Bella had just clocked out from her shift at Tortoise Bakery, the flour still clinging faintly to the sleeves of her worn denim jacket and the sweet, enticing smell of cinnamon sugar wafting behind her like a ghostly presence. It had been one of those long, sticky afternoons where the air inside the bakery felt like rising dough, slow and warm, heavy with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries and the promise of a summer evening. Her feet ached from standing for hours, and her hair was messier than she liked, with a few stray strands escaping her ponytail, but she'd promised Luke she'd meet him at the lantern field, and she wasn't about to flake on him. And besides, she was curious about the rumors surrounding the event at the summer soiree.
As they had parted ways earlier, Bella had detoured down the block to check out the little vintage store tucked between a lush plant nursery and a laundromat that was always filled with the hum of washing machines and the chatter of locals. "Just a quick peek," she'd said to Luke, as she'd veered off in the opposite direction. It was on the way, she'd lied, but the truth was, she'd been drawn to the store's quirky charm and the promise of finding something unique and interesting.
Inside, the store was a treasure trove of vintage delights, with the scent of rosewater, old paper, and a hint of mildew wafting through the air, transporting her to a different era. She'd been too tired to dig through the racks of clothes, but the counter had a small bin of oddities that caught her eyes; pins, mixtapes, keychains with chipped enamel, and other knick-knacks that sparkled in the dim light. That's where she found the cassette: Midnight Demos, handwritten in smudged ink, tucked behind a novelty lighter shaped like a duck. It felt weirdly personal, like it had been waiting for her, or maybe for Luke, who shared her love for vintage music.
She bought it, along with a banana-shaped keychain she definitely didn't need, and left the shop with the paper bag folded under her arm. The sun was starting to dip when she reached the edge of the lantern field, casting a warm, golden light over the gathering. People were scattered in small pockets, sitting on blankets, chatting, and laughing, and the atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. And there he was, Luke, standing with another girl who had a guitar slung over her shoulder.
Bella walked towards the field, her eyes fixed on Luke, as she took in the scene unfolding before her. She could see Holland and Janice together, their faces aglow as they lit up a lantern, the soft, golden light casting a warm ambiance over the surroundings. Oh, they were here too, she thought, a smile hovering on her face as she felt a sense of belonging and connection.
As she drew closer to Luke, she could see two men standing together, deep in conversation, their faces serious and intent. She continued walking, her arms crossed around her chest, until if Luke noticed her presence. "Thought you'd save me a spot," Bella said to Luke, her tone light and teasing, as she nodded towards Tabitha, the girl with the guitar, and hovered a small smile on her face. She wasn't jealous, she told herself, well... maybe a little, but she was trying to be cool about it.
As they had parted ways earlier, Bella had detoured down the block to check out the little vintage store tucked between a lush plant nursery and a laundromat that was always filled with the hum of washing machines and the chatter of locals. "Just a quick peek," she'd said to Luke, as she'd veered off in the opposite direction. It was on the way, she'd lied, but the truth was, she'd been drawn to the store's quirky charm and the promise of finding something unique and interesting.
Inside, the store was a treasure trove of vintage delights, with the scent of rosewater, old paper, and a hint of mildew wafting through the air, transporting her to a different era. She'd been too tired to dig through the racks of clothes, but the counter had a small bin of oddities that caught her eyes; pins, mixtapes, keychains with chipped enamel, and other knick-knacks that sparkled in the dim light. That's where she found the cassette: Midnight Demos, handwritten in smudged ink, tucked behind a novelty lighter shaped like a duck. It felt weirdly personal, like it had been waiting for her, or maybe for Luke, who shared her love for vintage music.
She bought it, along with a banana-shaped keychain she definitely didn't need, and left the shop with the paper bag folded under her arm. The sun was starting to dip when she reached the edge of the lantern field, casting a warm, golden light over the gathering. People were scattered in small pockets, sitting on blankets, chatting, and laughing, and the atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. And there he was, Luke, standing with another girl who had a guitar slung over her shoulder.
Bella walked towards the field, her eyes fixed on Luke, as she took in the scene unfolding before her. She could see Holland and Janice together, their faces aglow as they lit up a lantern, the soft, golden light casting a warm ambiance over the surroundings. Oh, they were here too, she thought, a smile hovering on her face as she felt a sense of belonging and connection.
As she drew closer to Luke, she could see two men standing together, deep in conversation, their faces serious and intent. She continued walking, her arms crossed around her chest, until if Luke noticed her presence. "Thought you'd save me a spot," Bella said to Luke, her tone light and teasing, as she nodded towards Tabitha, the girl with the guitar, and hovered a small smile on her face. She wasn't jealous, she told herself, well... maybe a little, but she was trying to be cool about it.
Luke had just finished adjusting the gain knob on the amp when he heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind him. It wasn’t the sound itself that caught his attention—it was the scent. Cinnamon sugar. Flour. That lingering warmth that trailed Bella like the closing scene of a well-written poem. He didn’t turn around immediately.
Instead, he let her voice do the work.
He then stood slowly, turning toward her with that easy smile that always started in his eyes before it reached his mouth.
“Oh, now you show up,” he said softly, hands resting at his hips. “Letting me wander through a field full of fireflies without you. Tragic.”
His gaze flicked down, clocking the faint dusting of flour on her sleeves, the way her arms wrapped across her chest like she was trying to contain something soft beneath all that strength. He stepped in close—not too close—but enough that when he leaned in slightly, his words were for her ears only.
“If I’d known you were gonna take your sweet time,” he murmured, voice low and a little amused, “I would’ve gone with you.”
His head dipped just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear with a casual intimacy that was so thoroughly them. “Wasn’t about to let you shop alone, Bell. Might’ve needed me to keep you from buying more banana-shaped regrets.”
He pulled back with a glint in his eyes, hands casually sliding into his pockets—his version of restraint.
Then, with a glance toward Tabitha, he shifted his weight, slipping easily back into the moment.
“Oh. Right.” He angled his body toward her and gestured between the two girls. “Tabby, this is Bella—she’s the reason I have taste.”
He gave Bella a sidelong look. “Bells, meet Tabitha. She’s got stage presence, blistered fingers, and probably a distortion pedal she’d kill to plug in. Be nice—she’s new.”
