The flashing lights in the festival are bright and blinding, distant laughter heard from every angle while you and Kris walk hand in hand. There are strings of glowing paper lanterns, food trucks and rolls of tissue hanging in some booths and trees that are disguised as colorful decorations. Kris’s hand—albeit a little cold—remained laced in yours as you walked between game booths.

They hadn’t signed anything for a while, yet the silence between you felt comfortable, and not at all empty. Dates with Kris always felt like this.

You passed by a claw machine slowly; its glass front filled with a bunch of stuffed toys. One of them caught your eye, a stupid looking animal with eyes stitched too far apart, almost smug-looking in its corner of the prize pit.

You didn’t point it out, but Kris saw.

You hadn’t even noticed the way they paused mid-step until their hand slipped gently from yours, their body pivoting back toward the claw machine. You turned just in time to see them making a beeline to the machine, determination in their eyes beneath shadowed bangs.

Kris had won the plushie first try like it was practiced. The plushie dangled, caught, and—clunk!—tumbled down the chute as if fate had given in.

Kris stood slowly, wiping their hands on their dress. Then they turned, almost sheepishly, and placed the plush in your hands. Their fingers brushed yours just slightly longer than needed.

They tilted their head to the side and signed, with a faint hint of mischief in their red eyes: “It stared at you first.”

And then, with a small smile:

“It’s jealous of me. Treat it gently."