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This whole “fair” thing seems pretty overrated if you ask Connor, but escaping the larger things on his mind is something he’s been pretty game for lately, and his primary partner in this escapism business is Oliver, who, as it happens, can’t get enough of the cheesy rides and disgusting food and overpriced games offering cheap prizes as rewards.
And so there they are, traipsing their way through the crowd with no real direction; the day is winding down, they’ve been on most of the rides and stuffed themselves to an uncomfortable level on candy apples, funnel cakes, cotton candy, and soda, and Connor has been surreptitiously looking around for the exit to suggest they bail and go home for the real fun. His wandering eyes catch randomly on what is quite possibly the cutest fucking thing ever, because it’s a little bear with nerdy round tortoise shell glasses and a tie that looks exactly like Oliver.
Oliver notices him pause, asking, “See something you want to play?”
“Not so much wanting to play the game as to win something,” Connor says, turning to Oliver and waggling his eyebrows as he busts out with, “What prize will I get from you tonight if I get you that bear over there?”
Oliver snorts a little laugh as he sees the bear Connor is pointing at, and Connor smiles at the sound.
(Oliver hasn’t been laughing as much, recently, and it sucks, because he should always be happy as far as Connor is concerned.)
“You want to win me a mini-me?”
“You gotta admit, it is pretty cute… I might even keep it for myself. It can be my boyfriend bear.” Connor winks and Oliver rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. Adorable.
“No, if you win it, I want it. This is a fair-date, after all, so you always play games to win your date a prize. It’s pretty much the law, which you should be learning.”
“Guess they haven’t covered that topic in my How to Get Away with Murder 102 class yet. But there’s a whole semester ahead, who knows what pearls of wisdom I’ll discover.”
“Or what new ways you’ll find for me to potentially get arrested.”
Connor smirks and hums noncommittally, getting another small laugh out of Oliver.
All of the stations at the stall are taken, so Connor scopes out the game to see what he’ll actually be playing to win the bear. It looks like it’s a ring toss game, and to get the bear he needs to hook 8 out of the 10 bottles.
Easy peasy, Connor has excellent hand-eye coordination.
A couple steps past them looking dejected, holding one of the prizes from the “3-5” rack. 'Damn, those kids have zero talent,' Connor thinks to himself as he swiftly moves in to take their place.
“I’d like to play,” he says, and the carnie behind the booth pops his gum loudly before pointing to the sign above him.
“One dollar for 1 try, 3 dollars for 5 tries, or 5 dollars for 10 tries. What’ll it be?”
Connor contemplates this for a moment and thinks, ‘How hard can this possibly be?’ before deciding to just go for broke.
“One try, please.”
The man puts a set of ten rings in front of him, and Conor carefully exhales, aims, and lets the ring fly -
- only to have it spin off the rim of the bottle.
“What the hell?” Connor mutters, and beside him Oliver laughs. Connor frowns at him and says, “Hey now, what happened to cheering the boyfriend on?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Oliver mumbles, but it’s pretty obvious he’s not sorry at all.
Besides, Connor will get the next one.
Exhale. Aim. Toss. Donk! Bounce. Fuck.
Before he knows it the game is over and he’s managed to ring a total of two bottles. The carnie pops his gum - damn that's irritating - and says, “Sorry, kid, no prize for two or less. Next!”
But Connor’s not done yet.
He can’t possibly be this bad at a fucking carnival game, for Christ’s sake. Seriously, what the hell?! He exhales heavily as he rolls up his sleeves and says, “Five tries.” And after Oliver nudges him, “Please.”
But it’s the same shit all over again. In five tries, the highest number of bottles he rings is 5. That does at least constitute a prize, but he's going for gold here, not fucking “U tried” consolation prizes. He doesn’t want the weirdo dolphin thing, he wants that Oliver Bear, and come hell or high water or an empty wallet, he's gonna get one.
“Ten tries,” Connor says emphatically, slamming the money toward the carnie behind the booth.
“C’mon Connor, it’s not a big deal. You could order me the same thing from Amazon for less than you’ll end up spending right now. Everyone knows these games are rigged to be as hard as possible.”
Connor tries not to let his agitation amp him up, but that competitive edge that got him into law school, that got him into the Keating Five, that twists his morals so he’ll do some fucked up stuff just to get ahead or what he wants - well. That is telling him that he’s going to stay here until either he’s broke or he’s won the fucking bear.
“I got this, Ollie. I’m getting the hang of it, it shouldn’t take too much longer.”
Try 1 - 4 rings
Try 2 - 5 rings
Try 3 - 3 rings
Try 4 - 1 ring
(”What the fuck, how?!”)
Try 5 - 5 rings
Try 6 - 5 rings
Try 7 - 4 rings
(”I’m not so sure you’re getting better at this, Connor.”)
Try 8 - 3 rings
Try 9 - 6 rings
Try 10 - 7 rings
“Motherfucker,” Connor whispers under his breath, and Oliver is starting to give him some serious side-eye. Connor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but before he can even open his mouth to call for another try, he hears Oliver.
“One try, please.”
Connor is feeling majorly dubious about this, because surely if he can’t hit above 7 rings after all the sports he played in high school and recreationally in college, Mr. Works in IT definitely can’t get the 8 they need for the bear.
But, being the gracious boyfriend that he is, he sweeps his arm out in an, “it’s all you!” gesture and lets Oliver step up to the plate.
And what do you know, he lands the first one.
And the second. Well, everyone gets lucky.
And the… third? Wait, that’s pushing it on the luck thing, right there…
The fourth? Seriously?
He got the fifth one too!
At this point Connor is getting kinda excited (and maybe a little turned on for some bizarre reason) while simultaneously feeling like a huge moron for A. having sucked so much himself, and B. having doubted his boyfriend’s abilities when he knows how good he is with his hands.
He rings six, seven, and eight just like that, and then throws the last two because that’s all he needs. The carnie hands him the bear, and Oliver turns, cheeky, to Connor, holding it out and saying, “I guess I’m giving it to you, huh? So, what’s my prize when we get back to yours?”
Connor can’t help but bask in Oliver’s awkward smugness, and completely gives in.
“You name it, you got it.”