The tone was warm, not performative. There was no tension in the introduction—only the kind of ease that came when a guy was sure of where his heart sat, and made room beside it for someone else.
“Also,” he added to Bella, tilting his head toward the paper bag she was holding, “what’d you find?”
Luke watched the two girls for a moment—just long enough to catch the subtle way Bella’s shoulders had dropped, tension uncoiling beneath that soft half-smile she wore like armor. He grinned a little to himself. Yeah. She was always worth waiting for. Turning his gaze back to Tabitha, he gave her an easy nod toward the amp and added, “You’ve got the controls. It’s yours until someone brings out a banjo and ruins everything.”
Then, as he took a small step back beside Bella, his voice dipped into something more conspiratorial, just for Tabby to hear—though laced with a crooked smirk.
“But hey—shouldn’t keep you too long.” He tilted his chin subtly in Max’s direction. “Guy over there’s been watching you like he’s working up the nerve to invite you."
The tease landed lightly, without weight or pressure. More of a wink between strangers who might soon not be.
Luke gave Tabitha a two-finger salute in parting, then turned back to Bella with that you-know-I-saw-that glint in his eyes.
“Anyway,” he said, slipping an arm casually around Bella’s waist as they walked a few paces away from the amp, “if we survive the night without feedback squeal or power ballads, I’ll call it a win.”
Edit: Added Luke making way for Tabby to catch up with Max and Wesson.
Instead, he let her voice do the work.
He then stood slowly, turning toward her with that easy smile that always started in his eyes before it reached his mouth.
“Oh, now you show up,” he said softly, hands resting at his hips. “Letting me wander through a field full of fireflies without you. Tragic.”
His gaze flicked down, clocking the faint dusting of flour on her sleeves, the way her arms wrapped across her chest like she was trying to contain something soft beneath all that strength. He stepped in close—not too close—but enough that when he leaned in slightly, his words were for her ears only.
“If I’d known you were gonna take your sweet time,” he murmured, voice low and a little amused, “I would’ve gone with you.”
His head dipped just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear with a casual intimacy that was so thoroughly them. “Wasn’t about to let you shop alone, Bell. Might’ve needed me to keep you from buying more banana-shaped regrets.”
He pulled back with a glint in his eyes, hands casually sliding into his pockets—his version of restraint.
Then, with a glance toward Tabitha, he shifted his weight, slipping easily back into the moment.
“Oh. Right.” He angled his body toward her and gestured between the two girls. “Tabby, this is Bella—she’s the reason I have taste.”
He gave Bella a sidelong look. “Bells, meet Tabitha. She’s got stage presence, blistered fingers, and probably a distortion pedal she’d kill to plug in. Be nice—she’s new.”
The tone was warm, not performative. There was no tension in the introduction—only the kind of ease that came when a guy was sure of where his heart sat, and made room beside it for someone else.
“Also,” he added to Bella, tilting his head toward the paper bag she was holding, “what’d you find?”
Luke watched the two girls for a moment—just long enough to catch the subtle way Bella’s shoulders had dropped, tension uncoiling beneath that soft half-smile she wore like armor. He grinned a little to himself. Yeah. She was always worth waiting for. Turning his gaze back to Tabitha, he gave her an easy nod toward the amp and added, “You’ve got the controls. It’s yours until someone brings out a banjo and ruins everything.”
Then, as he took a small step back beside Bella, his voice dipped into something more conspiratorial, just for Tabby to hear—though laced with a crooked smirk.
“But hey—shouldn’t keep you too long.” He tilted his chin subtly in Max’s direction. “Guy over there’s been watching you like he’s working up the nerve to invite you."
The tease landed lightly, without weight or pressure. More of a wink between strangers who might soon not be.
Luke gave Tabitha a two-finger salute in parting, then turned back to Bella with that you-know-I-saw-that glint in his eyes.
“Anyway,” he said, slipping an arm casually around Bella’s waist as they walked a few paces away from the amp, “if we survive the night without feedback squeal or power ballads, I’ll call it a win.”
Edit: Added Luke making way for Tabby to catch up with Max and Wesson.
The lantern had floated off into the dark velvet of the sky, carrying Janice’s folded hopes with it—and for a long breath after, Holland didn’t move. Just stood beside her, hand still faintly brushing her wrist, watching the soft glow disappear into a canvas of stars.
It was peaceful. So of course, Luke Castellan’s laugh broke it.
Not in a jarring way—more like the sudden pop of a champagne cork at a too-quiet party. Familiar, low, and rolling in with the breeze like something you’d been waiting to hear without realizing it.
Holland turned his head, and sure enough—
Luke and Bella, walking side by side like a magazine ad for summertime contradictions: denim and guitars, flour-smudged smiles, and that ridiculous effortless glow they both somehow pulled off.
Holland’s brow arched with amused disbelief. “No way.”
He nudged Janice lightly with his shoulder and motioned subtly with his chin. “Look who just wandered in.”
He took a few easy steps forward, raising a hand in mock salute.
“Luke Castellan,” he called out, voice warm but lined with just enough sarcasm to bite gently, “you—the same guy who swore he was gonna spend summer break doing ‘nothing but adventuring, surfing, and road tripping the coast with a film camera and zero plans’—that guy… is now here, at my firefly party?”
He feigned a dramatic gasp. “And with Bella, no less? The woman who made you promise you’d start sleeping eight hours a night and drinking actual water?”
He grinned, arms folding casually as he glanced between them.
“God, you two are so cute I might throw up.”
He shot Janice a sideways glance, lowering his voice playfully, “They do this thing where they act like they’re chill, but then she shows up smelling like cinnamon and he just immediately forgets his entire personality.”
Turning back to Luke and Bella, he waved them in. “Grab a spot. We’ve got snacks, emotional vulnerability, and I think someone’s about to start playing something vaguely sad on an amp.”
Holland lingered beside Janice as Luke and Bella started settling in, his arms still loosely folded across his chest, the glow from a nearby lantern casting gentle shadows across his features. He gave a soft chuckle, more to himself than anyone else. “So that just leaves…”
He ticked them off with a slight lift of his fingers, casual as ever.
