After the incident, you and Keith were heading towards the arena.

"So, this is where they ride the cows?"

"They're bulls."

"Whatever, let's just find a place to sit." You scoured the bleachers for two empty seats. Keith found some at last. After dodging people, you both sat down. It was a bit close to the fence—but at least there was a good view. "What's coming up first?"

He answered, "Well, I think they have the mutton-busting first."

"What's that?"

"It's where a bunch of little kids ride sheep."

"Hilarious." You then took a sip from your drink.

After the introduction the host was giving to the audience, he sounded an airhorn. It was time for the sheep-riding thing. And it was basically what Keith described. A bunch of rug rats riding sheep. Nothing too eye-catching.

However, that changed. One of the kids in the arena looked awfully familiar. You just couldn't place your finger on who it was. Keith saw that you were spaced out.

"(Y/N)," he called. "What's wrong?"

Snapping back to reality, you responded, "Nothing—it's just, I feel like I recognize one of those kids."

"Maybe you saw him on a poster or advertisement."

"I don't know. . ."

You just shook it off. Maybe all the dust was making you act off. For now, you tried to enjoy the match.

"AND THE WINNER IS. . .ANDY BLAKE!!" the host announced. Everyone around you clapped. Yay.

Keith yawned. Next up was going to be the horse-riding. You saw that they were setting up the area with obstacles, rings, and fences. You glimpsed at Keith and saw his expression of slight boredom. That's when he felt something gently fall on his shoulder. He looked down to see you there, resting your head. At first, he went stiff, but then loosened up.

It was like aromatherapy—but instead of an essential oil, it was a hot guy. Nothing you could ever get at Walmart, that's for sure.

Instead of watching the show, you both just drifted off to sleep.

And before your brain shut off—a flash erupted in your faces. This caused you two to jump.

"WHAT WAS—" Keith squinted his eyes.

And there they were, Pidge and Hunk. She was staring at the picture on her camera which she just took.

"WH—HOW DID YOU TWO GET HERE!?" Keith screeched. The nearby people were staring at him like he was a madman.

"Oh, come on! You two can't hide from us~" Pidge winked with a grin. "Besides, (Y/N) left her phone at the hotel and maybe or maybe I didn't happen to come across her texts—"

"You little—" You gave her a glare.

"BUT WE CAME TO GIVE IT BACK TO YOU!" Pidge pulled your cell out of her pocket and handed it to you. Receiving it, you sneered.

"You know what? This is janked." Keith stood up and started to walk off. Where was he going? So, you followed.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see." He finally arrived to a closed gate that led into the arena. You were puzzled. That's when you connected the dots.

"Keith, are you crazy!?" you frantically asked—not believing it at first. "YOU CAN'T RIDE THE BULL!"

"Yes. Yes, I can."

"WHY THOUGH??"

"'Cause heck."

You were unimpressed. Did he even have the proper gear? It was all so abrupt and chaotic. That's when the time came for the bull-riding. He managed to bribe the loser teenager who was running it.

"Keith, you're not really gonna do this are you??" you asked him, concernment trembling in your tone.

"Eh, why not? It's always been on my bucket list."

"WHAT IF YOU DIE!?"

"I shan't."

You angrily dug your heel into the ground, crossing your arms.

"Now, let's do this thang." Keith put on a My Chemical Romance bike helmet. Where he got it—you didn't want to know.

"Keith." You placed a hand on his shoulder. "If you die—you're so dead."

"I'm a space warrior—I think a little bull is nothing." He eagerly mounted the bull. You were still irked about the whole thing. That's when Pidge and Hunk appeared.

"Hey! (Y/N)! Get on the bull so we can take a picture of the two of you," Pidge gleefully instructed.

"Wh—ew. I'm not getting on that diseased thing."

"Get on the bull, (Y/N)," Keith joked in his ominous voice.

"Naw."

"Get. On. The. Bull. (Y/N)."

"Fine! I'll sit on the stinkin' bull. But only for a second!"

Keith held out his hand to lift you up—but you refused it. Hopping on the bull, you sat there with a frown.

You complained, "Look, just get this picture over with and—AAAAAAAAAAA!"

Suddenly, the gates opened. The bull immediately zipped into the arena, violently flopping in the air. You just held on for dear life—rethinking your life decisions. It had been three seconds and Keith already fell off. However, you still hung on. You couldn't see anything except blur—and vertigo was starting to take over. It felt like an eternity before you hit eight seconds. Yet you were still mounted—after this much time, the bull just stopped and fell over—passing out from exhaustion.

And there you were, completely breathless. You never fell off—which left the audience speechless. Your hair was an absolute disaster, tangled from the top to the tips. After you composed yourself free of the dizziness, you dragged yourself over to Keith. He was just there on the ground—apathetic.

"KEITH!" you shouted, rasp from the adrenaline. "Are you okay?" You positioned his head in your lap and began wiping sand off his hair.

"What a rush," was all he said. You hung your head over his face in fatigue.

"You're such an idiot!" you insulted. "Why did you do that!?"

He gazed up at you with his gentle mauve eyes, lifting his hand to caress the disheveled bangs out of your vision. It caused your heart to race faster than it already was.

"I guess I just wanted to impress you."

". . ." No comment. You only stayed there, cradling him in your arms.

Until the moment was ruined by the host having to narrate.

"And it was that moment when they both realized their love for each other. Now. . .KISS!" The entire rodeo heard his words—since the mic was connected to the amplifiers surrounding the area. Everyone in the bleachers began to cheer.

You were mortified. Mortified beyond consent. It felt like nothing was real anymore—you began to dissociate. Here comes the panic attack. But before anything happened, Keith noticed you were in distress, so he smoothly exited the situation.

Rising up, he told the host, "Naw, kiss a girl yourself, Fatso."

You snickered from his counter. But the host was offended—but he only ignored his words and began to continue the show. You had your hand in Keith's, as he was leading you toward the gate. Once you both got out, he turned to you.

"Wow, you probably broke the bull-riding record for the whole state."

"Welp." You slid your hands into your pocket. The humiliation from the crowd chanting 'kiss!' still haunted your mind. Maybe you should have kissed him. . . Wow, more internal struggle. For now, you put that aside. "Also, thanks for getting us out of there. That was awkward."

"Eh, no sweat." Keith calmly took a sip of coke, even though he was screaming on the inside. You wondered how he stayed so chill.

Nonetheless, you were a bit. . .flattered that Keith would do something that dangerous just to impress you. What was going to happen next?