1. MORNING

Juice felt like his heart was trying to kick its way out of his ribs. He sat in the middle of the small rowboat, oars dripping water as he cut through the glass smooth surface of Big Bear Lake. The morning sun was already warm on his neck, but he barely noticed. His entire world had narrowed down to one specific patch of sand across the water where the Crazzy's Wasewagan Camp shoreline met the lake.

He remembered the exact moment he saw her when SAMCRO first rolled into the resort. He'd been offloading some gear when he caught sight of her sun drenched, standing by the water in a swimsuit and shorts, a hat pulled low, fanny pack cinched at her waist. She looked fucking incredible. Not just hot, but the kind of hot that made a guy forget his own name and every club oath he'd ever taken. It was instantaneous. A clean, sharp hit of lightning straight to his gut.

As the bow of the boat scraped against the pebbles of the camp beach, Juice wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, trying to look casual. Which was impossible, because he was vibrating with nervous energy.

"There he is!" a high pitched voice shrieked from the treeline.

Juice hopped out of the boat, bracing himself against the dock. A swarm of six year olds, fresh faced and covered in what looked like either sunscreen or dried mud, came barreling down the path toward the water's edge.

"Yo, Unc! You actually came back!" one kid yelled, pointing a sticky finger at him. "Is she gonna reject you again? L rizz, Bro! Massive L!"

"Shut up, Leo, he's not an Unc, he's " Another kid started, but interrupted himself by giggling hysterically. "He's cooked, dude. He's literally cooked."

Juice felt his face heating up, but he couldn't even be mad. He offered a lopsided, sheepish grin as he hauled his gear onto the sand. "Hey, you little shitheads. What'd I tell you about running on the dock?"

"You can't tell us what to do, you're not even a counselor," a girl with pigtails deadpanned, crossing her arms. "You're just the guy who follows her around like a lost puppy. That's so cringe."

"zero aura," another kid muttered under his breath, clutching a half melted popsicle.

Juice ignored them, his eyes scanning the camp activity area. His nerves settled into a dull ache as he spotted you. You were moving through a group of kids, organizing equipment for whatever morning activity was on the schedule archery, maybe, or some kind of lake craft. You looked authoritative, efficient, and completely out of his league.

"There she is! Go talk to her, Unc! Ask for her number!" Leo screamed, earning a chorus of 'Ooooohs' from the pack.

Juice started walking toward you, trying to adopt some semblance of a cool, collected gait, even though he felt like a walking disaster. As he approached your group, he instinctively reached down to help a kid who had tripped over a rogue tree root, steadying the boy before continuing his approach to you.

"Hey," Juice said, stopping just outside your personal bubble, offering you the crooked smile that usually worked on most people, though he knew you saw right through it. "Hope I'm not interrupting official camp business. Just thought I'd check in."

2. HIKE

The sun filtered through the towering pines of Big Bear, dappling the dirt trail with shifting shadows as the group of tiny humans trudged along. Juice Ortiz was panting, not from the hike which was basically a glorified stroll but from the sheer effort of keeping up with a swarm of six year olds while simultaneously trying to maintain some semblance of cool in front of you.

He had rowed across the glassy water of the lake three hours ago, muscles aching, all for the chance to intercept your hiking formation. Now, he was stuck in the middle of it, looking decidedly out of place in his club gear amidst a sea of sunscreen slicked faces and miniature backpacks.

"Okay, okay, slow down, you little monsters," Juice called out, though there was no real heat in it. He stepped over a protruding root, instinctively moving to block a kid from tripping before pivoting to catch your eye. "You doing alright? Need some water?" His voice went up half an octave when he addressed you, that eager, puppy dog energy bleeding through despite his best efforts to play it smooth.

A six year old named Leo, sporting a backwards baseball cap and enough glitter on his cheeks to be seen from space, let out a loud snort. He nudged the kid next to him, whispering loudly enough for the entire forest to hear.

"Look at Unc, he's simping so hard, it's actually cooked," Leo cackled.

"On god, he's got zero rizz," a girl named Maya chimed in, wiping sweat from her forehead with a sticky hand. "He's literally NPC energy right now."

Juice flinched, but couldn't help the lopsided grin that spread across his face. "I heard that, Leo! And I don't know what 'rizz' is, but I'm pretty sure it's not something you need when you're out here in nature." He turned back to you, offering an apologetic shrug that screamed 'please ignore them'. "They've been like this since we left the clearing. I think the sugar from breakfast went straight to their brains."

A sudden crash came from the underbrush not a bear, but Oliver, a seven year old who had decided to try and jump over a fallen log. Juice moved faster than he did during club business, darting forward to grab the back of the kid's shirt before he could faceplant into the pine needles.

"Whoa there, champ. Adventure is cool, but we gotta keep the knees intact, yeah?" Juice said, hoisting Oliver upright. The kid just looked up at him, deadpan.

"You're doing too much, Unc. Cringe," Oliver muttered, before scampering back toward your side.