“Quentin—probably glued to his synth setup in that shoebox of an apartment. Jia said she was going to “clear her head by kayaking,” whatever that means if I heard her correctly. Tate swore he wasn’t gonna leave his AC bubble until mid-September. And Nat…” Holland paused, lips tugging into a smirk, “well, Nat said ‘maybe’ which, in Nat-speak, means probably not unless there’s a meteor shower or free iced coffee.”
He tilted his head toward Janice, smile softening. “But hey—who knows. Could show up. Could not.”
There wasn’t disappointment in his voice, just a sense of ease. Like he’d already made peace with however the night unfolded. Then, with a glance at the gathering crowd, he added, “Doesn’t really matter, though. The right ones always find their way here. You did. They did.”
He glanced at the trio (Wesson, Max, & Tabitha) before the duo (Bella & Luke) and Janice , his smile not fading this time—just quieter, more genuine.
It was peaceful. So of course, Luke Castellan’s laugh broke it.
Not in a jarring way—more like the sudden pop of a champagne cork at a too-quiet party. Familiar, low, and rolling in with the breeze like something you’d been waiting to hear without realizing it.
Holland turned his head, and sure enough—
Luke and Bella, walking side by side like a magazine ad for summertime contradictions: denim and guitars, flour-smudged smiles, and that ridiculous effortless glow they both somehow pulled off.
Holland’s brow arched with amused disbelief. “No way.”
He nudged Janice lightly with his shoulder and motioned subtly with his chin. “Look who just wandered in.”
He took a few easy steps forward, raising a hand in mock salute.
“Luke Castellan,” he called out, voice warm but lined with just enough sarcasm to bite gently, “you—the same guy who swore he was gonna spend summer break doing ‘nothing but adventuring, surfing, and road tripping the coast with a film camera and zero plans’—that guy… is now here, at my firefly party?”
He feigned a dramatic gasp. “And with Bella, no less? The woman who made you promise you’d start sleeping eight hours a night and drinking actual water?”
He grinned, arms folding casually as he glanced between them.
“God, you two are so cute I might throw up.”
He shot Janice a sideways glance, lowering his voice playfully, “They do this thing where they act like they’re chill, but then she shows up smelling like cinnamon and he just immediately forgets his entire personality.”
Turning back to Luke and Bella, he waved them in. “Grab a spot. We’ve got snacks, emotional vulnerability, and I think someone’s about to start playing something vaguely sad on an amp.”
Holland lingered beside Janice as Luke and Bella started settling in, his arms still loosely folded across his chest, the glow from a nearby lantern casting gentle shadows across his features. He gave a soft chuckle, more to himself than anyone else. “So that just leaves…”
He ticked them off with a slight lift of his fingers, casual as ever.
“Quentin—probably glued to his synth setup in that shoebox of an apartment. Jia said she was going to “clear her head by kayaking,” whatever that means if I heard her correctly. Tate swore he wasn’t gonna leave his AC bubble until mid-September. And Nat…” Holland paused, lips tugging into a smirk, “well, Nat said ‘maybe’ which, in Nat-speak, means probably not unless there’s a meteor shower or free iced coffee.”
He tilted his head toward Janice, smile softening. “But hey—who knows. Could show up. Could not.”
There wasn’t disappointment in his voice, just a sense of ease. Like he’d already made peace with however the night unfolded. Then, with a glance at the gathering crowd, he added, “Doesn’t really matter, though. The right ones always find their way here. You did. They did.”
He glanced at the trio (Wesson, Max, & Tabitha) before the duo (Bella & Luke) and Janice , his smile not fading this time—just quieter, more genuine.
Another newcomer approached. Apparently, she was acquainted with Luke.
“Oh. Right.” He angled his body toward her and gestured between the two girls. “Tabby, this is Bella—she’s the reason I have taste.”
Tabby looked up and gave a polite smile and nod.
He gave Bella a sidelong look. “Bells, meet Tabitha. She’s got stage presence, blistered fingers, and probably a distortion pedal she’d kill to plug in. Be nice—she’s new.”
"Uh, yeah. My family just moved here from out of state and I was out and about and just sort of, um, wandered in," she offered shyly. She was about to tune her guitar so her hands were occupied. This time she managed to not fidget nervously with her hair.
The tone was warm, not performative. There was no tension in the introduction—only the kind of ease that came when a guy was sure of where his heart sat, and made room beside it for someone else.
“Also,” he added to Bella, tilting his head toward the paper bag she was holding, “what’d you find?”
Their host, Holland, had also returned after excusing himself. Tabby finished tuning up. Although she was being encouraged to play something heavy, she was more inclined to find something soft and mellow. Not her style, but she wanted it to go along with the mood.
She began tuning the strings of the blue guitar with the brick-style boss tuner. After she had the needle more or less centered for each string, she gave it a strum. The E minor chord sounded in tune. She began to fiddle with the reverb knob and then pulled out a blue Boss chorus pedal. She saw she also had the seasick green Ibanez Tube Screamer pedal, but decided not to plug that one in.
After patching the effect in between the guitar and amp, she had a very liquidy, delayed tone and played a few minor chords letting the notes ring.
“Oh. Right.” He angled his body toward her and gestured between the two girls. “Tabby, this is Bella—she’s the reason I have taste.”
Tabby looked up and gave a polite smile and nod.
He gave Bella a sidelong look. “Bells, meet Tabitha. She’s got stage presence, blistered fingers, and probably a distortion pedal she’d kill to plug in. Be nice—she’s new.”
"Uh, yeah. My family just moved here from out of state and I was out and about and just sort of, um, wandered in," she offered shyly. She was about to tune her guitar so her hands were occupied. This time she managed to not fidget nervously with her hair.
The tone was warm, not performative. There was no tension in the introduction—only the kind of ease that came when a guy was sure of where his heart sat, and made room beside it for someone else.
“Also,” he added to Bella, tilting his head toward the paper bag she was holding, “what’d you find?”
Their host, Holland, had also returned after excusing himself. Tabby finished tuning up. Although she was being encouraged to play something heavy, she was more inclined to find something soft and mellow. Not her style, but she wanted it to go along with the mood.
She began tuning the strings of the blue guitar with the brick-style boss tuner. After she had the needle more or less centered for each string, she gave it a strum. The E minor chord sounded in tune. She began to fiddle with the reverb knob and then pulled out a blue Boss chorus pedal. She saw she also had the seasick green Ibanez Tube Screamer pedal, but decided not to plug that one in.
