Work Text:
Smallville had a way of making Tim feel overdressed even when he technically wasn’t.
He’d abandoned the jacket before they left the Kent farm, rolled the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows, and traded the shoes he’d arrived in for sneakers after Kon stared at them for several seconds and asked whether he planned to audit the county fair. Tim had informed him that there was nothing wrong with his shoes. You’d sided with Kon immediately, mostly because Tim had actually considered keeping the loafers on until Kon threatened to leave without him.
Twenty minutes later, Tim was walking between the two of you through a crowd full of denim, sun-faded baseball caps, children with painted faces, and enough people who knew Kon personally that you’d stopped believing his claim that Smallville wasn’t really that small.
“You know everyone here,” you said.
Kon looked offended. “I do not.”
A woman passing in the opposite direction lifted one hand. “Conner!”
“Hey, Mrs. Ellis.”
You glanced at Tim, who met your eyes for a second before looking ahead again.
“That proves nothing,” Kon said.
The afternoon had settled into the kind of late-summer warmth that was pleasant as long as you didn’t stay in direct sunlight for too long. A breeze moved through the fairgrounds carrying the mixed scents of kettle corn, fried dough, cut grass, livestock, and something aggressively cinnamon from a stand near the entrance. Country music drifted from speakers somewhere beyond the food tents, intermittently drowned out by children shouting from the midway.
Kon had been talking about the fair for weeks. Technically, he’d invited Tim first, and technically, Tim had been the one to invite you, but Kon had looked far too pleased when you agreed to come. You’d assumed it was because he liked bringing people to Smallville. He could complain about farm chores and the drive to Metropolis for hours, but he was always different here, looser somehow, happier whenever he was somewhere with enough open space that the horizon didn’t end in glass.
Besides, Tim and Kon had been dating for almost a year. You’d known both of them considerably longer, which meant you’d witnessed the entire excruciating progression from mutual pining to whatever they’d decided counted as flirting to finally, mercifully, getting together.
You’d been happy for them. You were still happy for them, which made the inconvenient fact that you’d fallen for both of your best friends considerably harder to admit to yourself. Ignoring it had seemed like the safest option, and you’d become impressively committed to doing exactly that.
“You want lemonade?” Kon asked.
“Yes.”
Tim glanced toward the nearest stand and frowned. “It’s eight dollars.”
You looked at him, and Kon did the same.
Tim managed another step before noticing neither of you had followed. “What?”
“You’re complaining about eight dollars,” you said.
“For lemonade.”
Kon stared at him. “You’re Tim Drake.”
“I’m aware.”
“Bruce Wayne raised you.”
“That doesn’t make the lemonade worth eight dollars.”
“You were rich before Bruce Wayne raised you,” you added.
Tim’s expression tightened. “Again, irrelevant.”
Kon slung an arm across his shoulders, looking delighted now. “Baby, you could probably buy the lemonade stand.”
“I don’t want the lemonade stand. I want them to charge a reasonable amount for lemonade.”
“You’re the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”
“And?”
“And you’re arguing with a handwritten sign over eight dollars.”
“It’s the principle.”
You laughed, and Kon turned toward you with the satisfaction of someone who had just acquired supporting evidence.
“See? This is what I deal with.”
Tim frowned. “You’re the one who turned this into a discussion about my net worth.”
“I know, honey,” Kon said.
“Don’t honey me.”
Kon grinned and squeezed his shoulder. “Baby, if you want, I’ll buy you a lemonade too.”
Tim’s expression went flat. “Don’t call me baby when you’re trying to financially manipulate me.”
“You like it when I call you baby.”
“Different circumstances.”
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Kon’s attention immediately shifted toward you, his grin widening. “You want me to call you baby too?”
Your heart performed something deeply unhelpful.
“I want lemonade.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Kon.”
“Fine.” He released Tim and started walking backward toward the stand. “Three lemonades, coming right up.”
“Two,” Tim called after him.
Kon kept walking. “Three.”
“I’m not paying eight dollars for lemonade.”
“I’m buying it,” Kon called back.
“That isn’t better.”
He turned around and continued toward the stand.
You glanced sideways at Tim. “You know he’s going to come back with one for you.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll drink it.”
Tim sighed. “I know.”
