She didn’t smile when she saw you. That wasn’t her style.

Illyana Rasputin simply stepped out of the Krakoan gate—hood drawn, sword notched across her back, aura radiating that typical ‘I’ll kill the world before I admit I care’ vibe—and stood beside you like this had all been your idea.

“You’re late,” she muttered. “Or I’m early. Either way, this better be worth it.”

You grinned, pulling a crumpled pair of carnival tickets from your coat pocket. “Is funnel cake and cotton candy enough to steal a queen from her throne?”

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t teleport into Limbo. “I left Krakoa for sugar and spinning rides? I must be sick.”

You bumped your shoulder against hers. “You’re dating me. Clearly, your taste is questionable.”

The fair glowed behind you like a portal to a simpler world. No gates. No mutants versus humans. No politics, no councils, no war. Just neon lights, the scent of fried dough, screaming kids, and a badly tuned cover band playing Bon Jovi.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, folding her arms. “You don’t try to fix me tonight. I don’t threaten to impale anyone who looks at you funny.”

“That’s what you call a romantic compromise?”

“It’s the best you’re getting.”

So you walked into the fair together.

She didn’t hold your hand, not yet. But when you bought two lemonades, she took hers with a quiet “thanks” and didn’t stab the vendor for smiling at her. You guided her through the tilt-a-whirl line, and though she pretended to complain the whole time, her lips twitched just a little when the ride spun and she knocked into you.

“What’s the point of this?” she asked, climbing off.

“Joy,” you replied. “Chaos. Mild nausea.”

She stopped walking. Her eyes locked on yours for a long second, unusually serious. “You’re the only person who treats me like I’m not broken.”

“Maybe because you’re not. Just sharp-edged.”

“I could hurt you.”

“You could. But you won’t.”

For a second, the façade slipped. Just a little. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to see the girl behind the warrior—the young woman who carried hell in her hands and loneliness in her heart. Then it was gone, buried under her usual sarcasm and that icy smirk.

“You’re such a sap,” she muttered.

“Yet here you are with me instead of battling Sentinels.”

“Shut up and win me a stuffed bear,” she snapped, turning toward the ring toss.

You followed, smiling to yourself. She wouldn't admit it, not now, maybe not ever. But she’d chosen you tonight. Left a nation behind for two hours of greasy food and your dumb jokes. And somewhere deep beneath the armor and magic and years of pain, she wanted this.

Later, when the stars came out and the fair began to empty, she finally laced her fingers with yours as if it meant nothing. But she didn’t let go.

Thankfully , the night was still young .

And the Ferris wheel was waiting for you .