After patching the effect in between the guitar and amp, she had a very liquidy, delayed tone and played a few minor chords letting the notes ring.
Max hadn’t really expected Tabby to agree to his request. Not because she seemed unfriendly; on the contrary, she appeared to be a perfectly pleasant person. However, she was clearly preoccupied, her attention tuned into the instruments in front of her as her hands moved with a practiced ease that came from countless hours of solitude with her guitar. The look on her face was one of intense focus, a balancing act between nerves and instinct, a state he recognized from his past experiences. He had seen this same look in interrogation rooms, in the mirror, and in the tense silence before the first word is spoken.
When Tabby finally looked up, her eyes locking onto his with a hint of surprise, Max responded with a gentle shake of his head and a lopsided smile. His intention was to reassure her that she wasn’t late or missing out on anything. "Happens," he said in a casual tone, his voice steady and calming, devoid of pressure but full of invitation. It was clear that she was multitasking, her mind preoccupied with wrapping cords and thinking ahead. Max had caught her in the middle of her preparation, not during one of those pauses that people usually leave open for casual conversation. Despite his initial doubts, something about her response softened Max's demeanor. He shifted his stance to create a bit more space for her, his boot scuffing softly against the grass. He didn't take a seat just yet; instead, he stood near her, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as his gaze flicked between her setup and the fading horizon. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said after a moment, nodding toward her amp and gear. "But I figured if anyone had the guts to show up with a guitar, they deserved at least one person actually paying attention." His glance at her was accompanied by the return of his gentle grin. "No pressure," he added, making it clear that he wasn't trying to intrude or impose.
Max's behavior wasn't flirtatious, not exactly. He simply remained quiet after that, allowing her to return to her preparations without further interruption. Yet, he didn't leave; he settled nearby, his presence unobtrusive but reassuring, like a quiet vote of confidence. As the darkness gathered, he became a dark silhouette against the warm glow of the lanterns.
Max had noticed Luke's subtle maneuver, the kind of nudge that only someone familiar with the game would recognize. Luke's lean-in whisper, his amused glance toward Max, was like passing a ball just before disappearing into the crowd. Max's brow rose slightly, but he didn't smirk; his silence was enough of a response. He stood a little off to the side, near the tree line, where Wesson had retreated into his usual state of quiet contemplation, staring at nothing with an intensity that made it seem like everything. As Max watched Luke walk off with Bella, he caught the teasing curve of Luke's grin before it vanished under the soft rustle of swaying branches. Then, casually, Max shifted his weight, his boot crunching softly on the wild grass. His jacket tugged at the hem, the weight of his pockets a familiar comfort, filled with the habitual items he carried: a lighter, a notepad, and a small penknife he had never used.
He didn't look back immediately; he simply waited, unsure if Tabby would actually approach him. However, he had heard her reply to Luke and seen the way she glanced over, as if wondering if someone had been watching her, and perhaps finding the attention not unwelcome. Max, who had drifted close enough to hear the soft ring of chords from Tabby's amp, couldn't help but tilt his head at the sound. The mellow delay and the liquid shimmer of the chorus were unexpected, given the nervous energy he had sensed in her earlier. Instead, there was a slow, deliberate tenderness in the way she let the strings breathe.
Max lingered at the edge of the semi-circle, his hands still buried in his coat pockets, his boots rooted in the grass as the light from the lanterns dappled his sharp features in amber and shadow. Though not a musician himself, he knew when someone was speaking without words, and right now, Tabby was speaking through her music. She was a new transplant, someone who had moved from out of state, her nerves and uncertainty bundled in polite smiles, now bleeding out through clean minor chords and delay trails. He stepped a bit closer, his boots crunching softly over the grass and soil, careful not to interrupt. Just near enough that she might notice him in her peripheral vision, not demanding attention but offering quiet presence. In the distance, another lantern flickered to life, someone's whispered secret catching light. Max watched the way her fingers hovered over the fretboard, delicate but assured.
If she looked up, she would find him watching her with the same quiet focus he reserved for crime scenes, cigarette smoke, and moonlight through dusty blinds. And maybe he would offer her the smallest of smiles.
When Tabby finally looked up, her eyes locking onto his with a hint of surprise, Max responded with a gentle shake of his head and a lopsided smile. His intention was to reassure her that she wasn’t late or missing out on anything. "Happens," he said in a casual tone, his voice steady and calming, devoid of pressure but full of invitation. It was clear that she was multitasking, her mind preoccupied with wrapping cords and thinking ahead. Max had caught her in the middle of her preparation, not during one of those pauses that people usually leave open for casual conversation. Despite his initial doubts, something about her response softened Max's demeanor. He shifted his stance to create a bit more space for her, his boot scuffing softly against the grass. He didn't take a seat just yet; instead, he stood near her, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as his gaze flicked between her setup and the fading horizon. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said after a moment, nodding toward her amp and gear. "But I figured if anyone had the guts to show up with a guitar, they deserved at least one person actually paying attention." His glance at her was accompanied by the return of his gentle grin. "No pressure," he added, making it clear that he wasn't trying to intrude or impose.
Max's behavior wasn't flirtatious, not exactly. He simply remained quiet after that, allowing her to return to her preparations without further interruption. Yet, he didn't leave; he settled nearby, his presence unobtrusive but reassuring, like a quiet vote of confidence. As the darkness gathered, he became a dark silhouette against the warm glow of the lanterns.
Max had noticed Luke's subtle maneuver, the kind of nudge that only someone familiar with the game would recognize. Luke's lean-in whisper, his amused glance toward Max, was like passing a ball just before disappearing into the crowd. Max's brow rose slightly, but he didn't smirk; his silence was enough of a response. He stood a little off to the side, near the tree line, where Wesson had retreated into his usual state of quiet contemplation, staring at nothing with an intensity that made it seem like everything. As Max watched Luke walk off with Bella, he caught the teasing curve of Luke's grin before it vanished under the soft rustle of swaying branches. Then, casually, Max shifted his weight, his boot crunching softly on the wild grass. His jacket tugged at the hem, the weight of his pockets a familiar comfort, filled with the habitual items he carried: a lighter, a notepad, and a small penknife he had never used.