Juice let out a huff of laughter, rubbing the back of his neck as he fell into step beside you. The proximity made his heart do a stupid little flutter. Up close, the summer sun made you look even better the way the sweat glistened on your skin, the focused, authoritative way you kept the group moving. Even with the chaos of the children circling them like piranhas, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Seriously though," Juice said quietly, leaning in closer to you as the kids began a heated argument about whether a squirrel was 'mid' or 'fire,' "you're doing an amazing job. I don't know how you handle this much brainrot without losing it."

3. LUNCH

The cafeteria at Crazzy's Wasewagan Camp smelled like industrial grade maple syrup, burnt toast, and pine cleaner. It was loud not the rowdy, whiskey soaked loud of the SAMCRO clubhouse, but something sharper, higher pitched, and infinitely more chaotic. A swarm of five to seven year olds scrambled across splintered wooden benches, their sticky hands slapping against tables while they shrieked over lukewarm juice boxes.

Juice Ortiz sat at the end of one long table, looking profoundly out of place in his leather cut, surrounded by a sea of neon t shirts and sunburnt faces. He wasn't eating; he was too busy staring at you. Even in the harsh, fluorescent light of the dining hall, he looked completely smitten. His usual hyper vigilant club instincts had melted into something softer, something almost pathetic, as his eyes followed your every movement while you organized lunch trays for your group.

"Dude, look at Unc's face. He's literally glazing her so hard right now. It's tragic," a seven year old named Leo muttered, deliberately loud. He shoved a spoonful of mushy carrots into his mouth, grinning wickedly at his friends.

"On god, he's cooked," another kid, Maya, piped up, kicking her legs under the table. "Unc is totally cooked for the counselor. That's zero rizz. Absolute L behavior."

Juice winced at the foreign vocabulary, but he didn't retreat. Instead, when a younger boy tripped while running toward the water fountain, Juice was already moving. He caught the kid by the back of his shirt before he could faceplant into the linoleum, steadying him with a practiced hand.

"Whoa there, buddy. Easy on the turns, yeah?" Juice said, offering the kid a reassuring grin before turning his attention back to you. His expression immediately shifted from 'protective guardian' to 'starstruck teenager.' "Hey uh you need help with those trays? I mean, if you need someone to carry something, I'm right here."

"Unc is yapping again!" a boy named Sam yelled from three seats down. "No cap, he's actually yapping! He thinks he's him!"

"Bruh, he's got the skibidi stare," Leo added, giggling hysterically. "Look at his eyes. He's simping so hard it's giving me brainrot."

Juice ignored them, though his ears were turning pink. He leaned in closer to you as you approached the table with the kids' lunches, his voice dropping to something he clearly thought was suave, but came off as hopeful. "Don't mind them. They've got way too much sugar today. How's your morning going? You... uh... you looking good today. Obviously. I mean the hat is cool. Very professional."

One of the kids, a six year old with sticky fingers, pointed a french fry at Juice. "Why you following her like a lost puppy, Unc? You got no motion. Just straight L's."

4. INJURY

The campground was alive with the kind of chaotic energy only afternoon recess could summon. Somewhere near the tree line, a pack of boys was screaming over a makeshift American football game, their shouts echoing off the pines. Near the fire pit, a quieter group was hunched over finger paints, leaving smudges of neon green across their foreheads.

Juice looked like he had been caught in a glitter bomb. He was sitting on a log, completely surrounded by a cluster of children who treated him like their personal entertainment system. His forearms, tanned and corded with muscle, were nearly obscured by an absurd collection of neon embroidery floss, plastic beads, and twisted friendship bracelets.

"Okay, okay! This one's got a special unicorn bead, right?" Juice laughed, leaning down to inspect the lopsided work of a young girl. He mimed something ridiculous, making her shriek with laughter as he attempted to braid a section of string while pretending his fingers were tiny spiders. "There, nice. That's gonna make you look real tough when you're eating dinner later."

A few yards away, you were focused on your own station, the rhythmic motion of fingers twisting hair providing a small pocket of calm in the storm. You had a small group gathered around you, teaching them different patterns, but even from your position, you could see Juice was having the time of his life and the time of his suffering.

Then, the noise changed.

It wasn't the usual screech of play. It was a wet, heavy thud, followed by a sound that made Juice's entire body stiffen. "My leg! Juice, my leg!"

It was Leo. He had been sprinting toward the football game when his foot had caught on a hidden stump, sending him tumbling sideways with terrifying momentum. He was clutching his shin, his face already contorting into the pale, sickly mask of shock as he started to sob.

Juice was up in an instant, the colorful bracelets jingling on his wrists. The playful light in his eyes died instantly, replaced by that sharp, focused urgency you saw when things got real in the club. "I gotcha, Leo. Hey, hey, look at me, buddy. Look at Unc." Juice dropped to his knees beside the boy, his hands hovering uncertainly, terrified of making the injury worse. "Breathing through it, okay? Just breathe."

He looked up at you, his expression raw with panic. "Hey! I need help here!" he called out, his voice cracking. "He's hurt bad, seriously bad!"

Before you could even move, Juice had scooped Leo up, holding the boy against his chest with surprising tenderness despite the obvious tremor in his grip. "Hold on, Leo. We're gonna go see the nurse. We're gonna be fine, alright?"

