The campfire popped and hissed like it was gossiping about them.
Orange light danced across faces, stretched shadows across tree trunks, and made the forest feel smaller than it really was—like the world had politely agreed to stay out of their business for the night. The smell of roasted food hung thick in the air, mixing with smoke and pine, settling comfortably in Connor's chest as he chewed.
For the first time in a long while, his shoulders loosened.
He leaned back slightly, one hand braced against the ground, chewing slowly like he was afraid the food might disappear if he rushed it. Around him, Jer was arguing with Yora about who'd taken the last piece of dried meat, Patricia was quietly laughing at both of them, and Tomora sat with that familiar look on his face—the one that said he was absolutely planning something annoying.
Then the bushes rustled.
Connor's instincts flared before his brain caught up. His spine straightened, fingers twitching, eyes snapping toward the sound.
Out of the shadows stepped Tala.
She moved carefully, arms full of green herbs tied together with twine, moonlight catching in her hair. She smelled like crushed leaves and night air. When her eyes landed on Connor, she froze just a fraction of a second—long enough for him to notice.
A shy smile tugged at her lips.
"Oh," she said softly. "…you."
Connor inhaled at the exact wrong moment.
He choked.
Hard.
He coughed violently, slapping his chest as food went down the wrong pipe, eyes watering, dignity abandoning him like it had better places to be.
"H—hey!" he croaked, waving one hand as if batting away the moment itself. "I'm— I'm good—just—wrong pipe—"
Tomora leaned forward instantly, grin stretching ear to ear.
"Ohhh," he drawled, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Looks like the pervert strikes again."
Connor shot him a glare that promised violence once oxygen returned to his lungs.
"I wasn't—!" he started, then coughed again, which completely ruined the defense.
Tomora pointed at him like he'd just solved a murder. "See? Guilty choke."
That was when the world punished Tomora.
Jer's hand came down first—thwap—right on the back of his head.
Yora followed immediately—smack—to the side.
Patricia didn't hesitate—whack—clean and sharp.
And Tala, smiling sweetly, added the final hit—tap—right on his arm.
Four hits. Perfect timing.
Tomora yelped, jerking forward. "OW—what the hell?!"
Jer crossed her arms. "Knock it off."
Yora glared. "Quit embarrassing everyone."
Patricia sighed. "Seriously, Tomora."
Tala tilted her head, still smiling. "You're lucky I like you."
Tomora blinked, rubbing his arm. "…I feel attacked."
"You were," Jer said flatly.
Connor finally caught his breath and laughed, the sound surprising even himself. It slipped out easy, unguarded, and when he realized he was doing it, he didn't stop.
"You're all… wow," he said, shaking his head. "Quite the team."
Tomora sniffed, sitting back down. "Yeah, well. Violence is how we show affection."
The fire crackled in agreement.
After the laughter faded, the night settled again. Crickets chirped. Somewhere far off, something howled, but it didn't feel close enough to matter. Connor leaned back against a tree, stretching his legs out, watching sparks spiral upward like tiny stars trying to escape.
He glanced around the group, eyes lingering just a bit longer than necessary.
"So…" he said casually, too casually. "What brings you all out here? Middle of nowhere, campfire, questionable personalities. Feels like there's a story."
Tomora didn't even look at him.
"That's not important."
Connor raised an eyebrow. "That's never a good sign."
Tomora finally turned, smirk already loaded. "The important question is—" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "—how'd you get that scar?"
The firelight caught the jagged burn along Connor's cheek, twisting it into something harsher. His fingers lifted before he thought better of it, brushing the edge of the scar like it might still be hot.
"Oh. This?" he said lightly. Too lightly. "Burned myself as a kid. Fire. Crazy accident."
The lie landed.
And sat there.
Jer nodded first. "Sounds believable enough."
Yora shrugged. "Kids do dumb stuff."
Patricia smiled at him, warm and genuine. "It suits you."
Connor blinked, thrown off. "…Thanks?"
Tomora rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. "Wow. You guys are terrible judges of character."
Connor smirked. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing."
Tomora snorted.
Silence stretched—not awkward, just… thoughtful. Connor stared into the fire, watching flames curl and collapse, feeling that familiar itch beneath his skin. Heat always did that. Made memories stir.
Images flickered—wood stacked too close, rope biting into his wrists, screams cutting off too fast.
He shook his head once, sharply, like he could physically knock the past loose.
Jer noticed.
She always did.
"You good?" she asked.
Connor looked up, caught. Then he smiled—the crooked, practiced one.
"Yeah. Just tired."
Tomora studied him for a second longer than necessary, eyes narrowed. Then he scoffed.
"Careful," he said. "Tired people do stupid things."
Connor met his gaze, eyes dark but amused. "Yeah? You speak from experience?"
Tomora grinned. "Constantly."
The fire popped again, louder this time, sending sparks scattering.
Tala laid the herbs near the fire to dry, sitting beside Patricia. Connor felt her glance his way once, quick and curious, then look away.
He pretended not to notice.
Minutes passed in easy conversation—Jer complaining about bugs, Yora threatening to punch the next one that landed on her, Patricia trying to keep the peace, Tomora being Tomora.
Connor listened more than he spoke.
It felt… dangerous. Comfortable.
As the fire burned lower, Tomora stretched and yawned exaggeratedly. "Alright. Enough bonding. We sleeping or what?"
Connor pushed himself to his feet. "Guess I'll take the ground."
Tomora smirked. "You're already used to it, beggar boy."
Connor didn't even flinch. He just smiled.
"Careful," he said softly. "I rot things when I get cranky."
Tomora paused.
"…Goodnight."
Laughter rippled through the camp as the fire dimmed, the forest reclaiming its shadows.
Connor lay back on the grass, staring up at the stars, the scar on his face cooling in the night air.
For once, the nightmares stayed quiet.
For now.