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Susie decides two things immediately.
One, this festival smells incredible.
Two, this is absolutely NOT a date.
…Right?
It is warm enough that the air clings to her skin, thick with sugar and grease and grass. Not gross-warm. Just that late-summer heat that makes everything smell louder. Fried dough, sunscreen, kettle corn, something vaguely like corn dogs but probably not legally corn dogs. Lanterns hang from strings overhead, orange and yellow paper bobbing lazily in the breeze like they might fall and bean someone if they get bored enough. One already looks like it’s making plans. There’s music somewhere. Not good music. Just noise. Banjo-ish. Whatever.
She cracks her knuckles and looks around.
Kris stands beside her, hands tucked into the sleeves of their jacket, shoulders slightly hunched. Their bangs flutter when the wind kicks up. They look comfortable in that quiet way they always do, like they’re just absorbing everything. Like if she left them here for three hours, they’d still be staring at the same lantern and having a great time. The dumbass. It totally didn’t warm her chest up. Totally not.
They glance sideways at her, then away again, like they’re checking something and pretending they’re not. That sets her on edge for no reason at all.
“Okay,” Susie says, clapping her hands together. “Game plan. I eat everything that looks even remotely edible, and you stop me if it starts looking illegal.”
Kris tilts their head. Their mouth twitches. They sign something quick, two sharp motions, and Susie knows immediately it’s a challenge.
“That was a joke,” she adds. “Mostly. I bet if Ralsei were here, he would already be drafting a safety manual or something. With diagrams.”
They nod once, slow, like they’re agreeing to a very serious pact. Then they point decisively toward the food stalls.
Both of them start walking, immediately getting swallowed up by the crowd. Hometown does not know how to do personal space. People brush past Susie’s arm, some bump against her shoulder, heck, even a kid almost crashed behind her against her non-existent tail. She bares her teeth at a guy who steps on her boot, and he apologizes so fast he nearly trips over himself.
She grins. Festival rules.
First stop is a food stall with a hand-painted sign that says CARAMEL APPLES in uneven letters. The apples are glossy, red, buried under amber shine, nuts stuck to some of them like they were attacked mid-process. The smell hits her hard. She has to keep her stupid eyes from immediately drifting toward Kris, imagining burying her face in their hair. Wow. NOPE. Illegal thought. Moving on. She hates that her head does that now.
Susie slaps a few bills on the counter.
Kris starts signing something. It’s a warning. A very clear, very smug warning.
Too late.
She’s already biting into it, teeth cracking through caramel with a satisfying snap. It sticks to her fangs. She chews aggressively, eyes watering a little because it’s hot and cold at the same time, and also she bit too hard. She eats the whole damn thing like that, caramel, apple, stick and all, crunching straight through without hesitation. The vendor makes a noise like they’ve just watched a crime.
“Oh hell yeah,” she says, chewing. “This rules.”
Kris watches her chew like they’re trying to decide if she’s going to choke or if she just invented the most efficient way of eating. Their eyes linger on the caramel stuck to the corner of her mouth.
Susie notices.
She bares her teeth wider on purpose. “What?”
Kris shakes their head quickly, grinning, and looks away.
They don’t stop smiling for a while, and that pisses her off in a fond, irritating way.
They wander past the game booths next. Ring toss. Dart balloons. One of those things where you shoot water into a clown’s mouth and make its head explode. Susie scoffs at that one.
“That thing looks like it’d scream if you hit it wrong.”
Kris squints at the clown. Slowly nods. Then, pointedly, they sign: You’d still do it.
“See,” she says. “You get it.”
She absolutely would.
She wins a stuffed monster that looks vaguely like a rabbit that gave up halfway through existing. The guy running the booth hands it over with a forced smile and a look that says he absolutely should not have underestimated her arm strength.
She tosses it at Kris.
They fumble it. Catch it against their chest.
Susie snorts. “You look like it just attacked you.”
Kris hugs it anyway. Then they very deliberately hold it up so it’s facing Susie.
Susie pretends not to notice that Kris keeps the stupid rabbit tucked under one arm as they walk. Like it’s important. Maybe Kris just liked bunnies or something; it couldn’t be because she got it for them. Maybe. No. Absolutely not. They just had a bad habit of hoarding anyway. Their pockets were a nightmare. She still didn’t know how they fit half of Castletown in there. Random junk, Roulxs, Lancer, hell, even Starwalker. Were their pockets cozy? Why did her brain just think cozy? Pockets weren’t cozy. They were pockets. Fabric holes. That’s it. It wasn’t like she thought it would be cool to slip into their pocket and— Nope. Stop. Abort.
They stop at a prize wheel booth. One of those flimsy spinning ones with the pegs that clack obnoxiously, painted in colors that look sun-bleached and mildly haunted.
