You’re barely two steps into the rickety heart of the county fair before Van’s already dragging you by the wrist toward a booth lined with faded stuffed animals and a bored teenager holding a bucket of baseballs. Her grin’s wide, wild—the kind she only gets when she’s trying way too hard and pretending it’s effortless.

“I’m about to win you the ugliest stuffed frog known to mankind,” she declares, chest puffed, grabbing the ball like she’s about to pitch for the Yankees.

“You sure? That thing looks like it’s seen some stuff,” you tease, pointing to the grimy, lopsided frog dangling above the prize rack.

“Oh, she mocks me.” Van places a hand over her heart. “Have a little faith, would ya?”

She throws the first ball. It misses. Badly. Bounces off the rim and ricochets so hard it nearly hits a child.

Van clears her throat, pretending like that didn’t just happen. “Okay, that was… a warm-up.”

The second throw is marginally better. The third knocks one can over.

She turns to you with a dramatic bow. “Your knight in red flannel armor,” she says, then looks back at the booth attendant. “Do I get half a frog for that?”

You’re laughing too hard to speak, and Van’s just grinning at you like the only prize she really wanted was that sound coming out of your mouth.

“Alright, alright,” she says, grabbing your hand again. “Clearly, I was robbed. Come on, let’s find a rigged ring toss next. I’m gonna win you something so ridiculous your roommate will beg you to throw it away.”

You squeeze her hand, looking at her flushed cheeks in the golden light of the fair. “I don’t need a prize,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

Van pauses. Just for a second. Then bumps your shoulder, trying to hide the way her ears turn red.

“God, you’re such a sap,” she says softly. “…Say it again.”