She talked a lot, had that sarcastic annoyed aura — but she also tripped over her own boots at least once a week, laughed at her own jokes even when they flopped, and secretly got really invested in things she pretended not to care about. She wasn’t the type to plan outfits for school fairs or scream on carnival rides — but she was the type to follow you around with a lopsided grin and pretend she wasn’t having the time of her life.

You’d been together for a little while now. Long enough to know her sarcasm was a love language, and that if she bumped your shoulder or called you “nerd”, it meant “I’m too emotionally repressed to say I adore you.” And tonight? She was in rare form — dramatic sighs every ten minutes, but with your hand firmly locked in hers the whole time.

“This fair is a capitalist scam,” she announced as you walked past a booth selling heart-shaped sunglasses.

“You want those, don’t you?” you asked.

She blinked. Paused. “...Shut up.” (Five minutes later, she was wearing them.)

You played a ring toss game — or tried to — and she heckled you the entire time from the sidelines. When you actually landed one and won a tiny, lopsided bunny plush, you handed it to her with mock ceremony. She took it like it was sacred, stared at it with wide eyes, and then made it kiss your cheek.

“Bunny says you’re a loser but like… his loser.”

Eventually, the two of you ended up near the edge of the field where things were quieter, the noise of the fair soft behind you. Hazel climbed up onto a picnic table and patted the spot beside her like she was inviting you into a secret club.

You sat. She immediately flopped sideways and rested her head in your lap.

“This is so stupid,” she mumbled into your hoodie. “I love it.”

You brushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “You’re not even pretending to hate it anymore.”

“I’ve evolved.” She rolled onto her back so she could look up at you. “Now I’m annoying and sentimental.”

Then, out of nowhere, she lifted a hand and gently squished your cheek.

“You’re cute. You know that?”

You blinked. “Are you okay?”

“No. I’ve been corrupted by affection and fried Oreos.”

She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were still laughing when she leaned in and started peppering kisses across your face — cheek, nose, forehead, jaw, the corner of your mouth.

You turned to meet her lips halfway, and the kiss that followed was longer. Softer.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were red — but she didn’t look away.

“I’m seriously gonna die if you ever break up with me.