Loving Tim had become easiest to ignore when he was being mildly insufferable. It was considerably harder when the afternoon heat made him push his sleeves a little farther up his forearms or when amusement softened the line of his mouth because Kon was being ridiculous. You’d gotten very good at redirecting your attention whenever that happened, which was why the banner advertising prize-winning pumpkins suddenly became fascinating.
Kon returned with three enormous plastic cups, passed one to you, and held another out to Tim without comment. Tim accepted it with all the dignity of a man who had spent several minutes objecting to its existence.
Kon waited until he took the first sip. “Well?”
Tim swallowed. “Overpriced.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“You didn’t ask anything.”
Kon drank from his own cup and immediately brightened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“It’s basically sugar,” you said after tasting yours.
“Exactly.”
Tim took another drink despite himself. You caught Kon noticing and shook your head before he could comment, and although his mouth twitched, he apparently decided preserving the peace was worth more than winning.
The fair was larger than you’d expected. Kon led you through it without needing signs, occasionally changing course because someone wanted to greet him or because he’d spotted something he insisted the two of you needed to see. There was a baking competition inside one of the exhibition halls, rows of produce judged with enough seriousness to require ribbons, and an entire livestock barn that Kon entered with the confidence of someone who had spent far more time around farm animals than either of you.
Tim stopped several feet inside when a goat turned toward him and stared.
He stared back.
“You look nervous,” you said.
“I’m assessing.”
“It’s a goat.”
“Yes.”
Kon scratched the animal between its horns. “He likes you.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“You have a trustworthy face.”
You exchanged a glance with Tim.
Kon sighed. “Both of you are rude.”
The goat eventually decided Tim was less interesting than Kon’s shirt and caught the hem between its teeth. Whatever dignity Kon might have maintained disappeared when he tried to retrieve the fabric without hurting the animal while Tim calmly documented the entire struggle on his phone. By the time you escaped the barn, Kon had goat saliva along one side of his shirt, Tim had an entire series of photographs he refused to delete, and you’d laughed hard enough that your stomach hurt.
Kon made one unsuccessful attempt to steal Tim’s phone before giving up. Tim tucked it into his pocket with a smugness he’d deny if challenged, and something quiet passed between them when their eyes met.
You saw those moments often. They’d known each other long before they started dating, and years of missions, arguments, injuries, impossible situations, and stubborn friendship had given them an entire language that rarely required words. You’d always liked watching it happen, but sometime over the past year, simple fondness had turned into a selfish wish to be included.
Kon bumped his shoulder into Tim’s as they walked. Tim caught two fingers in one of Kon’s belt loops and tugged him back, nearly making him stumble despite the fact that both of them knew Kon could have resisted without effort.
Kon laughed and reached past Tim to catch your wrist. You barely had time to react before he pulled you into the space between them, and Tim’s hand automatically closed around your elbow when you nearly collided with Kon’s chest. For several seconds, Kon kept his loose hold on your wrist while Tim remained close at your other side, and every coherent thought in your head abandoned you.
Tim’s hand eventually dropped away. Kon held on for another few steps before releasing you to point toward the midway.
“You’re winning me something.”
Tim followed his gesture. “They’re designed to make you lose.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
You laughed. “Why am I winning you something?”
“Because you love me.”
He said it so easily that your heart lurched before you could remind yourself that Kon said things like that all the time. Affection came naturally to him, particularly with people he trusted. He touched Tim constantly, kissed his temple when he passed behind his chair, complimented him in front of strangers, and used pet names with increasing creativity because Tim’s irritation only encouraged him.
Tim loved differently, largely through the things he remembered. He carried the specific protein bars Kon preferred because Kon forgot to eat when he was distracted. He checked Kansas weather before Kon flew home despite knowing perfectly well that ordinary weather posed little threat to him. He knew which boots Kon liked for farm work, what sunscreen Martha bought, and how much advance warning Kon needed before a formal event so he could complain about it thoroughly before agreeing to attend.
Watching them love each other had made falling for them far too easy.
“I’ll win you something if you win me something,” you said.
Kon’s smile widened. “Deal.”
Tim looked toward the row of games with obvious suspicion, but you caught the slight lift at one corner of his mouth before he followed.
The first booth involved knocking down a pyramid of bottles with baseballs. Kon had barely stepped toward the counter before the teenager running it recognized him and shook his head.