He didn't look back immediately; he simply waited, unsure if Tabby would actually approach him. However, he had heard her reply to Luke and seen the way she glanced over, as if wondering if someone had been watching her, and perhaps finding the attention not unwelcome. Max, who had drifted close enough to hear the soft ring of chords from Tabby's amp, couldn't help but tilt his head at the sound. The mellow delay and the liquid shimmer of the chorus were unexpected, given the nervous energy he had sensed in her earlier. Instead, there was a slow, deliberate tenderness in the way she let the strings breathe.
Max lingered at the edge of the semi-circle, his hands still buried in his coat pockets, his boots rooted in the grass as the light from the lanterns dappled his sharp features in amber and shadow. Though not a musician himself, he knew when someone was speaking without words, and right now, Tabby was speaking through her music. She was a new transplant, someone who had moved from out of state, her nerves and uncertainty bundled in polite smiles, now bleeding out through clean minor chords and delay trails. He stepped a bit closer, his boots crunching softly over the grass and soil, careful not to interrupt. Just near enough that she might notice him in her peripheral vision, not demanding attention but offering quiet presence. In the distance, another lantern flickered to life, someone's whispered secret catching light. Max watched the way her fingers hovered over the fretboard, delicate but assured.
If she looked up, she would find him watching her with the same quiet focus he reserved for crime scenes, cigarette smoke, and moonlight through dusty blinds. And maybe he would offer her the smallest of smiles.
Bella's ears flushed a deep shade of red as Luke leaned in close and whispered something in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. The object of his whisper was a banana-shaped keychain, and Bella's reaction was instantaneous. She felt a mix of surprise and embarrassment, wondering how Luke had known about her fondness for the quirky trinket. But, upon reflection, it wasn't that surprising. After all, Luke had known her since they were kids, and their long-standing friendship had given him a unique insight into her tastes and preferences.
As a matter of fact, Bella had always been drawn to unique and cute things, and keychains were her weakness. She had been collecting them since childhood, and Luke had been well aware of this quirk. Even when he wasn't accompanying her on shopping trips, he seemed to have a knack for knowing what would catch her eye. So, when he whispered about the banana-shaped keychain, Bella was impressed. It wasn't just a lucky guess; it was a testament to their deep and abiding friendship.
"Yeah... of course, you could guess," Bella said, her voice barely above a whisper. When Luke stepped back, turning to introduce her to someone standing nearby. "Hi, my name is Bella. We're friends since we were toddlers," she said, gesturing to herself and Luke. As she spoke, she felt a pang of uncertainty. Were they just friends, or was their relationship evolving into something more now? They had grown closer as they started college, and Bella wasn't sure how to define their connection anymore.
As Luke walked away from Tabitha, Bella quickly followed him, her shopping bag swinging from her arm. "Hey, wait!" she called out, her voice low and urgent. Bella hesitated, unsure of how to continue. "This? I'll tell you later, at home," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Besides, we're here for the lantern, aren't we?" She smiled, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
As a matter of fact, Bella had always been drawn to unique and cute things, and keychains were her weakness. She had been collecting them since childhood, and Luke had been well aware of this quirk. Even when he wasn't accompanying her on shopping trips, he seemed to have a knack for knowing what would catch her eye. So, when he whispered about the banana-shaped keychain, Bella was impressed. It wasn't just a lucky guess; it was a testament to their deep and abiding friendship.
"Yeah... of course, you could guess," Bella said, her voice barely above a whisper. When Luke stepped back, turning to introduce her to someone standing nearby. "Hi, my name is Bella. We're friends since we were toddlers," she said, gesturing to herself and Luke. As she spoke, she felt a pang of uncertainty. Were they just friends, or was their relationship evolving into something more now? They had grown closer as they started college, and Bella wasn't sure how to define their connection anymore.
As Luke walked away from Tabitha, Bella quickly followed him, her shopping bag swinging from her arm. "Hey, wait!" she called out, her voice low and urgent. Bella hesitated, unsure of how to continue. "This? I'll tell you later, at home," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Besides, we're here for the lantern, aren't we?" She smiled, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
As Holland pointed with his chin, Janice instinctively turned her head in the direction he was indicating. Her gaze landed on the familiar figures of Bella and Luke, who were also their fellow students at USC. Although they were all pursuing different majors, they were united by a group called the Study Group. Well, obviously...the name itself was quite straightforward, implying that it was a group of students who came together to study and support one another in their academic endeavors. Janice, being the youngest member yet undeniably the smartest, had naturally taken on the leadership role within this group.
As Holland began to walk towards Luke, Janice followed suit and stopping beside him. When he started to tease Luke in a mocking tone, Janice playfully hit Holland's arm, chiding him gently. "Hey, don't talk to him like that," she said, shaking her head in a manner that suggested he should behave more considerately towards their friend. Then, in a stark contrast to Holland's expressed distaste for the scene before them, Janice added with a softer tone, "They look sweet together, though." Her comment was a clear indication that she didn't share Holland's aversion to the affectionate display between Bella and Luke.
Holland then went on to mention the names of other members in their Study Group - Quentin, Jia, Tate, and Natasha. Janice was certain that each of them had their own activities and lives outside of the group. She particularly thought that Quentin and Jia were likely dating, as they were the only ones in the group who seemed to be in a clear, defined relationship. As she glanced briefly at Holland, a thought crossed her mind: what about them? What are they...?
Janice's initial wariness of Holland stemmed from an incident where he had suddenly thrown a punch at a stranger in front of her. The sudden violence had shaken her, prompting her to tell him to leave. However, after she had apologized for her reaction, they began to grow closer. Janice had helped Holland with his studies, and despite their differences; Holland being an extrovert and Janice being an introvert, they managed to navigate their understanding of each other, though not without some difficulty. Janice's introverted nature often made it hard for her to express her emotions effectively, and being the youngest member of the group made her feel shy and nervous at times.
"I’m..." Janice paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing, "Well, I’m here. (And I made a wish for you)." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she couldn't help but feel a flush rise to her cheeks as she added, "I hope I’m not making you disappointed, though."
