drenched, half-laughing and half-shivering, spinning under the storm.
“You’re ridiculous.” I muttered again, but the words came out softer.
There was no bite to them now.
“And you’re a grump.” she shot back, sticking her tongue out at me.
I rolled my eyes, but something in my chest softened, something that had nothing to do with the cold. I wasn’t sure what had shifted, but I was already moving closer, against my better judgment, my feet dragging through the mud.
“If you’re going to dance in the rain, at least do it right.” I said, stepping toward her with a heavy sigh.
She blinked, her eyes wide, and then, without missing a beat, she held out her hand, an invitation.
“Fine, Mr. Expert. Show me how it’s done.”
Her hand was icy when I took it, and I felt it burn through my fingers, but I didn’t let go. I pulled her closer, my other hand sliding to her waist. For a second, I felt her tense—her body going stiff under my touch. But she didn’t pull away.
“You know, every cliché dance moment has a song.”
“A song?”
“You know, something in the background, usually something girly from the 00s.”
She tossed her head back with a giggle as I pulled her in closer.
“So, what’s the song?”
“You pick.”
She seemed to consider it as if the decision would be life altering.
“ Hear You Me by Jimmy Eat World .” She said, with a proud grin.
I placed my hands on her hips and leaned down.
“Then that will be our song.” I said. “It’s official.”
We swayed. The movement was awkward at first, our feet slipping on the wet grass, her body brushing against mine in ways that shouldn’t have felt so right. She was terrible at it. Her foot caught on mine twice, and each time, I steadied her, holding her a little tighter.
“You’re terrible at this.” I teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips, though I didn’t pull away from her.
She looked up at me, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the laughter, and shot me a glare.
“Oh, like you’re doing any better. I’m just trying to keep up with your giant steps.”
I chuckled, but something in the way she was smiling, so genuine, so unguarded, made my chest tighten again. And I hated it. But I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in closer, her soft breath mixing with mine, and I could feel it. Her lips were so close, I could almost taste them. And for a moment, I thought I might do something reckless.
My hand flexed on her waist, my thumb brushing over the cold, damp fabric of her shirt. She stiffened, and I caught the quick glance she cast toward my lips, followed by a look she tried to hide.
“Campbell,” she started, her voice barely audible over the rain. I leaned in just a little, enough for her to feel it, enough for her to know I wasn’t joking. “We can’t,” she whispered, and her voice cracked, betraying the uncertainty hiding beneath her words. “Nevaeh.”
I groaned. I couldn’t help it. The mere mention of Nevaeh’s name felt like someone had dropped a bucket of ice water over me. I tipped my head back, in exaggerated frustration making sure Hazel saw just how little her friend’s name affected me.
“Nevaeh?” I called out into the empty yard, cupping my hands around my mouth as if I were calling for her. “Where are you? I don’t see you!”
Hazel smacked my chest, and I could see the burst of laughter she tried to suppress. Even amidst the absurdity, she relaxed.
“Stop it!” she laughed.
I grinned, dropping the pretense and looking back at her.
“Hazel,” I breathed, my voice lower now, full of something I hadn’t meant to let slip. “I don’t like Nevaeh like that.” I kept going, my words cutting through the tension. “I prefer awkward, book-loving girls who spontaneously dance in the rain,” I murmured, voice rough, hand tightening at her waist. “Girls who make me laugh, even when I don’t want to.” Hazel blinked at me, her eyes searching mine, and I saw it. Her eyes sparkled; everything felt right. She hesitated only a second before her breath hitched. “Do you trust me?” I asked, brushing her wet hair from her face.
She nodded, once. Barely a second. But that was all I needed. And then, without another word, I kissed her. Her closeness, a contrast to the chill, transformed everything after an initial hesitation and reluctance from both sides. My hands gripped her tighter, pulling her closer as the rain fell, as if the world had disappeared.
I forgot everything else at that moment. Every expectation, every game I’d played, all the shit I’d been running from. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. The only thing that mattered was her. When we broke apart, her breath coming fast and shallow, her face flushed in the cold, I couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re shivering,” I muttered, pulling her closer. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, her voice still breathless, “that’s what happens when you dance in the rain.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
“You’re impossible.”
She looked up at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Maybe. But you kissed me, so what does that say about you?”
I drew her close. My smile felt eternal.
“It says I’m an idiot.” I murmured, brushing my lips against her forehead.
Holding her in the rain, one thing was certain: I had no regrets.
**
The first thing I did when I entered Ryan’s spare bedroom was grab my phone and open Spotify. I collapsed on my bed, placed my earphones in, and closed my eyes as Jimmy Eat World harmonized through my eardrums. I wasn’t expecting much, perhaps I would play it on a loop since I never got more than three hours of sleep. However, my eyelids felt weighed down.
Something I hadn’t felt in years. Most of my nights consisted of my mind spinning until I eventually collapsed from mental exhaustion, but it’s as if the song had sucked the mental turmoil from my mind. But it wasn’t just because of the song. It was thoughts of Hazel listening to this song. Of us dancing to it.
Our song. And so, for the first time, for as long as I could remember, I fell asleep in peace.