🌸 🐝 May Fluff (studio-suite)🐝🌸

Another fluff post has come and gone. G is our winner for the Spicy post of the month. That will be up soon~

Word Count: 2,197

Hoping to muffle the buzzing of your phone on the nightstand, you yank the comforter over your head. It works—kind of—but not enough to let you drift back to sleep.

A low groan escapes as you slide across the bed, still swaddled in blankets, blindly snaking an arm out to grab the phone. Only then does the buzzing stop.

Figures.

Missed calls. A voicemail. And, of course, a text from Cam: I’m waiting for you at the park. You know the one.

Before you can fully process it, the screen lights up again - another call.

You answer, voice scratchy. “Mr. Clarke.”

“You better not go back to sleep,” he warns, skipping past hello. “If you do, I swear to God, Em’s finally going to find out what happened to that ugly-ass clock she used to have on the bookshelf. And don’t call me Mr. Clarke. That’s my dad’s name.”

You sit up, the comforter slipping off your head, making you squint against the morning light. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The crystal one. Weird swirly bits. You spun around, bumped into the shelf, and boom. Shattered everywhere.”

You pause, rubbing your eyelids with the heel of your palm.

“Cam.”

“Huh?”

“…That was you.”

Another pause. Then that laugh. Full-bodied, deep, the kind that’d crinkle his eyes and make you forgive him for things you shouldn’t.

“Oh. Right. Well—details.”

You switch the phone to speaker, stretching as Cam’s voice fills the room.

“Well, since you’re awake—”

“Thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, unapologetic. “Come meet me. The park’s not far, just a block from Em’s. C’mon, Red. You know, we never get a free weekend together.”

His tone lilts upward, playful. You’d bet anything he was batting his lashes right now.

Shame you couldn’t see it.

As you reach for clean clothes, he throws one more hook.

“I got you a surprise.”

A surprise, huh?

“Cameron Clarke, are you trying to buy my time with presents?”

He hums, low and pleased, the faint clinking of the rings on his fingers echoing through the speaker.

 “Depends if it works. If you’re feeling generous, bring coffee,” he adds.

“But mostly…” his voice softens, playful, “Just bring you.”

You’re already halfway to caving. He knew it. You knew it.

Taking a page from his book, you groan, long and dramatic.
“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

“Atta' bestie,” Cam chirps, smug. You can hear the grin. “Don’t forget the coffee. Make it extra sweet. Like m-“

You tap the end button before he can finish, already knowing he’s going to sulk about it. That’s half the fun.

The walk to the park feels shorter than you remember. What once took an hour, at least in your memory, now takes mere minutes. Maybe because your legs are longer. Or maybe nostalgia has a way of changing your perception, shrinking things down until they fit into neat little memories. Like looking at old photos and realizing how small the world used to be, even though it felt so large.

The park’s… well.

It’s seen better days, and that’s being generous.

The once-orange jungle gym now stood faded, beaten down by years of rain and sun. Paint chipped away in patches, weeds creeping up the legs, slowly trying to claim what’s left.

The swing set leans to one side, only a single swing still clinging to the rusted frame. Every breath of wind made the chains groan in protest.

Even the trail leading deeper into the park is cracked and overgrown – more weeds than walkway now.

It’s a far cry from the place you remember.

“You know this is technically where we met,” you said, eyes fixed on the old sandpit. All specks of sand are long gone, replaced by wildflowers and weeds.

Cam tips his head. “Technically? I remember it pretty damn clearly. You took a ball to the face.”

“That you threw.”

“That you didn’t even cry about. Meanwhile, I was a mess.”

You smiled. Small, but there.

For a second, you could almost see him as he was back then. A frail little thing with wild hair and scabbed knees, standing in this same spot. His younger self flickers over him, like a ghost caught in sunlight, superimposed against the man he’s grown into. Taller now, broader in the shoulders, a piercing here or there – still the same boy. Still, that glint in those mismatched eyes.

Funny how things circle back.

Back then, he broke your nose. Or at least, it felt like he did.

Now, he’d probably break anyone who even tried to hurt you.

He’s perched on the monkey bars, knees bent, arms lazily draped over the metal. The kicker? He’s so tall now that his feet touch the ground.

“You look ridiculous,” you call out.

Cam grins, all teeth. That smug, insufferable grin that screams, I knew you’d come.

“Ridiculous? Excuse you. This here used to be my domain. My very throne.”

He kicks his legs just enough to scuff the ground.  “Remember how you used to pick me up so I could grab on?”

 “You were tiny. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You used to lug me around like I was a backpack.”

“Like a freaking spider monkey. Cam, you demanded it.”

His cheeks flushed, pink creeping to his ears. Busted. “For me?” he tries, zeroing in on the cup in your hand as a distraction.

You raise an eyebrow, wiggling the coffee cup as bait.

He drops from the monkey bars with a soft thud, sauntering over. Without hesitation, he swipes the cup, takes a bold swig, and immediately sputters.

“Strong,” he coughs, fanning his lips dramatically.

You smirk. “So this is the surprise?”

“Wow. No faith in me, really? Freaking rude. You think the place you met the guy of your dreams isn’t a good surprise?”

Before you can argue, Cam slings an arm around your shoulders, tugging you along. His grin is pure mischief, but his hand lingers at your side, warm and steady.

He steers you toward the swing set. “For old time’s sake?” he asks, nudging the lone swing.

You narrow your eyes. “Cam, that thing looks like it’s two seconds from blowing over.”

He gasps, “You used to spin me around until I was sick. Poor Stella’s earned a few more rides from us. Besides, when have I ever let you fall?”