The sprint to the camp infirmary was a blur of adrenaline and pounding footsteps. Juice ran with a controlled desperation, the kid's cries echoing behind them as they scrambled toward the medical tent.

By the time the camp nurse had taken over and the door to the infirmary clicked shut, the adrenaline began to drain out of you both, leaving something heavy and hollow in its wake. The kid was stable a bad sprain and some nasty road rash, but nothing life threatening but the adrenaline crash felt like hitting a wall.

You found Juice ten minutes later. He had wandered off toward the utility area, his shoulders hunched forward like he was carrying the weight of the entire forest. He was standing behind one of the rusted metal tool sheds, tucked far away from the view of the other counselors and the lingering children.

As you approached, the sharp, acrid smell of tobacco met you. He was leaning against the corrugated metal, shoulders shaking slightly as he took a long drag from a cigarette. When he heard your footsteps, he didn't jump. He just exhaled a plume of grey smoke and looked at you with exhausted, bloodshot eyes.

"Christ," he muttered, his voice rough and stripped bare. He offered you the cigarette, his hands still slightly unsteady. "That was way too close. I thought " He cut himself off, shaking his head and taking another drag, letting the nicotine hit his system. "I really thought something worse happened."

He leaned his head back against the shed with a dull clank, closing his eyes. "Man, I need a minute. I need about an hour."

5. BONFIRE

The crackle of the bonfire was the only thing cutting through the cool mountain air as the firelight danced off the faces of the small horde of six year olds. Between the sticky marshmallow residue and the pine needles scattered across the ground, the scene at Crazzy's Wasewagan Camp was pure chaos the good kind.

Juice sat on a log that felt three sizes too small for him, surrounded by a circle of tiny humans who treated him like a zoo exhibit. He was currently on marshmallow duty, holding a stick steady for a kid named Leo who was attempting to incinerate his sugar in real time.

"Yo, Unc! You're cooking it wrong, that's mid! No cap, you're actually cooking it wrong," seven year old Kai yelled from across the fire, squinting at Juice through the smoke.

Juice let out a rough laugh, wiping a smudge of chocolate from his cheek. "Mid? Man, I'm the professional here. You just wanna burn yours, don't you?"

"L rizz, Unc! Absolute L rizz!" another kid chimed in, giggling hysterically while shoving a handful of graham crackers into his mouth. "Look at his hair, it's cooked! So cooked!"

Juice shook his head, grinning despite the relentless brainrot coming from the pack. "Alright, alright, shut it, you little shits. Eat your s'more before I tell you there's no s'mores tomorrow."

His eyes immediately darted away from the roasting kids, seeking out the only person who made the daily rowing trip across the lake worth every muscle cramp. You were sitting just on the edge of the light, the fire casting golden hues over your sun kissed skin. Even after a week of managing this circus, you looked effortless the hat pulled low, the ponytail loose, the exhaustion visible only in the way you leaned back.

"You doing okay over there?" Juice asked, his voice dropping an octave, suddenly conscious of the way he was looking at you. He wasn't trying to be smooth he was trying to be present. "They being too much? Because if they don't chill, I can take 'em for a lap around the lake. Show 'em how fast the boat goes."

"They got you wrapped around their fingers," Juice teased, shoving a fresh marshmallow toward you. "And honestly? Same."

A chorus of "Oooooohhhhhh!" and "Stoppp it, that's so cringe!" erupted from the kids, who were clearly more invested in your dynamic than the actual fire. Juice turned beet red, coughing into his hand while Kai shouted something about "Simping in 4K."

An hour later, the camp had fallen into that heavy, magical silence that only exists in the woods at night. The tents were zipped shut, the snores of twenty sleeping children muffled by the canvas. The fire had burned down to a low, orange pulse of embers.

The only sound left was the lapping of Lake Big Bear against the shore and the distant hoot of an owl.

Juice sat against the smooth bark of a fallen log, his legs stretched out. The bravado from earlier the playing along with the kids' teasing was gone. Now, there was just a quiet, overwhelming need to be near you.

As you settled beside him, the exhaustion of a long day finally winning out, you leaned over. Your head found the crook of his shoulder, your body seeking the warmth of his leather vest and the solid heat of his frame. Juice froze for half a heartbeat, his breath catching audibly in the quiet, before he slowly relaxed, melting into the contact.

He shifted slightly, making room for you, his arm finding its way around your shoulders to draw you closer.

"Finally quiet," Juice whispered, his voice soft and rough like velvet. He rested his cheek against the top of your hat, breathing in the scent of sunscreen, campfire smoke, and something uniquely you. "I thought they'd never go down. Pretty sure Leo tried to fight a tree on the way to his tent."

One of his hands came up, his fingers twitching before he found the courage to gently trace patterns along your arm. He felt like he was floating no club business, no riding, no chaos. Just this.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, tilting his head down to press a feather light kiss to your temple. "I know I'm basically just a glorified babysitter at this point, but I don't mind. I'd row across this lake every hour of every day if it meant I got to sit here with you when the lights go out."