“Absolutely not, Conner.”
Kon put a hand to his chest. “You don’t even know what I was going to do.”
“You broke the backboard last year.”
“The backboard was already cracked.”
“You also hit the prize rack.”
“That part was an accident.”
Tim looked more delighted than he had all afternoon.
You slowly turned toward Kon. “You’ve done this before?”
“I misjudged a throw.”
“You destroyed the booth.”
“I damaged two things.”
“That you’ve admitted to.”
The attendant pointed at you instead. “You can play.”
Kon accepted his exclusion with reasonable grace once you promised to win him something. He picked a truly hideous stuffed cow with purple spots and eyes that pointed in slightly different directions, then leaned against the counter while Tim studied the bottles.
“Bottom left,” Tim said.
You glanced at him.
“The stack is slightly off-center. Hit the bottom-left bottle just above the midpoint.”
The attendant gave him a tired look. “Seriously?”
“You said these games were rigged,” you reminded Tim.
“They are. I’m compensating.”
Kon leaned closer. “He means cheating.”
Tim nudged his shoulder away.
You followed Tim’s advice. The first ball knocked down most of the stack, and the second finished the job, earning you the cow and the personal resentment of the teenager behind the counter.
Kon accepted the prize with absurd delight. “He’s perfect.”
“He looks concussed.”
“Don’t talk about our son that way.”
You almost dropped the third baseball.
Beside you, Tim coughed into his fist.
Kon tucked the cow under one arm as though he hadn’t just casually rearranged your internal organs. “My turn.”
He surveyed the nearby games before settling on ring toss, mostly because the woman working the booth didn’t react when he approached. It should have been simple. Instead, Kon tried so hard to compensate for what he could actually do that his first five rings missed every bottle, with one landing several feet short.
Tim stared at it with something close to wonder. “That was statistically impressive.”
Kon looked offended. “I’m trying to be fair.”
You glanced at the rings scattered across the dirt. “You’ve gone too far in the other direction.”
“Significantly,” Tim agreed.
Kon muttered something under his breath and bought another set. Four missed, but the fifth clipped one bottle before settling around the neck of another near the edge.
He celebrated as though he’d won the grand prize.
The woman behind the booth laughed. “Pick one from the bottom row.”
Kon studied the tiny stuffed animals with far more seriousness than the decision warranted before choosing a little red fox with one ear sewn higher than the other and a tail attached slightly sideways.
The moment it was handed to him, he held it out to you.
You blinked. “You actually won me something.”
“That was the deal.”
“I know. I just watched your first nine attempts.”
“Take the fox.”
You took it before he could start waving it at you. The toy was cheap, lopsided, and unexpectedly endearing, and you ran your thumb over its crooked ear before looking back at him.
“Thank you.”
Kon’s smile softened.
It wasn’t the wide grin he used when he was entertaining himself or trying to provoke Tim. This one lingered quietly enough that you had to look down at the fox before your expression betrayed you.
Tim reached over your shoulder and adjusted the higher ear. “It’s crooked.”
“It’s charming.”
“It’s a manufacturing defect.”
“You’re a manufacturing defect.”
Kon laughed so suddenly that he nearly crushed the cow beneath his arm, and Tim turned toward you with a deeply unimpressed expression. Your apology was ruined by the smile you couldn’t quite suppress.
The woman behind the counter looked between the three of you with obvious amusement while she gathered Kon’s abandoned rings.
“You three are cute.” She glanced between Tim and Kon, then nodded toward you. “You two have a very patient girlfriend.”
You nearly fumbled the fox.
Kon smiled. “Not yet.”
The words came out casually enough that it took him a second to realize what he’d said.
His smile disappeared.
Tim went completely still.
You stared at Kon while the woman behind the booth abruptly became very interested in reorganizing her rings.
“Not yet?” you repeated.
Kon looked at Tim.
Tim closed his eyes for a moment, wearing the expression of a man watching a carefully constructed plan collapse because of one entirely preventable mistake.
Your pulse picked up. “Tim.”
He opened his eyes. “He wasn’t supposed to say that.”
Kon immediately seized on the wording. “So we agree the problem was delivery.”
“The problem is that there was supposed to be a conversation before you announced the conclusion.”
“We’re having a conversation.”
“This isn’t the conversation.”
