Katrin grabs my hand and confidently leads me toward the colorful tent housing the funhouse. Her fingers grip mine tightly, as if trying to share some of her fearlessness and excitement. Her hand is warm and soft, yet buzzing with energy—like every step she takes is certain the world is nothing but laughter and amusement. Inside, the dim lighting streaks with multicolored bulbs, and the air smells of aged wood and cotton candy—that quintessential amusement park scent, forever tied to childhood joy and carefree moments.
Before us sprawls a maze of warped mirrors, distorting reality beyond recognition. We start winding our way through, pausing now and then to burst into laughter at our reflections. My laugh is light and booming, like a kid's; hers is melodic, with that slight rasp I've always loved. One moment, I become a lanky giant with a watermelon-sized head; the next, Katrin's reflection shrinks into a doll-like figure with an impossibly tiny waist. The laughter is contagious, unstoppable.
At one particularly bizarre concave mirror, Katrin's figure stretches into a slender, almost stick-like silhouette. She looks fragile and absurd all at once.
"You clearly need to eat more—look how skinny you've gotten!" I tease, studying the warped reflection, my voice laced with playful warmth.
She immediately drags me to a convex mirror that bloats me sideways, turning me into a jolly, pot-bellied oaf. My reflection is round and ridiculous, and I nearly double over laughing.
"Meanwhile, you could stand to lose a few. Look at that gut!" she quips, reaching out to tickle my stomach deliberately, her fingers lingering just long enough to make me squirm.
"Fine, I'll let you have half my food next time we eat, my little waif," I shoot back, winking as warmth blooms in my chest from her closeness.
Katrin rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch into a suppressed smile—the kind that says more than words ever could.
"I'd rather eat off you," she counters, a mischievous glint flashing in her eyes.
My pulse spikes—she references that ice cream incident when she smeared cream on me and then "cleaned" it off with her tongue. The memory sends heat surging through me, pooling low in my stomach. I can't help it—I press her against the nearest mirror, her body yielding against the cool surface. Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away. If anything, her gaze burns brighter, that familiar thrill of danger dancing in her eyes.
"Teasing me?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended, deeper.
She doesn't flinch. Instead, her lips curl into a defiant smirk. Her nearness doesn't just stoke desire—it floods me with a giddy certainty that she'll always rise to the challenge.
"Yes. At every possible opportunity. Got a problem with that?"
I study her—the mockery in her eyes, her slightly parted lips, the faint blush betraying her own unraveling composure. And in that moment, resistance is pointless.
"How could I, when you're this irresistible?" I murmur, leaning in, feeling something hotter than want ignite in my chest.
The mirrors warp our figures around us, stretching us into giants, shrinking us into dwarves, but one thing stays constant: her laughter, bright and unguarded, and my need to hear it as often as possible. There's something in the sound that makes everything else fade away.
"All in," I growl before crashing my lips onto hers, still sticky-sweet from cotton candy.
The kiss is so vivid it erases the world. It's brief—just a few searing seconds—but each one thrums with the raw, dizzying intensity of youth and hunger. Time slows; nothing else matters. When we finally break apart, her eyes gleam like lanterns, her cheeks flushed a shade so alive I could drown in it.
We stumble out of the mirror maze into the evening air, now thick with the scent of roasted almonds and caramel. Warm wind tugs at the fairy lights strung overhead, casting the path in gold. Katrin immediately laces her fingers through mine, her grip unexpectedly fierce, as if afraid I'll vanish.
"Oh! Look, a shooting gallery. Let's go there!" she suddenly exclaims. Her eyes light up with excitement, and before I can say anything, she's already dragging me toward the brightly painted pavilion where rows of plush prizes hang. The lantern light reflects in her eyes, making them even brighter, and I can't help but smile—her enthusiasm is so contagious.
"Do you know how to shoot?" I ask, already prepared for her to be, as usual, a jack-of-all-trades. I can already picture her effortlessly knocking down targets one after another, then flashing a triumphant smirk.
But this time, she surprises me.
"No, this is one thing I can't do," Katrin admits honestly, spreading her hands. There's not even a hint of embarrassment in her voice—just sincerity.
I freeze for a second, slightly shocked. In my mind, I've already built up this image of her—fearless, agile, capable of anything. And then, out of nowhere, this! This little detail makes her even more alive, more real.
"What about you?" She gives me a curious look, her eyebrow arching mischievously, as if she already knows the answer.
"Me? Yeah," I reply, not without pride, squaring my shoulders. A hint of bravado slips into my voice, and I feel a smug grin spreading across my face. "But that's all thanks to military training for boys. While girls were learning to cook, we were taking apart rifles, putting them back together, shooting."
Katrin looks at me with genuine admiration, and something warm and pleasant tightens in my chest. Her gaze drifts over my hands, lingers on my fingers, as if imagining them gripping a weapon with confidence. Finally, I'm better than her at something! And that feeling, even if just for a moment, is damn sweet.
"Will you win me that bear?" she asks coyly, pointing at the giant plush teddy hanging on the top shelf. There's a playful demand in her voice, but her eyes are full of hope and mischief—like a child who's certain they won't be refused.
Of course, I can't resist. When the girl you love looks at you like that—full of trust, excitement, and anticipation—you'd move mountains just to see her happy.
"I think I can manage," I declare confidently, catching her delighted gaze. A warm, pleasant feeling spreads inside me—I want to be her hero, even if just for a couple of minutes.
