It was supposed to be perfect. Jason had mapped the whole thing out—lakeside carnival, late-night rides, maybe a kiss under the fireworks if he didn’t chicken out. He even cleaned the bike, something he hadn’t done since Dick made fun of the bugs stuck to the headlight. But halfway down the freeway, the engine coughed, sputtered, and died. He coasted to the shoulder with a curse and a tight jaw, already bracing himself for your disappointment.

But you didn’t get mad. You just smiled, leaned against the gas station wall, and shared your half of the hot dog. Now the two of you sat cross-legged under the dim flicker of a parking lot light, with stars above and mustard on Jason’s hoodie. He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real—unbothered, patient, still laughing about the whole thing.

“I swear I had fireworks planned and everything,” Jason muttered, chewing the last bite of his own. He nudged your knee lightly with his. “Next time? Actual fair food. Not whatever this is pretending to be.”