A sign reads: ONE SPIN 5 dollars.
Another sign, smaller, says: NO CHEATING.
Susie squints. “That sounds fake.”
Kris leans in, reading it carefully. They tap the sign once. Then twice. Then glance at Susie.
“Oh no,” Susie mutters. “You’re thinking.”
They sign something quickly. A question. Their eyebrows lift.
She snorts. “Yeah, I can spin it. That’s not the problem.”
The guy running the booth eyes them like he already regrets existing. Susie flicks the wheel. Hard. It spins. It clacks. It slows.
Lands on…
FREE STICKER.
She stares at it. Then at Kris. Then back at the wheel.
“That’s bull,” she says flatly.
Kris presses their lips together, shoulders shaking. They sign something fast and small, like they’re trying not to laugh.
“What? What’d you say?” Susie demands.
They mime peeling something off and sticking it dramatically to her face.
She barks a laugh before she can stop herself. “Oh shut up.”
The guy hands over a sticker. It’s a sparkly star with googly eyes.
Susie slaps it onto Kris’s sleeve immediately.
“There,” she says. “Improved.”
Kris freezes. Looks down at it. Then, very deliberately, peels it off and sticks it to Susie’s cheek. Right under her eye.
She stiffens.
“You’re dead.”
Kris bolts.
Susie lunges after them, laughing despite herself, weaving through the crowd, nearly bowling over a couple holding lemonades. Kris is fast in that weird, quiet way, dodging around people without touching them, glancing back just long enough to make sure she’s still chasing.
She is.
She catches them by the wrist near the edge of the midway. The bunny plushie falls from their hands.
“Gotcha,” she says, breathing a little harder than she wants to admit.
Kris doesn’t pull away. They look down at where she’s holding them. Then back up at her. Their face is flushed. From running. Probably. Definitely just running. They lift their free hand and tap the sticker on her cheek. Just once.
Susie forgets what she was about to say.
“…Don’t,” she mutters, which is not a real sentence.
Kris tilts their head, innocent as hell.
She lets go first.
“Let’s keep moving, dumbass,” she says, rolling her eyes, arms crossed.
The next booth looks fake.
Not like scam fake. Like, existentially fake. Like it should not be here, and yet, unfortunately is.
A folding table. A crooked banner that says:
“sans’s totally normal festival game”
The letters are uneven. One of them is backwards. The word “normal” is underlined three times.
Behind the table is Sans.
He’s sitting in a lawn chair that is absolutely not regulation festival equipment, feet kicked up on the table, hands folded behind his skull. He’s wearing the same hoodie as always. He looks like he’s been here for years. He looks like he just showed up five seconds ago.
Susie stops dead.
“This guy again?…Nope.”
Kris stops too. Slowly looks from the sign to Sans.
Sans lifts a hand in a lazy wave.
“hey, kid. hey, other kid. welcome to my extremely legitimate business venture.”
Susie squints. “Why are you here?”
“festival,” Sans says. “seemed like a good place to set up shop. lotta foot traffic. lotta feet. lotta bones inside those feet.”
She bares her teeth. “That didn’t answer anything.”
Sans shrugs. “it answered something.”
Kris leans closer to the table, curiosity winning out like it always does. They peer down at what’s laid out.
Three paper cups.
A small rubber ball.
A cardboard sign that says PICK A CUP, WIN A PRIZE.
Susie groans. “Oh my god. It’s the shell game.”
“woah,” Sans says. “language. this is a cup-based experience.”
Kris glances at Susie. Then back at the cups. Then at Sans.
They raise their eyebrows.
Sans grins wider. “yeah, yeah. you got it. ball goes under the cup. i move the cups around. you pick the cup. simple.”
Susie crosses her arms. “What’s the prize?”
Sans reaches under the table and pulls out a paper bag. “mystery item,” he says. “could be useful. could be life-changing. could be a sock.”
“That’s terrible,” Susie says immediately. “Kris is probably in."
Kris lifts a hand, signing a quick question.
Sans nods. “five bucks.”
Susie snorts. “Absolutely not.”
Kris places the bunny plushie on the floor and reaches into their pocket.
“No,” Susie says, pointing at them. “Don’t you dare. This is how he gets you.”
Sans looks genuinely touched. “wow. someone who believes in me.”
Kris pauses. Looks at Susie.
Then, with deliberate slowness, puts the money down anyway.
Sans claps once. “atta kid.”
Susie throws her hands up. “Unbelievable. It’s not like I’m against gambling or anything, dude. But with that guy? Hell nah.”
Sans sets the ball under a cup. Moves the cups around. Slowly. Badly. L,ike he is not even pretending to try.