Katrin responds by bouncing on her feet, clapping her hands like a child promised ice cream. Her hair flutters in the air, and her cheeks flush pink with excitement.
"My little girl!" I can't help but whisper tenderly, smiling at her childlike joy. In this moment, she seems like the most adorable thing in the world—carefree, happy, radiant. And I'm ready to shoot at targets all night just to keep seeing that look.
We approach the brightly colored pavilion, its air thick with the sweet smell of cotton candy and the metallic tang of machinery. The atmosphere buzzes with celebration—children's laughter, excited squeals, the barker's raspy voice, all blending into a noisy, carefree whirlwind. I hand my ticket to the cashier—instead of money, they take special tokens here, as if we've stepped into a world where normal rules don't apply.
In return, I'm given a pistol and five rubber bullets—smooth, cool, slightly sticky from countless strangers' touches. My palm trembles slightly as I grip the weapon. Back in school, I was a good shot, but now everything is different: people crowd around, the targets move unpredictably, and something hot and restless pounds in my chest. Fear of failure. My thoughts race: What if I miss? What if I can't do it?
Stepping up to the counter, I take the rifle—heavy, cold, smelling of metal and gunpowder. Its smooth stock chills my palm, and the sharp edges of the sight dig into my skin. Slowly, I take aim, holding my breath. Blood roars in my ears like a hammer beating out a rhythm. Everything around me blurs—until it's just me, the target, and her gaze, full of faith. Miss? No. Not now. Not when she's looking at me like I'm her whole world.
A sharp, upbeat tune starts playing, and a row of tin animals, their lacquered sides gleaming, begins spinning as if mocking my hesitation. To win the grand prize—that giant plush bear—I have to hit all five.
First shot. Whew. Four left. The recoil burns my shoulder, but I don't flinch.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in my fingers, and at that moment, I feel her eyes on me. I glance back—Katrin. She's standing a little ways off, arms crossed, but her eyes… They don't just hold expectation. They hold absolute certainty. Not in victory. In me. That I'll pull it off. That I'm her hero. And that… that gives me strength.
Second, third, fourth… Each time, my heart pounds faster, but my fingers grow steadier. The targets spin quicker, flickering under the lights like they're caught in some devilish dance.
One last shot remains.
"Max."
Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but I hear every word as if she breathes them straight into my heart.
"Don't be upset if it doesn't work out. I won't mind. You're already…" The corners of her lips twitch in a faint smile. "The best bear in this city."
I freeze. The words burn—not with pity, not with condescension, but with her faith. Unconditional. Warm. Even if I lose. Even if every target remains standing, she'll still look at me the same way. But I don't want to lose. Not for me. For her.
I don't reply. I just grip the gun tighter and take aim, feeling everything inside me sharpen into icy, razor-edged focus. My fingers no longer tremble—they lock onto the weapon. My vision narrows, cutting out everything unnecessary. Only the target.
The shot rings out.
For a moment, everything stops—the air, the sounds, even time itself. Blood hammers in my temples, my heart suspended as if awaiting a verdict.
Silence. Then—clang. Loud, sharp, almost deafening—the sound of a target falling. Absolute victory. The bear is ours. Slowly, I lower the gun and exhale heavily, just as my eyes meet hers.
Katrin stands there, eyes wide. Surprise floods her face—her brows shoot up, lips parting slightly, as if she can't believe what she just sees. For half a second, she's motionless. Then her eyes light up with pure, childlike delight.
The attendant, snorting, lazily hands me the bear—huge, soft, with a goofy, good-natured grin. It's so absurd, with its tiny paws, that I can't help but smirk.
"Here you go, my little Rebel Girl."
For a second, she doesn't even realize the prize is hers. She freezes, as if doubting reality, but when I hold it out to her, her face lights up.
"You… you actually…" Her voice breaks off, and then she suddenly laughs—bright, genuine, sending warmth flooding through my chest. Her laughter is like summer rain—unexpected, clear, intoxicating.
I can't resist. As I pass her the bear, my lips brush her cheek—warm, slightly flushed from excitement.
"And next time, don't doubt me."
She clutches me with one hand, the other squeezing the bear like the most precious treasure. Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks glow, her fingers trembling with emotion.
And in that moment, I understand: This is worth everything. The fear of failure, the desperate shots. For this look, for this raw happiness, for her radiant smile—I'd endure every rollercoaster, every damn shooting gallery. Just to see her like this—shining, happy, mine.
Just to see her like this always.
"You're the best!"
We walk home through streets bathed in the golden glow of streetlights. Warm reflections shimmer in puddles, the wet asphalt gleaming underfoot. Me, her, and that ridiculous bear I carry like a trophy—clumsy, oversized, with absurdly splayed paws. Its soft fur tickles my cheek, but I don't let go. The sweetness of victory is too intoxicating.
And somewhere deep inside, pride burns—not just for hitting every target, but for surprising her. Again. For seeing that genuine admiration in her eyes, warmer than the evening breeze.
She walks beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, occasionally glancing up through her lashes—playful, with a barely-there smile. The streetlights reflect in her eyes, but it's not the city that seems to glow. It's her. Her voice, slightly hoarse from laughter, wraps around me, settling somewhere beneath my ribs.
And in this moment, I know—no matter what happens next, I'll want to see that light in her eyes again and again.