You tightened your fingers around the little fox. “What conversation?”
That stopped both of them.
Kon shifted the cow beneath his arm and glanced at Tim, suddenly far less confident than he’d been all afternoon. Tim looked from him to you, visibly reconsidering whatever approach he’d planned.
Kon gave up first. “We were going to ask you out.”
You stared at him. “You were going to ask me out.”
“Yeah.”
Your attention shifted to Tim. “Both of you?”
Tim nodded. “If you wanted that.”
The fair continued around you with an almost insulting degree of normalcy. Someone shouted in triumph at another game. Music drifted over the crowd, and a group of children hurried past carrying bags of cotton candy while your brain tried to catch up.
“How long have you been planning this?”
Kon glanced toward Tim.
“A few months,” Tim said.
You narrowed your eyes. “How many?”
“Four.”
Kon scratched the back of his neck. “I figured it out before that.”
Tim looked at him. “You told me five months ago.”
“I wanted to be sure.”
You lifted one hand before they could start comparing timelines. “You’ve both liked me for months, and you’ve talked about it.”
“Yes,” Tim said.
A different thought occurred to you, and some of the warmth in your chest tightened. “Is that why I’m here?”
Kon’s answer came immediately. “You’re here because we wanted you here.”
Tim’s gaze stayed on yours. “I was hoping we could talk to you today, but that wasn’t the reason we invited you.”
The distinction mattered more than you expected.
Kon shifted a little closer without crowding you. “We weren’t trying to trick you into a date.”
“I know.”
“We really weren’t.”
“I know, Kon.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders.
Tim was still watching you with the careful attention he usually reserved for situations where one wrong move could make everything worse. It was strange seeing that concentration turned toward something as ordinary as asking someone out.
“You’ve been flirting with me,” you said.
Kon blinked. “You didn’t know?”
Tim slowly turned his head toward him.
“I thought you were just affectionate.”
“I am affectionate.”
“Exactly.”
“With you,” Kon said.
You stared at him. “You’re affectionate with Tim.”
“That’s because I’m dating Tim.”
“That was my point.”
Tim’s mouth twitched before you pointed at him.
“And you’re worse.”
“How?”
“You remember things. You bring me food. You fix things in my apartment without being asked. I thought that was just how you were with people you cared about.”
“It is,” Tim said, then paused. “There are degrees.”
Kon folded his arms. “He has a whole note.”
Tim’s head turned sharply. “Kon.”
“What?”
You looked between them. “A note?”
“It’s organized.”
“About me?”
Kon was beginning to enjoy himself again. “Food orders, favorite snacks, places you like, things you’ve mentioned wanting to buy eventually—”
“That’s enough.”
You stared at Tim.
Color had begun creeping into the tips of his ears.
Something warm unfolded in your chest, but the vulnerability beneath the absurdity kept you from teasing him. The pieces of the last several months were already rearranging themselves in your memory: invitations that somehow always became the three of you, Kon dropping beside you even when there were other seats, Tim appearing with exactly the food you wanted without needing to ask, and all the casual touches you’d forced yourself not to interpret as anything more.
“You really thought I knew?” you asked Kon.
His expression became sheepish. “I thought we were being kind of obvious.”
“We weren’t supposed to be obvious,” Tim said.
“You weren’t.”
Kon frowned. “At all?”
“At all.”
“That’s devastating.”
You laughed despite yourself.
Tim’s expression softened, although his voice was quiet when he spoke again. “We didn’t want you to feel like your friendship with us had been leading toward this the entire time. It hasn’t.”
The amusement faded.
“We’re happy together,” he continued. “You aren’t something missing between us, and we don’t expect you to fix anything. We just both realized what we felt for you had changed.”
Kon nodded. “And if you don’t want anything different, that’s okay. You’re still our friend, and none of that changes unless you want it to.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.
You looked down at the crooked little fox in your hands before meeting their eyes again. Both of them were waiting, and the uncertainty there was so unlike either of them that it finally settled the last of your nerves.
“You’re both idiots.”
Kon’s shoulders sagged. “That doesn’t sound promising.”
“I’ve had a crush on both of you for months.”
His head snapped up.
Tim blinked, and you had the unexpected pleasure of watching the information take several seconds longer than it should have to process.
“You have?” Kon asked.