Of course, he named the swing.

You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

“Okay, okay – since middle school – when have I ever let you fall?”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. Your eyes flicker over every speck of rust, every questionable chain.

“…Alright, you can push me.”

The swing creaks in protest, but it holds. Cam steps behind you, hands curling at your waist. His thumbs brush your sides, lingering.

“You ready?” he asks, close enough that his breath fans your cheek.

“If this breaks midair, you will regret it.”

 His laugh is low, warm against the side of your neck. “Whatever you say.”

When he pulls you back, it’s slow, deliberate, until your back brushes his chest, lining you up for a push. You catch the faint hitch of his breath, his familiar scent wrapping around you.

And then, he lets go.

As you glide forward, the wind caresses you in a soft rush. The rust, the weeds, the years that have passed forgotten. Just the two of you and the place that had been witness to the start of it all.

Each time you swing back, his hands are there. Steady. Familiar.

“See?” he says softly. “Still in one piece.”

Whether he meant you or the swing set, you don’t know. You don’t ask.

He pushes you once more, letting you use your momentum to swing back and forth. He circles you, a grin on his face as he steps forward.

“What are you doing?”

He shakes his head before leaning in, aiming for your lips.

But timing, as always, isn’t on his side.

You’re still moving. So when his kiss lands, it’s not quite where he intended. His soft lips brush the bridge of your nose instead.

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You have horrible aim.”

Cam pulls back with a groan, dragging his hand down his face. “I do not. I meant to do that," he says, then immediately winces. “Okay, no I didn’t. Shut up.”

“Maybe you should’ve waited until I wasn’t moving."

He huffs, peeking at you through his fingers. “That’s… actually not a bad idea.”

When you finally slow, he catches your hand, lacing your fingers together as he gently pulls you toward a thicket of trees. Pulling you just between them and to a patch of grass. A place only he could find.

“Tada!” He bends at the waist, sweeping his arm out with entirely too much flair.

On the ground rests a blanket, rumpled and faded, with a basket perched on top.

“Before you ask, I didn’t cook. I bribed Em,” Cam admits, fingers toying with the hair resting on the back of his neck.

He only lets go of your hand when he sits, flipping open the basket to reveal its contents.  The sandwiches are wrapped tightly. Fruit’s packed in little cups. Even pastries are bagged and neatly lined up like props on display. Classic Cam—he can photograph a five-star meal like it’s breathing but ask him to cook and suddenly you’re violating fire codes.

Still, he arranges everything with care, each piece meticulously placed like he’s styling a shoot. And you—clearly—are the star.

Once satisfied, he taps the ground beside him. “Sit with me.”

“Cam, when did you even have the time to do this?”

He peels back the butcher paper from a sandwich, offering it to you before he answers. “I made the time. You’ve been so busy – clients, work, everything. I just thought it’d be nice to come back here. I know it’s different now. We’re different. But this place… It’s still a part of us. I just wanted to enjoy it with you.”

You blink. Cameron Clarke – unexpectedly good with words. Good at pulling your heartstrings until you want to fold him into a hug and never let go.

Between bites, you talk. You reminisce. About scraped knees from a tough fall, balls thrown too hard, and that one kid Cam knocked over for being a menace. The park is different and  older, but this feels… right. More meaningful, somehow.

By the time you finished eating, the afternoon sun had turned warm and lazy. Cam leans back, patting his stomach with a satisfied sigh. Slowly – hesitantly at first – he shifts until his head finds its way to your lap.

With a dramatic groan, he flings an arm over his face like a theater kid mid-scene. The tips of his ears are flushed pink, betraying him.

“Comfy?” you ask, amused.

“Mm. Best pers- pillow you can find.”

You say nothing, just watch as he peeks up at you. His usual grin softened by the quiet.

“Y’know,” he said, voice lower. “Em used to do this thing when I couldn’t sleep. She would rub my nose, said it’d ‘reset my brain’ or something.”

“Did it work?”

“Most of the time.” His fingers trace idle circles along your side, lips pressed in a thin, uncertain line.

With a soft smile, you cup his jaw. “Do you want me to reset your brain, Cam?”

He huffs a laugh. “Might be my only chance.”

Might be the only chance I have,
-to have you this close-
he leaves unsaid.

Gently, you trace the bridge of his nose, down to the tip, your thumb brushing lightly back and forth. His eyes flutter closed, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

For a while, it’s quiet. Peaceful.

“You don’t stop, do you?” you murmured. “Dragging me out here. Bringing food. Making me remember all this stuff.”

“Guilty,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Well, I enjoyed it.”

That earned you the faintest smile.

“I know,” his voice is softer, barely above a whisper.  “That’s why I do it.”

The little picnic had been everything you didn’t know you needed. But unsurprisingly, he did. He always knew.

And for that, you’re thankful. Thankful enough to show him.

Your fingers slow, resting at his temple as you lean down. Cam’s eyes open, curiosity flickering in their depths.

“Close them.” You whisper, your mouth close enough that he feels your breath.

He obeys without hesitation. And that’s when it hits you—how easy it’s always been with him. How dangerous that is.

The kiss is soft, sure, like a secret you both already knew. A low hum of approval vibrates through him as his hand finds the back of your neck, holding you close. Not urgent, not desperate. Just there.

When you part, there’s a moment—just a breath—where neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, his grin unfurls. All boyish mischief and quiet triumph.

“What—” he starts.

You hush him with a finger. “Let’s enjoy this a little longer.”

And so, you do. For once, there’s no rush. Just the two of you, right here, where everything once began.

And maybe, just maybe, where it begins again.