The soft glow of the fireflies, combined with the warm light from the lanterns, illuminated Holland's face, casting a gentle radiance on his features. For a moment, Janice felt her heart beat faster, though she wasn't quite sure why. The sudden flutter in her chest was a sensation she hadn't anticipated, and it left her with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
As Holland began to walk towards Luke, Janice followed suit and stopping beside him. When he started to tease Luke in a mocking tone, Janice playfully hit Holland's arm, chiding him gently. "Hey, don't talk to him like that," she said, shaking her head in a manner that suggested he should behave more considerately towards their friend. Then, in a stark contrast to Holland's expressed distaste for the scene before them, Janice added with a softer tone, "They look sweet together, though." Her comment was a clear indication that she didn't share Holland's aversion to the affectionate display between Bella and Luke.
Holland then went on to mention the names of other members in their Study Group - Quentin, Jia, Tate, and Natasha. Janice was certain that each of them had their own activities and lives outside of the group. She particularly thought that Quentin and Jia were likely dating, as they were the only ones in the group who seemed to be in a clear, defined relationship. As she glanced briefly at Holland, a thought crossed her mind: what about them? What are they...?
Janice's initial wariness of Holland stemmed from an incident where he had suddenly thrown a punch at a stranger in front of her. The sudden violence had shaken her, prompting her to tell him to leave. However, after she had apologized for her reaction, they began to grow closer. Janice had helped Holland with his studies, and despite their differences; Holland being an extrovert and Janice being an introvert, they managed to navigate their understanding of each other, though not without some difficulty. Janice's introverted nature often made it hard for her to express her emotions effectively, and being the youngest member of the group made her feel shy and nervous at times.
"I’m..." Janice paused, collecting her thoughts before continuing, "Well, I’m here. (And I made a wish for you)." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she couldn't help but feel a flush rise to her cheeks as she added, "I hope I’m not making you disappointed, though."
The soft glow of the fireflies, combined with the warm light from the lanterns, illuminated Holland's face, casting a gentle radiance on his features. For a moment, Janice felt her heart beat faster, though she wasn't quite sure why. The sudden flutter in her chest was a sensation she hadn't anticipated, and it left her with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Luke paused mid-step when he heard her voice behind him and turned just in time to catch Bella’s expression, that quiet urgency tucked into her brows, the way her shopping bag swung against her hip like it had something important in it.
He blinked. For a second, it was like she’d pulled him into a different kind of silence. The kind that made you listen closer. She didn’t have to explain. The way she said home was enough. And it hit him in a spot he didn’t always acknowledge—that little pulse at the base of his throat where old memories and maybe-someday feelings liked to sit.
His lips curved into something half-smirk, half-smile. “Right,” he murmured, stepping just a little closer. “Lanterns. Wishes. Sentimental sky stuff.”
He nudged her elbow lightly with his. “But let’s not do the release just yet. C’mon.”
He motioned with his chin and started leading her along the edge of the field, away from the crowded circle of firelight and guitar chords. They stepped over the curled roots of a sycamore, where someone had tied ribbons in the branches, and wandered toward a quieter corner of the clearing. A few jars with flickering tealights sat nestled in the grass, their flames pulsing like heartbeat beacons.
Luke pulled something out of his jacket pocket—a black Sharpie—and grinned.
“I saw this setup on the walk in,” he said. “You’re supposed to write something you’ve never said out loud. But…”
He knelt down beside a flat, palm-sized stone that had been left on one of the picnic blankets earlier—likely forgotten or discarded—and handed her the marker.
“…what if we write it here instead?” He tapped the stone. “You know. Something true. But only for us.”
He glanced up at her, eyes steady now, voice softer.
“Doesn’t have to be deep. Just… sincere.”
Then he held up a second stone he’d found nearby and offered it to her with a slight shrug.
“Two truths. No names. No one else sees. Just us.”
Luke ran his thumb along the surface of the stone—cool and rough, like it had been waiting under the grass for just this moment. He flipped the Sharpie in his hand once, then uncapped it with a quiet click.
“Alright. I’ll go first.”
He didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t rush either. His handwriting was a little messy, the kind of lettering that said he rarely slowed down enough to write by hand anymore. Still, he was careful. As if the weight of what he wrote mattered more than how clean it looked.
He wrote four words.
Then another pause.
Then one more line—smaller, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he should.
When he was done, he capped the Sharpie, flipped the stone over so she couldn’t see it just yet, and slid it a little closer to her on the blanket between them.
His voice was quiet when he spoke again—in a way he rarely let himself be.
“Okay. Your turn.”
As she took the marker and her own stone, he sat back slightly, elbows resting loosely on his knees, letting her have her space while his own truth just sat there between them, hidden on a piece of earth.
If she flipped it later, she’d find his writing:
I think about you
more than I let on.
Even when you’re not around.
He didn’t ask for hers.
Didn’t watch her while she wrote.
But he stayed right there beside her, waiting. Just in case.
He blinked. For a second, it was like she’d pulled him into a different kind of silence. The kind that made you listen closer. She didn’t have to explain. The way she said home was enough. And it hit him in a spot he didn’t always acknowledge—that little pulse at the base of his throat where old memories and maybe-someday feelings liked to sit.
His lips curved into something half-smirk, half-smile. “Right,” he murmured, stepping just a little closer. “Lanterns. Wishes. Sentimental sky stuff.”
He nudged her elbow lightly with his. “But let’s not do the release just yet. C’mon.”
He motioned with his chin and started leading her along the edge of the field, away from the crowded circle of firelight and guitar chords. They stepped over the curled roots of a sycamore, where someone had tied ribbons in the branches, and wandered toward a quieter corner of the clearing. A few jars with flickering tealights sat nestled in the grass, their flames pulsing like heartbeat beacons.
Luke pulled something out of his jacket pocket—a black Sharpie—and grinned.
“I saw this setup on the walk in,” he said. “You’re supposed to write something you’ve never said out loud. But…”
He knelt down beside a flat, palm-sized stone that had been left on one of the picnic blankets earlier—likely forgotten or discarded—and handed her the marker.
“…what if we write it here instead?” He tapped the stone. “You know. Something true. But only for us.”
He glanced up at her, eyes steady now, voice softer.
“Doesn’t have to be deep. Just… sincere.”
Then he held up a second stone he’d found nearby and offered it to her with a slight shrug.
“Two truths. No names. No one else sees. Just us.”
Luke ran his thumb along the surface of the stone—cool and rough, like it had been waiting under the grass for just this moment. He flipped the Sharpie in his hand once, then uncapped it with a quiet click.