“You cannot possibly be this surprised.”
“You just spent five minutes explaining that you didn’t know we liked you.”
“I thought you were happy together.”
“We are.”
“Exactly. You were already together. I wasn’t going to decide every nice thing you did meant you wanted me too.”
Tim recovered before Kon did, although faint color remained high along his cheekbones. “How long?”
You narrowed your eyes.
Kon’s grin slowly returned. “Longer than we’ve liked you?”
“You’re never getting that information.”
“That means yes.”
“It means I’m walking away.”
You managed half a step before Tim caught your hand.
His fingers settled around yours with none of the hesitation that had governed the conversation so far. The contact stopped you immediately, and when you looked down, his thumb moved once across your knuckles.
Kon’s grin softened.
Tim glanced briefly at your joined hands before meeting your eyes. “We should still ask properly.”
Your pulse jumped all over again.
Kon moved closer until he stood beside Tim. The ridiculous purple cow remained tucked beneath one arm, and you were still holding the tiny fox he’d won for you. Somehow, that made the moment feel more real than anything polished or carefully planned could have.
“Will you go out with us?” Kon asked.
You let him wait long enough for suspicion to begin creeping across his face.
“Yes.”
Relief broke across his expression immediately.
Tim smiled too, smaller but impossible to mistake, and his fingers tightened gently around yours.
Kon started to lean toward you before catching himself. “Can I kiss you?”
The question softened something inside you.
“Yeah.”
His free hand settled carefully against your cheek before he kissed you. For all his confidence a few minutes earlier, he didn’t rush. His mouth was warm against yours, the first touch almost tentative until you leaned closer and felt him relax. His thumb brushed your cheek once before he pulled away, smiling.
“Hi,” he murmured.
You laughed quietly. “Hi.”
Kon looked unbearably pleased with himself.
Then you turned toward Tim.
He hadn’t released your hand. For someone who’d apparently spent months planning this conversation, he suddenly seemed far less prepared for what came after it, and his gaze dropped briefly toward your mouth before returning to your eyes.
“Did the plan include kissing me?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
You closed the distance yourself.
Tim froze for only a second before his free hand settled at your waist. His kiss started carefully, restraint holding for a few heartbeats before your fingers curled into the front of his shirt and he finally let himself lean into it.
When you pulled away, his forehead brushed yours.
Kon made an appreciative noise beside you.
Tim turned his head slightly. “Don’t start.”
“I was going to say that was hot.”
“That qualifies as starting.”
You laughed against Tim’s shoulder, and Kon crowded closer until the three of you were pressed together, with the stuffed cow squished somewhere between you.
“You’re crushing our son,” you said.
Kon immediately recoiled to check the cow. “He’s fine.”
Tim stared at him. “You’ve owned that thing for fifteen minutes.”
“And I’ve been an excellent father for at least twelve of them.”
“You called it our son before we were even dating,” you reminded him.
Kon paused, and understanding slowly brightened his expression. “That got you, didn’t it?”
“I’m not discussing this.”
“It did.”
Tim’s interest sharpened. “What else?”
“You’re both getting nothing.”
They followed you away from the booth still trying to extract answers, but neither pushed very hard. Kon eventually slung an arm around your shoulders, Tim kept your hand in his, and for the first time all afternoon, you let yourself enjoy how naturally you fit between them instead of treating every point of contact like something dangerous.
The rest of the fair changed in small ways rather than dramatic ones. Kon kissed your temple while you waited for funnel cake, and Tim reached for your hand whenever the crowd tightened around you without stopping to reconsider it. You spent part of a tractor pull leaning into Kon’s side with your legs stretched across Tim’s lap, understanding almost none of what was happening and enjoying yourself anyway.
Everything else remained reassuringly familiar. Kon complained when Tim paused beside the Ferris wheel long enough to read the posted inspection information, and Tim refused to participate in a pie-eating contest after seeing someone sneeze near the registration table. You lost badly at a shooting gallery and blamed both of them for distracting you, which they accepted with varying degrees of smugness.
By sunset, you were tired, full, and carrying enough fairground prizes that Tim finally produced a reusable bag from his backpack.
You stared at it. “You carry grocery bags with you?”
“They’re useful.”
Kon nodded solemnly. “He’s prepared.”
“You called him a suburban dad last week.”
