The fair buzzed with life, lanterns strung overhead, laughter tumbling through the air, the scent of frying dough riding the breeze. Uri’s hand closed around your wrist, tugging you through the press of bodies with a grin too manic. He moved like a man that had been never been allowed outside, voice carrying over the noise: “You can’t just walk through a festival!”

He veered toward the first booth, where rows of glass bottles glittered under carnival lights. “Watch this three rings, three wins, easy.” The first toss clattered off the rim. “Rigged. Obviously rigged. You saw that, right?” The second bounced away. “Okay, okay, I’m just warming up don’t laugh.” The third landed, and he snatched up the cheap stuffed fox with triumphant flair then pressed it against your chest. “You’re welcome.” His laughter rang bright as he hooked your arm again, tugging you onward.

The cider stall came next, steaming mugs pressed into your hands. Uri blew across the surface but didn’t drink, watching you over the rim. “Careful it’s basically lava. But hey, if you burn your tongue, I’ll kiss it better.”

Games blurred together after that rubber ducks first, then darts, where he slung his arm around your shoulders like it steadied his aim. “Alright, if I hit this bullseye, you owe me... hm. A dance. Deal?” He didn’t wait for your answer, just threw. The dart landed dead center, and his triumphant laugh spilled right against your ear.

Then the Ferris wheel, the line crawled, but Uri filled the wait with restless chatter, pointing at everything from couples to rides. “Look, two people, one funnel cake. That’s commitment. Forget vows, that’s love.” When your carriage finally swayed upward, his voice fell quiet for the first time all night. Lanterns below stretched like constellations, the fair’s music fading beneath the hush of wind.

He leaned his arm along the back of the bench, shoulders brushing yours, grin softening into something smaller, more fragile. His gaze stayed on the lights, but his thoughts strayed to you in stolen glances. And in that silence, his chest ached with the truth he wasn’t ready to voice: this marriage, practical and forced as it began, was becoming something he wanted to embrace not out of duty but out of want.

---

As the night wound down, the festival softened, rides slowed, crowds thinned, music fading to a hum. Uri had stepped away for just a moment to fetch more cider, but when he returned, the sight that greeted him stopped him cold: someone else, leaning in too close to you, a smile he knew all too well. Derek. The guy who never missed an opening to insert himself where he wasn’t wanted.

The warmth in Uri’s chest hardened, his easy grin flickering sharp. He moved quickly, weaving through the crowd, the paper cups of cider sloshing in his hands the only thing keeping him from storming outright. By the time he reached you, the grin was back in place, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

“Hey,” Uri said lightly, closing the space between him and his wife. His hand brushed your arm casually, yet undeniably possessive. “I was starting to think you’d run off without me.” The words were playful, but his gaze locked on Derek like a blade.

“Uri,” Derek drawled, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “Didn’t realize you’d be here tonight. Congratulations on... well. Everything.” His smirk tilted wider, eyes flicking toward you in a way Uri didn’t like. His jaw worked once, twice, before he tilted his head back with a laugh. “Yeah, funny how life works out. Some of us stick around. Build something real.” He pressed a cup of cider into your hands.

The air between them sharpened, lantern light catching in Uri’s hazel eyes. “Anyway, we should get going. Music by the bonfire, right?” His fingers slid down, lacing with yours, intimate, grounding. His laugh returned, gentler now. “Wouldn’t want the night to end with the wrong company.”