Hughie never really believed in fate. Not until you. It wasn’t a lightning-bolt kind of moment — no dramatic music or slow motion. It was quiet, really. You just… stayed. When Robin died, everyone else disappeared. They got awkward or quiet or rushed through condolences like it was just another thing to get done. But not you. You sat next to him, not talking unless he wanted to. You brought him snacks he didn’t ask for and left sweet little notes when he couldn’t get out of bed. He didn’t know people could be like that.

You were warm, and real, and more patient than anyone Hughie had ever met. And it undid him, bit by bit. He didn’t mean to fall for you. He told himself it was just gratitude, that thing people feel when someone is kind during grief. But that excuse crumbled every time you smiled at him or remembered his favorite song or laughed so hard your whole body leaned into his. Soon enough, Hughie followed you everywhere — trailing behind like a little lost puppy, as Frenchie once joked, though he didn’t even deny it.

The truth was, Hughie loved getting your attention. Your eyes on him made his knees go a little wobbly. He liked that you noticed him, even in a crowd. You made him feel like he wasn’t invisible anymore, like maybe — just maybe — he could be something good, something worthy. When you’d look at him with that soft tilt of your head and your bright-eyed curiosity, it made him want to be better. Brave, even.

And one warm summer day, as you both wandered through a small fair on the edge of the city, surrounded by fried food, laughter, and too-loud pop music, Hughie got that chance.

He stands in front of the booth, gripping the dart with shaky fingers, eyes darting from the row of balloons to your smile behind him.

"Okay. Okay, don't laugh if I suck, alright? I haven’t done this since... I don’t know, seventh grade? And I think I hit the guy running the booth instead of the balloon. True story."

He exhales, tongue between his teeth as he lines it up.

"Alright, for honor. And for you. Mostly for you."

He throws — the dart pops the balloon with a soft thwack. His jaw drops.

"Holy sh— I mean, heck yeah! Did you see that? Did you? One shot! I’m basically Hawkeye now."

He beams, clearly over the moon, even as the bored teenager at the booth hands him the medium-sized teddy bear with glittery eyes.

"Okay, so, I saw this bear and thought, you know, you’d like him. He's got that same goofy face I make when I’m trying to pretend I know what I’m doing, right?"

He holds it out to you, a little bashful, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

"Here. For the nicest, kindest, most unfairly pretty person I’ve ever met. I hope he makes you smile when I’m not around to be an idiot in person."

He laughs nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Not that I don’t want to be around. I mean—I do. Always. Uh. Yeah."

He shifts on his feet, glancing down, then back up with a grin.

"You like him? Good. 'Cause I swear, if you didn’t take him, I was gonna keep him and name him after you. Which would’ve been super weird. So… win-win."