“Alright. I’ll go first.”
He didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t rush either. His handwriting was a little messy, the kind of lettering that said he rarely slowed down enough to write by hand anymore. Still, he was careful. As if the weight of what he wrote mattered more than how clean it looked.
He wrote four words.
Then another pause.
Then one more line—smaller, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he should.
When he was done, he capped the Sharpie, flipped the stone over so she couldn’t see it just yet, and slid it a little closer to her on the blanket between them.
His voice was quiet when he spoke again—in a way he rarely let himself be.
“Okay. Your turn.”
As she took the marker and her own stone, he sat back slightly, elbows resting loosely on his knees, letting her have her space while his own truth just sat there between them, hidden on a piece of earth.
If she flipped it later, she’d find his writing:
I think about you
more than I let on.
Even when you’re not around.
He didn’t ask for hers.
Didn’t watch her while she wrote.
But he stayed right there beside her, waiting. Just in case.
In all honesty, Holland never expected Janice to warm up to him.
Not in the way she had.
He hadn’t pressed her. Not once. He’d made space, let her have the silences, let her say no without needing to justify it. He took the initiative—because someone had to—but he never pushed. He just… invited her in, over and over, in the casual ways that said you’re safe here without needing to be poetic about it.
It wasn’t just that he liked her. It was that he respected her. The way she led their study group without trying to control anyone. The way she helped him without making him feel stupid. She made it okay to slow down. To study harder. To stay curious. He wasn’t flunking econ anymore, and that was entirely her fault.
If anyone ever crossed her again—like that guy at the library—there was no doubt in his mind he’d come to her defense all over again. No hesitation. No apology. He didn’t care what she said after. That was never negotiable. So when Janice paused beside him and whispered, his breath caught from the weight of it.
He stopped walking.
Turned to face her fully.
The fireflies were dancing lazily around them again, like the world had forgotten how to rush. Holland looked at her—not with teasing eyes, not with smirking bravado—but with something softer. Something sincere.
“Disappointed?”
He shook his head slowly, his smile unfurling in that quiet, real way he rarely showed anyone.
“What are you talking about?”
Then, more gently—“You’re not background noise, Janice.”
His voice dropped a note, not dramatic, just low and intimate.
“You’re the melody I didn’t know I needed—simple, steady, and stuck in my head for days.”
He let that hang there for a moment, then looked down with a quiet laugh, raking a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep the nerves from showing. “I mean—yeah, okay, that sounded way cheesier out loud,” he admitted, glancing up at her again with that familiar glint in his eye. “But it’s true.”
His fingers brushed hers—not a grab, not a demand. Just a light contact. A rhythm. A beat.
“I’m glad you came. Really.”
Then, a small smirk: “Even if you keep bossing me around in group chat.”
Not in the way she had.
He hadn’t pressed her. Not once. He’d made space, let her have the silences, let her say no without needing to justify it. He took the initiative—because someone had to—but he never pushed. He just… invited her in, over and over, in the casual ways that said you’re safe here without needing to be poetic about it.
It wasn’t just that he liked her. It was that he respected her. The way she led their study group without trying to control anyone. The way she helped him without making him feel stupid. She made it okay to slow down. To study harder. To stay curious. He wasn’t flunking econ anymore, and that was entirely her fault.
If anyone ever crossed her again—like that guy at the library—there was no doubt in his mind he’d come to her defense all over again. No hesitation. No apology. He didn’t care what she said after. That was never negotiable. So when Janice paused beside him and whispered, his breath caught from the weight of it.
He stopped walking.
Turned to face her fully.
The fireflies were dancing lazily around them again, like the world had forgotten how to rush. Holland looked at her—not with teasing eyes, not with smirking bravado—but with something softer. Something sincere.
“Disappointed?”
He shook his head slowly, his smile unfurling in that quiet, real way he rarely showed anyone.
“What are you talking about?”
Then, more gently—“You’re not background noise, Janice.”
His voice dropped a note, not dramatic, just low and intimate.
“You’re the melody I didn’t know I needed—simple, steady, and stuck in my head for days.”
He let that hang there for a moment, then looked down with a quiet laugh, raking a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep the nerves from showing. “I mean—yeah, okay, that sounded way cheesier out loud,” he admitted, glancing up at her again with that familiar glint in his eye. “But it’s true.”
His fingers brushed hers—not a grab, not a demand. Just a light contact. A rhythm. A beat.
“I’m glad you came. Really.”
Then, a small smirk: “Even if you keep bossing me around in group chat.”
Quentin emerged from the tree line at a gentle pace, a few steps behind Jia but unmistakably there, his lean frame silhouetted against the amber twilight like a figure carved from dusk and summer heat. His hoodie was tied around his waist now, sleeves limp, exposing the black tank top clinging to the subtle strength in his shoulders—proof of a long day spent somewhere warmer, brighter, and far more personal than a field full of floating lanterns.
Whatever he and Jia had been doing earlier—beach? open-air market? café-hopping with their usual sarcastic commentary—it had clearly been theirs. The kind of day you don’t rush. The kind that leaves your hair a little windblown and your bones pleasantly tired.
He let Jia step forward first, content to follow her rhythm as always, then strolled in with his usual unshaken grace. A guitar pick still clung behind his ear, tucked there out of habit, and the corners of his mouth curved faintly when he saw the glow of the gathering ahead.
Lanterns. Fireflies. Familiar silhouettes scattered across the field.
Quentin let the sight settle over him like a soft chord. There they were—Luke and Bella, tangled in that effortless domestic closeness they always pretended not to notice. Tabitha, someone new, with a guitar across her lap and the uncertain posture of someone both observing and being observed. Max and Wesson stood like dark punctuation marks at the edge of it all.
And—right in the heart of the field—Holland and Janice.
He recognized them by posture before proximity. Holland’s loose confidence. Janice’s calm composure, drawn a little closer than usual. Something had shifted there. Even from across the field, Quentin could feel it.
He glanced toward Jia with a subtle smirk, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. Then he slid his hands into his pockets and crossed the last stretch of grass, boots crunching softly against the trampled wild mint.
“Hope we didn’t miss the fireworks,” he called out lightly, just enough to catch Holland’s attention without intruding. “Jia and I were out! Figured we’d round out the day with some wishes and ambiance. Seemed fitting.”
