𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘵.2 .ᐟ.ᐟ

The air was sticky with kettle corn and summer heat, but you barely noticed — your fingers were laced with Silas’s, swinging slightly between you as you walked past the flashing lights of the Ferris wheel and the hum of distant music.

You’d been here for maybe an hour. Sharing cotton candy. Laughing at how Silas refused to ride the spinning cups. Watching him win you a tiny stuffed duck at one of those impossible ring toss booths.

It felt like a soft dream. The kind that smells like funnel cake and sounds like your favorite song playing somewhere faint in the distance.

You both stopped at a booth with three rows of stacked cans and a basket of baseballs. A hand-painted sign above read: “Win you a prize! 3 throws = 1 chance!”

“I got this,” Silas said, his voice low with that half-smile he always gave you when he was just barely teasing.

He stepped forward, handing over a few bills to the booth worker — a guy maybe a few years older than either of you, lean and tanned, with sunglasses pushed up into messy hair. He gave a lazy kind of grin as he leaned toward you across the counter.

“Hey,” the guy said, eyes flicking up and down like he’d done it a thousand times. “You ever seen someone actually win this thing?”

You blinked. “Uh, no. First time here.”

“You’ve got good taste, though.” He nodded toward Silas. “Boyfriend’s got the right idea.”

Then his eyes dropped slightly — just for a second — before flicking back to yours. “But if he doesn’t win… maybe I’ll let you pick a prize anyway.”

The way he said it didn’t come off like a joke.

You froze a little, unsure how to respond — but before you could, Silas had already turned back around.

Still calm. Still quiet. But different.

He stepped just a little closer to you, his hand finding the small of your back like instinct. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just… there.

“I’ll win,” he said simply — not to the guy, but to you.

And then he picked up the first baseball.

The first throw knocked down two cans.

The second? Clean sweep.

Third one missed — just barely. But Silas didn’t even look disappointed. He just turned back to the guy, eyes unreadable.

“Close enough?” he asked, still polite, still steady.

The booth worker hesitated. Shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

Silas looked at you. “Pick something.”

You reached for a plush star hanging from the top rack. He handed it to you without saying much — but you could feel it. That shift in the air. That protective edge wrapped in calm.

As you walked away, the star tucked under your arm, you bumped your shoulder lightly against his.

“You okay?”

Silas looked over at you, brown eyes softening.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You smiled. “You were chill about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna make a scene,” he said, fingers brushing yours again, “but he needed to know.”

“Know what?”

Silas squeezed your hand once.

“That you’re not up for grabs.”

And just like that, the tension slipped away, replaced by that quiet warmth only he could give — steady, sure, and entirely yours.