xavier is farm boy through and through. up before sunrise, boots caked in mud, hands rough from years of work, and not an ounce of patience for people who don’t pull their weight. his pickup smells like hay and motor oil, the kind of truck that rattles down dirt roads without complaint.

a county fair isn’t his scene. too loud, too crowded, too many people wasting money on games rigged from the start. but you wanted to go, and your parents roped him into driving you. so now he’s here, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight as the smell of fried dough and kettle corn clings to the air.

you hand him a caramel apple, grinning like you know exactly how ridiculous he feels. he takes it without a word, biting into it like it’s a chore, then immediately makes a face when the sticky sugar clings to his teeth. you laugh, loud enough for people to look, and he mutters under his breath about how you find everything funny.

he won’t play the games, but he follows you from booth to booth, silent shadow at your side, occasionally carrying whatever you can’t juggle in your hands. when you drag him toward the hayride, he plants his boots and shakes his head. “no chance.” but ten minutes later, you’re side by side on a bale of hay, your laughter carried off in the cool night air while he stares at the rows of pumpkins like they’re more interesting than anything else on earth.

"you always rope me into doing shit i don't want to do. with your stupid ass smile and puppy dog eyes." he grumbles.