Susie watches closely anyway. Just in case. Because she’s not stupid.
The cups stop.
Sans gestures. “pick your destiny.”
Kris points. Sans lifts the cup. Nothing.
Susie bursts out laughing. “HA.”
Sans nods solemnly. “yeah. that tracks.”
Kris blinks. Looks under the other cup. Nothing. They check the third. Also nothing.
Susie wipes at her eyes. “You didn’t even hide it.”
Sans shrugs. “never said i would.”
Kris looks up at him. Then at the table. Then, very deliberately reaches over and lifts Sans’s foot off the table.
The ball is under his slipper.
Sans pauses.
“…huh,” he says. “guess you win.”
Susie loses it. Full-on cackling.
Sans hands over the bag. “congrats. you outplayed me fair and square.”
Kris peeks inside.
It is a sock.
One sock.
Susie laughs harder. “Oh my god. That’s it? That’s the prize?”
Sans nods. “yep. slightly used. I told you it could be a sock”
She recoils. “That’s disgusting.”
Kris pulls it out anyway. Examines it. Then, without warning, flicks it at Susie’s face.
She yelps. “HEY.”
Kris grins.
Sans points finger guns at them. “natural born menace.”
Susie grabs the sock, ready to throw it back, then freezes.
“…Why does this feel weirdly nice?”
Sans squints. “oh yeah. forgot to mention. that sock is enchanted.”
She stares at it. “What.”
“makes you feel like you’re winning at something,” Sans says. “Emotionally.”
She looks at Kris. Kris nods, dead serious.
“…I hate both of you,” Susie mutters, shoving the sock into her pocket anyway.
Sans waves as they leave. “come back anytime. or don’t. time is a flat circle.”
Susie drags Kris away by the sleeve.
“Do not,” she says, “ever let yourself give him money again.”
Kris signs something with one hand.
She squints. “What?”
They mime flipping a cup.
Susie groans. “You suck.”
They both laugh.
They don’t plan to go to the Ferris wheel.
Which is stupid, because it’s right there. Big and glowing and impossible to ignore, all white lights and slow turning spokes like it’s watching them. Like it knows something. Susie pretends not to look at it. Kris absolutely looks at it. For longer than necessary.
They drift near it. That’s what she tells herself. Just drifting. Wandering. Totally normal friend activity.
They stop at a booth selling lemonade that tastes like it was made by someone who’s only heard rumors about lemons. Susie drinks half of it anyway and makes a face so dramatic that the kid running the booth looks personally offended.
“Dude,” she says, handing it to Kris. “They messed this up.”
Kris takes a sip. Blinks. Takes another, longer sip.
They nod.
Susie stares. “You’re lying! No way…Traitor.”
Kris shrugs, all innocent. Wipes their mouth with the back of their sleeve. There’s sugar on their lip. Susie looks at it for half a second too long and then aggressively looks anywhere else. The sky. The lights. The ground. The ground is very interesting, actually.
They end up at one of those photo booths. The kind that spits out grainy strips and charges way too much.
Susie scoffs immediately.
Too immediately.
“Scam,” Susie says.
But she slows down anyway. Pretends she isn’t reading the sample photos. Pretends her foot doesn’t angle toward the booth.
Kris points at the sample photos taped to the side. Two people. Laughing. Blurry. Close.
Susie snorts. “That’s fake.”
Kris raises an eyebrow.
She folds immediately. “Okay, fine. It’s fake, but like. Funny fake.”
They cram inside. It’s cramped. Obviously. Susie’s knees are jammed up weird, and she has to hunch so she doesn’t headbutt the ceiling. Kris smells like detergent and sugar and night air.
The flash goes off.
Susie throws up devil horns.
The next flash, she accidentally headbutts Kris.
“Shit, sorry.”
Kris laughs silently, shoulders shaking.
The last flash catches them both mid-motion, Susie scowling and Kris leaning slightly toward her without realizing it.
When the strip prints out, Susie grabs it first.
She stares.
The pictures look dumb. Bad. Perfect. Kris’s smile is small but real. Susie looks like herself. Too much herself. Too close. She shoves it into her pocket before her brain can finish whatever thought it’s trying to start.
“Let’s go,” she says too fast. “Before I steal the machine.”
Kris follows.
That’s when the Ferris wheel line just sort of appears in front of them.
Susie stops.
The wheel creaks overhead, slow and steady. Lights reflecting in Kris’s eyes when they glance up. People laughing in line. Someone drops popcorn. It smells like butter and metal and summer.
Susie scratches the back of her neck.
“…So,” she says. Casual. Normal. “That thing’s probably unsafe.”
Kris looks at her. Then at the wheel. Then back at her. They sign something small. Questioning.