“He can be many things at once.”
Tim shoved the ugly cow into the bag with slightly more force than necessary.
Kon rescued it immediately.
The photo booth near the exit almost escaped your attention. Kon noticed it first, slowing as he looked toward the curtain and then back at both of you.
Tim followed his gaze. “We already did that.”
You remembered the strip tucked safely inside your bag. Kon had dragged both of you into the booth a few hours earlier, shortly after the goat incident, and Tim had spent the first picture complaining about the lighting.
Kon looked down at the cow still tucked beneath his arm, then reluctantly handed it over to Tim. “Hold him.”
Tim stared at the stuffed animal. “You have a bag.”
“Put him in the bag.”
With the expression of someone being asked to perform a deeply unreasonable favor, Tim tucked the cow back inside beside the little fox.
Kon held out his hand to you. “We need another one.”
“Why?”
He looked genuinely surprised you had to ask.
“The first one’s outdated.”
The words landed softly enough that you felt them somewhere behind your ribs.
Tim’s expression changed too.
Kon seemed to realize what he’d said only after the fact, but instead of ruining it with a joke, he smiled and curled his fingers around yours.
“Come on.”
The booth had barely fit the three of you earlier, but the lack of space mattered considerably less now. Tim and Kon took the seat together and pulled you down across their laps, leaving you perched between them with one arm around Kon’s shoulders while Tim’s hand settled automatically at your waist. With none of you trying to preserve an inch of unnecessary space anymore, the booth somehow felt roomier than it had that afternoon.
“Better,” Kon decided.
Tim adjusted your weight slightly against his thigh. “Debatable.”
You looked down at the arm he still had around your waist. “You seem really committed to the complaint.”
His grip tightened just enough to betray him before the camera started counting down.
The first flash caught all three of you as you were still settling into place. The second caught you laughing when Kon said something under his breath that made Tim roll his eyes. By the third, you were finally looking toward the camera properly, comfortably wedged between them with Tim’s arm around your waist and yours looped around Kon’s shoulders. Even sitting down, Kon seemed to dwarf you, and with Tim tucked close at your other side, you felt pleasantly small between them.
As the final countdown began, you barely had time to smile before both of them leaned in at once, Kon kissing one cheek and Tim the other just as the flash went off.
For a second, you just sat there between them while they pulled back, both looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
“You planned that,” you accused.
Kon grinned. “I thought we were being spontaneous.”
Tim’s mouth twitched. “We were.”
The machine whirred beyond the curtain as the new strip printed. Kon helped you off their laps, and the three of you spilled back out into the evening, still crowded together as you waited for the pictures to drop into the tray.
You reached them first. The last photo caught you smiling between them, Tim kissing one cheek and Kon kissing the other.
Tim took the new strip from you, then reached into your bag for the earlier one. He held the two beside each other, studying them for a moment.
Only a few hours separated the two strips, with the same three people filling every frame, but now you could see the difference everywhere.
Kon leaned his chin against your shoulder. “See?”
You looked from the first strip to the second. “Outdated?”
“Completely.”
Tim slid the newer one carefully behind the clear plastic window in his wallet.
You stared at him until he noticed.
“What?”
“You’re keeping it there?”
“Yes.”
Kon looked delighted. “That’s disgustingly cute.”
Tim gave him a flat look. “You have a picture of us as your lock screen.”
“Yeah, but I’m romantic.”
“And I’m not?”
You leaned into Tim’s side. “Apparently you keep secret notes.”
Kon laughed.
Tim’s eyes narrowed, although the effect was ruined by the smile he was trying not to show. “I’m deleting the note.”
“You absolutely are not,” you said.
“I’ll make a backup,” Kon added.
“You don’t have access to it.”
“You say that like it’s ever stopped me.”
Tim started explaining exactly why that wasn’t a challenge Kon should accept, but you stopped listening somewhere around the second sentence.
The sun had dropped beyond the fields, leaving the fairgrounds glowing beneath strings of warm lights. Music and laughter carried through the evening air behind you, and the little fox Kon had won for you was tucked safely inside Tim’s bag beside the cow.
Kon took one of your hands.
Tim already had the other.
A few hours ago, you would’ve spent the entire walk back to the Kent farm pretending that didn’t mean anything.
Now you didn’t have to.