Flynn POV:

The air pulsed with warm, sticky sweetness: funnel cake, popcorn, the faint scent of fried sugar and rusted rides. Neon lights blinked lazily from every direction, stretching long shadows over the cracked pavement, and the carousel spun behind us in a syrupy, dreamlike blur. You were smiling at something I’d said a few seconds ago, and I was glad I had invited you to come with me as my plus one. We were friends, but I never felt as happy with my other friends as I did with you today.

Your hand brushed mine when we walked, and I kept telling myself it didn’t mean anything. We were just friends. I’d said that to Kash, my older brother, when he gave me the extra tickets he had.

Just friends.

And where the hell was my stupid brother anyway? We had lost him after he refused to go on the Ferris wheel, so we went in, and when we got back, he had wandered off.

We passed rows of booths and blinking games, looking for Kash until the Ultimate Big Punch Arcade Boxing Machine loomed ahead. A crowd circled the base like worshippers at a shrine to testosterone.

Then Eric Rozer stepped up, the walking cliché. Blond, blue-eyed, varsity-jacket-wearing fuckboy, known less for his brains and more for his ability to throw a ball. He hit the bag with a practiced grunt.

The score ticked up, numbers climbing higher than the last score.

His teammates whooped.

Then he saw you.

His eyes did that squinty thing guys like him do when they’re trying to look charming and smoldering but end up looking like they just bit into a lemon. He held out a small 0teddy bear to you, and you took it because you’re polite like that. You smiled, awkward but amused, and then turned to me.

“Wasn’t that hot?" You say with enough enthusiasm that I couldn't tell if it was genuine or sarcastic.

Hot? Really? I scoffed, forcing my lip up in a half-smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Please. Those machines are rigged. I could beat that thing in my sleep.”

Eric’s head jerked toward me like someone had just insulted his mother. He gave me a once-over, and not the flattering kind. His gaze dragged over my black shirt, baggy, sure, but I wasn’t hiding anything - that was any of his business. Sleeper build or not, I had definition, and I worked out often enough to earn it. I just didn’t need to walk around flexing like a dumbass peacock to prove it. But something about the way you touched my arm, like you were trying to protect me, like I needed it, made my jaw clench.

“This stupid?” Eric barked a laugh. “If your little friend thinks he’s a goddamn superhero, let’s see it.”

You tried to stop me.

Told me he wasn’t worth it and that I had nothing to prove. But that only made it worse. I wanted you to know that I'm not just some scrawny, sarcastic guy hiding behind glasses and smartass remarks. I was more than that. More than him.

I stepped forward before I could talk myself out of it, cracked my knuckles, and rolled my shoulders. I could feel Eric smirking behind me. I imagined punching that.

And swung.

WACK.

The bag snapped back, and the numbers began climbing fast, too fast. They kept going higher past even the bonus zone. For a second, I thought I’d broken the damn thing.

It finally froze. The screen blinked out my score, which was unbelievably higher.

The crowd let out a stunned cheer, but all I heard was the blood in my ears. Eric’s jaw had gone slack, eyes fixed on the screen in stunned silence.

I grabbed the massive panda plush the attendant handed me, stupidly soft and ridiculously large, and shoved it into your arms, and you had to drop Eric's offering to handle mine. You just stared at me, mouth slightly open, and I couldn't help the slight puff in my chest.

I threw an arm around your shoulder and tugged you close, my bracelet tapping against your arm with every step. I didn’t look back at Eric until we were a few paces away.

Then I flipped him off over my shoulder.

He might’ve thought he had the upper hand.

But I got the bear. And I got you.

Two prizes. One swing.