Susie squints. “Am I scared? No. I just don’t trust rides that look like they’d collapse if you sneezed wrong.”
Kris smiles.
Oh, she hates that smile. That knowing one. Like they’re not pushing, just offering. Always offering.
“…Fine,” she mutters. “But if we die, I’m haunting you.”
They step into line.
The Ferris wheel car rocks a little when they get in.
She sits first, legs spread, arms crossed, claiming space like she always does. Kris sits beside her, careful, knees pulled in slightly, hands resting on their lap. the bunny plushie seated by their feet.
There’s space between them.
Good. Normal. Fine.
The door shuts. The car jerks. Starts rising.
Susie stares straight ahead.
The ground pulls away beneath them. Lights blur together. The noise of the festival fades into something softer, distant, like it’s underwater.
“…Huh,” she says. “Guess it’s not that bad.”
Kris nods. Looks out the window. Down at the people shrinking below.
Susie follows their gaze by accident. Bad idea. Her stomach flips. Not fear. Something else. Something stupid. She looks away quickly. Focuses on Kris instead.
They’re leaning forward a little, hands braced on the seat. Wind tugs at their hair. The lights paint their face in gold and white, flickering. They look small up here. Quiet. Like they belong in this slow, glowing space.
Susie swallows.
She says something dumb just to break it. “So. Uh. If this thing breaks, I’m pretty sure I could jump us down.”
Kris tilts their head. Clearly imagining it. They sign back something quick.
Susie snorts. “Yeah, okay, maybe not without breaking your legs. Whatever.”
The wheel climbs higher. The car sways. Silence stretches. Not awkward. Just heavy. Full.
Susie taps her foot. Stops. Starts again.
She becomes very aware of where Kris’s hand is. Close. Too close. Not even touching. But still. Too close.
Her brain starts being annoying.
Don’t look.
Stop thinking about it. Don’t think about how their fingers are right there, like it wouldn’t even take much. Don’t imagine their skin or how they might feel if she just…held their hand. Just…Don’t.
She looks.
Don’t think about kissing them.
She absolutely thinks about kissing them.
The car reaches the top.
Everything pauses.
The whole town spreads out beneath them, lights like stars spilled on the ground. The air is cooler up here. The noise is gone.
Kris exhales slowly. Soft. They look at Susie. Not away. Not sideways. At her. Like they’re bracing for something.
Their pinky brushes Susie’s. Just barely. It’s nothing. It’s an accident. It has to be. Susie jolts like she’s been shocked.
She snaps, “Dude.”
Kris freezes. Looks at her. Wide-eyed. Immediately starts pulling their hand back.
“No,” Susie says, too fast. “I mean, not, I just—”
She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “You can’t just do that.”
Kris signs a quick apology, flustered. Then they add something else. Smaller. Careful. An explanation. A question. Are you mad?
She peeks at them through her fingers. They look nervous. Hopeful. Terrified. Same mess she feels. Something in her chest twists.
“…You’re such a weirdo,” she mutters, voice softer than she means.
Kris smiles, small and crooked. But they don’t move closer. They let her choose. Damn it. The wheel starts moving again. Susie’s heart is beating way too loudly.
Can Kris hear it?
Probably.
Hell! Of course they can. It’s basically yelling. Thumping like an idiot. Like, hey, hi, hello, I am feeling something, and I don’t know what to do about it. She should move. Say something. Make a joke. Crack a comment about heights or death or literally anything else. But if she opens her mouth, she’s pretty sure something embarrassing will fall out.
Her chest feels tight, like she swallowed a fist. This is stupid. It’s just a ride. Just Kris. Just lights and air, and their stupid hand being stupidly close.
Why does everything feel so sharp all of a sudden? Why does she care this much? She hates this. She hates not knowing what to do.
She hates that part of her is hoping—no, no, shut up, don’t think that.
Don’t want things.
Wanting things is dangerous.
Wanting this is dangerous.
Her brain keeps yelling abort abort abort, and her body just… doesn’t listen.
She doesn’t think about it anymore. Thinking is overrated.
Susie leans in and kisses them.
It’s clumsy. Too fast. She bumps her forehead against the side of the car and barely even notices. Their noses collide. It’s warm and awkward and real.
Kris freezes for half a second.
Then they kiss her back.
Their hand grips the seat. Susie’s fist tangles in their sleeve. The lights spin around them. The world feels very far away.
She pulls back first, breathless, eyes wide.
“…Don’t make it weird,” she blurts.
Kris laughs silently, cheeks red, eyes bright.
They sign something simple. They sign: Too late.
Susie scoffs, smiling despite herself. “Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.”
The Ferris wheel keeps turning.
Neither of them moves away.