Danielle takes aim...
Bullseye! The rubber duck spins from the hit. She squeals, jumping up and down, and throws her arms around Charles.
"You did it!" Charles grins, catching her mid-bounce.
"I can't believe I did it!" Danielle beams, hugging him tightly.
Meanwhile, just a few feet away, Jacques and Mourice are locked in their own silent war. Neither is willing to miss. Shot after shot, shredded rubber ducks drop like casualties on a battlefield.
The stall owner edges toward Charles and Danielle, eyes wide with panic.
"Are you their friends? Please—stop them. They're going to destroy the whole stock!"
Charles sighs and steps toward Jacques. "Hey, maybe it's time to try something else."
Jacques ignores him, brushing his elbow away and reloading like a man possessed.
Danielle tries the same with Mourice. "Babe, come on. Let's go check out the fortune wheel."
"In a sec, babe. Just—" bang! Another duck down.
"Alright, that's it! We're closed! Go home, or I'll call security!" the stall owner shouts, lunging for Mourice's gun—only to snatch his hand back when Mourice instinctively aims again.
Both Jacques and Mourice reload in eerie sync, their eyes never leaving the target—or each other.
Charles and Danielle were done. The two of them had to literally drag their boyfriends to get them out of there.
"Okay," Charles huffed, arms crossed as he marched beside Jacques. "No more games involving weapons, ducks, or pride."
"Who says it's about pride?!" but Jacques's eyes are clearly roasted, somebody had turn on his war mode and he's so ready to beat every challenges.
"Yeah, it's not about pride, it's about focus and determination." Mourice is in the same rage, he also ready to prove that he is the dominant one.
Danielle was doing her best to stay cheerful, "Let's find something chill! Like cotton candy! Or—ooh, a Ferris wheel!"
But Mourice had already spotted something else. His eyes lit up like someone just challenged his entire bloodline.
"Yo. Hammer strength test."
Jacques turned instinctively, squinting at the tall tower with the bell at the top. The giant mallet glistened in the evening light like a medieval weapon. Charles sighed so hard it could've pushed a sailboat.
"Oh.... no...!" he wipe his face with both palms.
But it was too late.
"I bet I can ring that thing first try," Mourice said with a grin, already rolling up his sleeves. "Unless Jacques wants to cry about it and eat another chili."
Jacques didn't even flinch. He stepped forward, grabbing the mallet.
"Let me try first, to set the standard of what it takes," he said coolly.
He raised the mallet over his head—and as he swung down, his foot slipped on a stray soda cup. The mallet hit the pad sideways with an awkward thud, sending the meter only a little way up.
Mourice burst out laughing. "Broooo—that's such a powerful standard. Move! Let the real man do it!"
Danielle whispered, "Babe, he slipped---"
"Doesn't matter," Mourice smirked, already stepping up. "Watch and learn."
His swing was clean. The meter climbed high—almost hit the bell. Impressive for a fifteen-year-old. He turned around, flexing exaggeratedly.
"Guess I'm way above the standard!"
Jacques's jaw tightened. Silent.
He stepped back up without a word, brushing his boot against the ground to clear any debris this time. Then he gripped the mallet again and swung it without thinking too much.
WHAM.
The hammer struck like thunder. The meter rocketed upward and smashed into the bell with a loud, clear DING! that echoed across the whole fair.
Everyone turned. Even strangers clapped. The bell hadn't rung all day.
Jacques didn't smile. He just dropped the mallet, raised his chin with quiet pride, and brushed off his shoulders with exaggerated flair.
When Mourice offered a friendly bro handshake, Jacques broke into a sharp shuffle dance, pointed both fingers at Mourice like pistols, and mimed blowing his head off. Then he moonwalked backward with flapping arms, mocking Mourice like a chicken.
The nearby kids went wild. Danielle gasped, covering her mouth in secondhand embarrassment. Charles just exhaled, "Oh my god."
Mourice, red in the face, clenched his jaw. He couldn't dance to clap back at Jacques.
"All right! Enough! No more competitions! What the hell is wrong with you two?" Charles snapped, clearly upset.
"We just—" Jacques shrugged.
"—were enjoying the festival," Mourice added.
"That's right. We're just having fun," Jacques continued.
"Yeah, nobody even cared about the ducks before, but thanks to us, that stall finally got some attention, right?" Mourice looked at Jacques.
Jacques just nodded without even glancing back at him.
Danielle knows where is this going. Mourice is already looked upset of the disrespect and a fight between them will be undeniable. She has to intervene before disaster coming. She grabs Mourice's arm and pull him away from Jacques. "Babe, let's go to that romantic tunnel of love!"
Left alone, Charles takes a few steps toward Jacques. "Are we done yet? Can you take me home?"
"Why so hurry? We just got rid of the third wheel. Let's have some fun," Jacques waves his hand, signaling Charles to follow him.
"... I don't feel like having fun," Charles doesn't move.
Jacques turns around, looking at Charles with a thousand questions behind his eyes.
"I mean—with you acting childish, immature, provoking Mourice and shaming him in front of everyone—I don't know if I want to be with someone like that." Charles folds his arms.
"Like what?" Jacques couldn't believe what he just heard. He thought Charles was on his side.
"I don't know. Someone who has to belittle others just to show the world he's better. That he's awesome."
What pill did he just take?! Jacques couldn't understand. He thought Charles would be proud of him. He thought Charles was always on his side. But now that he said that... it's clear. He's siding with Mourice, and this is so unforgivable.
Jacques grabs Charles's collar in anger. "You—!"
But the terrified look in Charles's eyes stops him. Jacques remembers himself—when he was a toddler, at the side of a cold road in the forgotten city he grew up in. Back then, people used to kick him around. They beat him just for fun. Because surely it's fun to bully a weird toddler raised by a dog.
That same fear was once in his eyes—when he was the one being kicked around.
Jacques lets him go.
Because betrayal is betrayal.
Charles wasn't on his side. Whatever excuses he had, they didn't matter.
Charles pushes Jacques away and walks off, leaving him alone in the middle of the festival grounds.
Alone, he walk among people with happy excited faces. Attractions left and right, but Jacques can't comprehend Charles; Why did he stand up for Mourice? Wasn't Mourice a hypocrite who didn't deserve to be defended?
Still at the festival, Jacques walks alone beneath the bright, colorful lights on either side. People are cheering, music is playing, and some are even dancing to the lovely country tune drifting through the air.
But with Charles no longer beside him, he can't bring himself to join their joy.
Bitterness is all he has now, and it clouds his eyes.
Maybe a cigarette could burn some of it away. Jacques sits at the edge of the water and puts one between his lips. Then he realizes—he forgot one important thing: matches.
Grunting in annoyance at the thought of walking back to the vending machine, Jacques is about to stand when a hand holding a lighter appears in front of him. The flame clicks to life.
Jacques looks up before leaning in to light his cigarette.
A familiar face leans toward him, smiling.
Brown eyes behind round glasses, wavy bronze hair just brushing the collar—Jacques recognizes him instantly.
His brows lift, and he smiles back. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm with a friend." Ethan glances over his shoulder at an adult man with short black hair, distracted by something on his phone.
"Oh? Just a friend?" Jacques asks.
"Just a friend," Ethan says, smiling softly. "Wanna join us?"
"Nah, I don't want to be a third wheel," Jacques says as he lights the cigarette.
"I told you, we're just friends. Come on—I'll introduce you." Ethan takes Jacques's hand and leads him away from the edge of the water.