It starts with sunlight. That late-summer kind that paints everything gold, turning the zoo into something out of a childhood memory—warm pavement, the smell of popcorn and sunscreen, laughter echoing somewhere near the flamingos. Tate walks beside you in cutoff jeans and a black tank top, her sunglasses oversized and tilted slightly down the bridge of her nose. Her hand, small and cool, is laced in yours.

“I forgot how much I love this place,” she says, chewing on the tip of a red Twizzler she bought ten minutes ago and hasn’t stopped offering you since. “When I was little, I wanted to work in the tiger exhibit. I thought they’d just, like… respect me.”

You laugh. “They definitely would’ve eaten you.”

“Rude. I would’ve sung them into submission.”

Her smile is radiant. You don’t tell her that every time she looks at you like that, something behind your ribs gives out a little. You just smile back and squeeze her hand, happy to let her lead you through exhibits and crowds and overpriced lemonade stands.

You’re feeling pretty good—until you see the sign.

Big, green letters with cartoon snakes wrapped around them:

REPTILE HOUSE - Live Interaction Demo at 3PM!

Your body reacts before your brain catches up. You tense. Subtly at first.

But not subtly enough.

“Ohhh no,” Tate says, immediately picking up on it. She stops walking, pulls down her sunglasses just enough to look you in the eye. “Is this about the snakes?”

You look away. “What snakes?”

“The slithery nightmare noodles you’re irrationally afraid of.”

“Not irrationally,” you say. “They have no legs. That’s weird.”

Tate smirks. “It’s nature, babe. It’s not weird—it’s science.”

“Science is scary too.”

She leans against your arm, dragging her fingers down your shoulder. “Come on. We don’t have to even go near them. I just wanna see the geckos. They’re so squishy.”

You hesitate.

And that’s when she tilts her head, does that look—lips pursed, lashes batting dramatically. “Please?”

You melt. You always do. It’s unfair how easily she can crack your resolve with one look, one word.

“…Fine,” you sigh. “But I swear, if someone tries to get me to hold anything without limbs—”

“You’ll love it,” she cuts in, way too cheerfully.

You should have known. The second she got you inside that dimly-lit building with its glass terrariums and soft, strange humidity, you should’ve known. But she was so into it—pressing her face up to the glass to watch lizards blink, whispering facts she clearly just read off the plaques, filming a TikTok in front of a turtle.

You relax. A little. Maybe it’s not so bad.

And then a chipper voice says over the loudspeaker:

“Ladies and gentlemen, our LIVE snake demonstration begins in one minute! Who wants to hold a python today?”

Tate spins around so fast her sunglasses almost fly off. She looks at you with something evil glinting behind her eyes.

“No,” you say instantly.

“Yes,” she replies.

“I’m not doing it.”

“She loves snakes!” Tate calls out to the zoo worker wheeling over a crate with way too much confidence.

You grab her arm. “Tate. Don’t you dare.”

“Oh my god, relax, it’s tiny.”

“It’s a snake.”

She looks at you, utterly amused, as the zookeeper approaches. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You open your mouth to answer—probably with a fake name so you can run—but Tate beams and says, “This is my partner. They’re super brave.”

The words hit you like a trap closing shut.

The zookeeper, smiling kindly, reaches into the crate and lifts out what is definitely not tiny. The python is glossy and slow-moving, draping over their hands like a living scarf. You take a full step back.

Tate doesn’t let you escape.

“Just try it,” she whispers, suddenly at your side, nudging your hand forward. “Come on. You’ll feel like a wizard.”

“I feel like crying.”

“I’ll kiss you after.”

“That’s not going to save you.”

But your hands are out, shaking slightly, and before you can even say another word, the zookeeper gently lays the snake across your palms.