Camp Orion, Part 1
Chris had horrible summers growing up. He never heard from his friends and he'd constantly have nightmares about them. This made him glad for a lack of Facebook during his adolescent years; if he had been able to see all the fun his school friends had without him via status and photo tag, he would've been even more depressed and awkward than he already was. Chris was the kid that nobody talked to and everybody probably thought would shoot up the school.
Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Chris was liked well enough by one or two people and his teachers. He was bright, at least, and knew how to stay out of the way of his more hostile peers. But he was painfully shy. He couldn't even order at McDonald's without blushing. That said nothing of his romantic skills, which, at 18, were nil. He'd figured out a preference for the male body, though he wasn't particularly bothered by an attractive, exotic woman with a nice rack. But it didn't really matter, as both were so far out of his reach that it was laughable.
The summer of his senior year, in 1998, his mom decided to have the kids pick a camp to go to while she and his father went on a cruise. Chris, for some reason, chose theater camp. Camp Orion was something of a gyp at first, in Chris' opinion. There were a lot of kids his age and counselors that didn't really pay attention. He spotted several tie dye t-shirts and questionable puffs of smoke as soon as he stepped off of the bus, so he just shouldered his bag and made his way over to the nearest responsible looking adult. Who was, unfortunately for him, oddly attractive. His limbs were gangly, his eyebrows thick, his skin pale, though his arms and what could be seen of his chest were covered in a light dusting of black hair, to match the styled swirl of ink black hair on his head. And he was smirky. Chris hated people that smirked, if only because he knew from experience at school that anyone who smirked at him hat ulterior motives. But before he could seek out someone else, the guy cocked an eyebrow at him and waved a clipboard, stepping closer.
"You looking for a cabin assignment?" he asked and Chris blushed but didn't answer, letting silence fall between them. "Ohhhh kay," the guy said, unaccountably cheery "Name, please?"
"Pine," Chris croaked "Chris Pine."
"Ah, you're in cabin 6 with me. They do it alphabetically," the guy extended a hand "Zachary Quinto, at your service. But you can call me Zach."
Chris stared down at the hand.
Zach sighed "Well, I can walk you over there, I guess, show you where it is. If you like. Yours was the last bus, most everyone else is settled in," he retracted his hand and assumably put a check beside Chris' name on the provided list.
Chris nodded. Zach nodded back, still seeming unaccountably happy and amused, and turned, walking down a mulch path. Chris could see the cabins a ways away and winced. He was chubby, not fat by any means, but a lack of a social life had led to a lack of motivation for exercise. He was definitely going to be winded by the walk.
"Here," a voice beside him said, and he turned to Zach, whose hand was outstretched. Again, Chris just stared down at it. "Give me your bag," Zach said, sounding only a little exhasperated. Chris blushed deeply and said, "No, I can manage."
"You sure?"
Chris hesitated a moment, and took a chance, looking up at Zach finally. Their eyes met, and he was taken aback. Zach's expression was one of annoyance- not that Chris could blame him- but his eyes were warm. They were a deep, almost orange brown and they seemed to convey a smile despite the downward slope of the rest of Zach's features.
"Your eyes are brown." Chris said, and immediately turned an even deeper shade of pink.
Zach just laughed, "Yep."
"No, but they're like...warm. Almost orange. I need to stop talking. I've just never seen eyes like yours before."
Zach blinked at him, and Chris was surprised to find that Zach's cheeks were also temporarily tinted a slight pink, "So." Zach said, shaking his head, "You can talk when you want to."
"I...um, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"Maybe you should think less often then," Zach quirked an eyebrow at him, "Now give me your bag. Trust me, the walk is longer than it looks."
Chris eyed Zach again before finally handing over his duffle, and they continued on their way, the only sound between them the shift of the mulch and the slide of the shiny fabric of Chris's dufflebag against Zach's pants whenever he shifted his grip.
They were about halfway there, Chris sweating profusely, when Zach finally spoke.
"So, how old are you?"
"Eighteen," Chris said, trying not to sound winded.
"Ah, so you're college bound then. Decided on a school yet?"
"Berkley," Chris asserted, bashfully.
"Berkley? But that's in California!"
"Yeah, uh," Chris nodded "I live out there."
"You came a long way," Zach noted "Ohio's like... Quite a journey."
"Yeah, I guess you live closer, huh? I was kinda hoping to ensure that no one would know me out here," Chris shrugged, sounding breathy as he spoke, but not caring much anymore, "So far, it's going according to plan."
"I'm shacked up in Pittsburgh. So yeah I'm markably closer. I'm in my final year at Carnegie Mellon. Theater, naturally. What about you?"
"Same. Theater, that is."
"You strike me as more of a Play Production kind of guy."
"Why?" Chris said with a bitter laugh, "Because I can't talk to someone without freaking out?"
"You're talking to me just fine."
"Which is an anomaly in and of itself, trust me," Chris snorted.
"Truthfully, yeah. Your social skills seem a bit lacking. But you seem more than aware of that fact. So I guess it's just more interesting than surprising."
Chris turned and caught Zach looking at him, seeing nothing but genuine curiosity in his almost-orange eyes. He blinked and blushed, "I mean, I come from a family of actors. It's what we're good at. I don't feel like I have to, to make them happy or anything. I just kind of become a different person onstage. And I feel, like, alive, stupid as that sounds, like I can be cocky or badass or sweet and charming and no one can stop me or keep me quiet. I think maybe if I'm comfortable enough to act in a place like this, maybe the rest will just kind of click, you know?"
Zach chuckled, "That's the most you've said since you got here. So I guess your theory is spot on so far. We're here."
Chris looked up to see a camp of cabins, about eight, he'd guess. They were very rustic in appearance, but the spigots on the front porch of each and the light coming from nearly every window indicated indoor plumbing and electricity, as promised, which was a huge relief.
They stopped at one of the cabins with a brass 6 drilled into the wood between the door and a window. Zach shrugged off Chris' duffle and handed it back to him. "Here, you go ahead and settle in. I think you'll like the rest of your roomates just fine. I have to go check in with the rest of the counselors and go see someone, then I should be back shortly before dinner. We can head to Mess Hall together."
"See someone?" Chris queried before he could stop himself.
"My boyfriend," Zach winked, then jumped off the porch and took off further down the path.
Chris wrenched the screen door of the cabin open, having no recollection of feeling so happy yet crestfallen all at once ever before in his life.