Whatever he and Jia had been doing earlier—beach? open-air market? café-hopping with their usual sarcastic commentary—it had clearly been theirs. The kind of day you don’t rush. The kind that leaves your hair a little windblown and your bones pleasantly tired.
He let Jia step forward first, content to follow her rhythm as always, then strolled in with his usual unshaken grace. A guitar pick still clung behind his ear, tucked there out of habit, and the corners of his mouth curved faintly when he saw the glow of the gathering ahead.
Lanterns. Fireflies. Familiar silhouettes scattered across the field.
Quentin let the sight settle over him like a soft chord. There they were—Luke and Bella, tangled in that effortless domestic closeness they always pretended not to notice. Tabitha, someone new, with a guitar across her lap and the uncertain posture of someone both observing and being observed. Max and Wesson stood like dark punctuation marks at the edge of it all.
And—right in the heart of the field—Holland and Janice.
He recognized them by posture before proximity. Holland’s loose confidence. Janice’s calm composure, drawn a little closer than usual. Something had shifted there. Even from across the field, Quentin could feel it.
He glanced toward Jia with a subtle smirk, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. Then he slid his hands into his pockets and crossed the last stretch of grass, boots crunching softly against the trampled wild mint.
“Hope we didn’t miss the fireworks,” he called out lightly, just enough to catch Holland’s attention without intruding. “Jia and I were out! Figured we’d round out the day with some wishes and ambiance. Seemed fitting.”
"Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said after a moment, nodding toward her amp and gear. "But I figured if anyone had the guts to show up with a guitar, they deserved at least one person actually paying attention." His glance at her was accompanied by the return of his gentle grin. "No pressure," he added, making it clear that he wasn't trying to intrude or impose.
"It's fine," Tabby reassured him. "Like I mentioned, I just moved here and happened to stumble over here by accident. I hadn't planned to perform. I just had my guitar with me and wanted to get out of the house..." And away from my parents she added silently. She couldn't wait to settle into something that felt like normal again. Although normal was a relative word in her life.
He didn't look back immediately; he simply waited, unsure if Tabby would actually approach him. However, he had heard her reply to Luke and seen the way she glanced over, as if wondering if someone had been watching her, and perhaps finding the attention not unwelcome. Max, who had drifted close enough to hear the soft ring of chords from Tabby's amp, couldn't help but tilt his head at the sound. The mellow delay and the liquid shimmer of the chorus were unexpected, given the nervous energy he had sensed in her earlier. Instead, there was a slow, deliberate tenderness in the way she let the strings breathe.
Tabby took note of Max's interest and continued to noodle around for a few minutes. It wasn't really a performance, just more an attempt to fit in. After all, the amp had been offered to her. Finally, after a few minutes and looked up. "Anyone else want a turn?"
"It's fine," Tabby reassured him. "Like I mentioned, I just moved here and happened to stumble over here by accident. I hadn't planned to perform. I just had my guitar with me and wanted to get out of the house..." And away from my parents she added silently. She couldn't wait to settle into something that felt like normal again. Although normal was a relative word in her life.
He didn't look back immediately; he simply waited, unsure if Tabby would actually approach him. However, he had heard her reply to Luke and seen the way she glanced over, as if wondering if someone had been watching her, and perhaps finding the attention not unwelcome. Max, who had drifted close enough to hear the soft ring of chords from Tabby's amp, couldn't help but tilt his head at the sound. The mellow delay and the liquid shimmer of the chorus were unexpected, given the nervous energy he had sensed in her earlier. Instead, there was a slow, deliberate tenderness in the way she let the strings breathe.
Tabby took note of Max's interest and continued to noodle around for a few minutes. It wasn't really a performance, just more an attempt to fit in. After all, the amp had been offered to her. Finally, after a few minutes and looked up. "Anyone else want a turn?"
Max gave a small nod at Tabby, his expression unreadable at first. Just the same calm mask he always wore when strangers spoke a little too honestly. But something in Tabby’s words lingered, hit a note he hadn’t expected. A quiet one. He tucked his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.
“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing off toward the field where the lanterns bobbed. “I think you've already set the mood.” The corner of his mouth twitched not quite a smile, but the idea of one. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. He just let her sentence hang, like an open-ended chord that didn’t need resolving.
“You picked a decent spot to land, though,” he added after a beat, nodding toward the crowd. “Music. Fireflies. No one asking too many questions.”
Max had been leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed, one boot slightly dug into the grass like he might walk off at any moment but hadn’t. His gaze had stayed with her the whole time, even as others chatted and laughed around them. He wasn’t watching like a critic. It was something quieter. Curiosity. Maybe even respect. The soft hum of the amp faded after her final chord, and her voice, tentative but open, broke through the firefly-dotted hush.
"Anyone else want a turn?"
Max tilted his head slightly, like he was weighing the question. He didn’t move, not right away, just let his eyes linger on the guitar in her hands and the space she’d left behind her words. She hadn’t meant to perform but she'd done it anyway. And it had been honest. That counted more than polish.
"Maybe among those guys will take it." Max tilted his head toward Holland, Luke, and another youngster whom just joined.
“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing off toward the field where the lanterns bobbed. “I think you've already set the mood.” The corner of his mouth twitched not quite a smile, but the idea of one. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. He just let her sentence hang, like an open-ended chord that didn’t need resolving.
“You picked a decent spot to land, though,” he added after a beat, nodding toward the crowd. “Music. Fireflies. No one asking too many questions.”
Max had been leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed, one boot slightly dug into the grass like he might walk off at any moment but hadn’t. His gaze had stayed with her the whole time, even as others chatted and laughed around them. He wasn’t watching like a critic. It was something quieter. Curiosity. Maybe even respect. The soft hum of the amp faded after her final chord, and her voice, tentative but open, broke through the firefly-dotted hush.
"Anyone else want a turn?"
Max tilted his head slightly, like he was weighing the question. He didn’t move, not right away, just let his eyes linger on the guitar in her hands and the space she’d left behind her words. She hadn’t meant to perform but she'd done it anyway. And it had been honest. That counted more than polish.
"Maybe among those guys will take it." Max tilted his head toward Holland, Luke, and another youngster whom just joined.
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