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.
Jia was out with Quentin today and it felt like a perfect summer day!
The warmth of the sun cast a golden glow over everything and the air was alive with the sounds of laughter and music. It was their summer holiday! A time for adventures, relaxation, and most importantly, fun! Summer meant beach outings, sandcastles, and vibrant parties. And as a cherry on top, summer also signified fireworks lighting up the night sky. Fireworks might have been part of the plan, but however, neither Jia nor Quentin had been lucky enough for fireworks to light up the sky when they were around. Still, that didn’t dampen their excitement. Instead, they chose to go to a peaceful grass field nearby which Quentin talked about lanterns and how they were perfect for sending wishes into the night which instantly caught Jia’s attention. His eyes lit up as he explained how releasing lanterns into the night sky was a tradition symbolizing hopes and dreams. The idea sounded incredibly romantic. Like something out of a fairy tale. So without hesitation, Jia enthusiastically approved his idea.
With that, they made their way to the field. Jia moved gracefully, her years of ballet training evident in the way she glided over the grass, each step resembling a dance. As they approached the heart of the gathering, she scanned the area, noting a blend of familiar faces and newcomers in the crowd. There were friends from her study group mingling, enjoying the evening's festivities, alongside others whom she had just met today. A flickering light caught her eye, and she watched as several lanterns were released into the twilight, each one carrying the hopes and dreams of its sender. The sight was mesmerizing, the lanterns rising like stars, and the moment felt truly magical. Jia couldn’t help but smile; this was the kind of evening she loved.
Now, they found themselves in the midst of this magical scene. The field was alive with people, some strangers, some friends they recognized from their study group. Jia’s eyes scanned the crowd and picked out familiar faces. Holland, Janice, Bella, and Luke. The air was filled with the scent of lit lanterns and the faint crackle of fireworks in the distance. Jia couldn’t help but notice a few lanterns already drifting upward. Their gentle glow illuminating the night as they soared toward the stars. She saw one or two heading skyward, carrying hopes of love, success, or happiness. The sight was truly romantic, almost like a scene from a dream she’d never want to wake from. And that simple beauty made her heart beat a little faster.
Hopping with excitement, Jia leapt and waved her hand wildly at her friends, her voice loud and cheerful.
“Hiiii~!!” she shouted to Holland, Janice, Bella, and Luke, her face lighting up with genuine happiness. Then she turned to Quentin, grabbing his arm gently and her smile widening. Jia’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him. Jia’s enthusiasm grew stronger as she looked at Quentin. “I can’t wait to write my wishes,” she whispered excitedly. “Come on, Quentin! Let’s do this together!”
The warmth of the sun cast a golden glow over everything and the air was alive with the sounds of laughter and music. It was their summer holiday! A time for adventures, relaxation, and most importantly, fun! Summer meant beach outings, sandcastles, and vibrant parties. And as a cherry on top, summer also signified fireworks lighting up the night sky. Fireworks might have been part of the plan, but however, neither Jia nor Quentin had been lucky enough for fireworks to light up the sky when they were around. Still, that didn’t dampen their excitement. Instead, they chose to go to a peaceful grass field nearby which Quentin talked about lanterns and how they were perfect for sending wishes into the night which instantly caught Jia’s attention. His eyes lit up as he explained how releasing lanterns into the night sky was a tradition symbolizing hopes and dreams. The idea sounded incredibly romantic. Like something out of a fairy tale. So without hesitation, Jia enthusiastically approved his idea.
With that, they made their way to the field. Jia moved gracefully, her years of ballet training evident in the way she glided over the grass, each step resembling a dance. As they approached the heart of the gathering, she scanned the area, noting a blend of familiar faces and newcomers in the crowd. There were friends from her study group mingling, enjoying the evening's festivities, alongside others whom she had just met today. A flickering light caught her eye, and she watched as several lanterns were released into the twilight, each one carrying the hopes and dreams of its sender. The sight was mesmerizing, the lanterns rising like stars, and the moment felt truly magical. Jia couldn’t help but smile; this was the kind of evening she loved.
Now, they found themselves in the midst of this magical scene. The field was alive with people, some strangers, some friends they recognized from their study group. Jia’s eyes scanned the crowd and picked out familiar faces. Holland, Janice, Bella, and Luke. The air was filled with the scent of lit lanterns and the faint crackle of fireworks in the distance. Jia couldn’t help but notice a few lanterns already drifting upward. Their gentle glow illuminating the night as they soared toward the stars. She saw one or two heading skyward, carrying hopes of love, success, or happiness. The sight was truly romantic, almost like a scene from a dream she’d never want to wake from. And that simple beauty made her heart beat a little faster.
Hopping with excitement, Jia leapt and waved her hand wildly at her friends, her voice loud and cheerful.
“Hiiii~!!” she shouted to Holland, Janice, Bella, and Luke, her face lighting up with genuine happiness. Then she turned to Quentin, grabbing his arm gently and her smile widening. Jia’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him. Jia’s enthusiasm grew stronger as she looked at Quentin. “I can’t wait to write my wishes,” she whispered excitedly. “Come on, Quentin! Let’s do this together!”
“You even brought your own pen,” Bella remarked with a hint of amusement, taken aback by Luke’s meticulous preparation for their lantern-writing activity. She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm; it was a lovely touch that added to the charm of the evening. As they gathered their thoughts, she glanced at the smooth stone he handed her. Her brow quirked in surprise. “Wait, we write it on the stone? What if the lantern dies and the stone ends up hitting someone on the head?”
Bella had always prioritized safety in every situation, a habit that had been ingrained in her from a young age. The thought of a falling stone plummeting from the sky like a misguided meteor made her uneasy. On the other hand, Luke seemed unfazed, already busy cleaning his own stone, while Bella hovered in indecision. She weighed the risks in her mind, counting the scenarios on her fingers, debating whether it was safe to attach a stone to their lantern. “But what if it doesn’t even fly?” she worried aloud. Even if Luke said that no one saw them, yet Bella couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be obvious. After all, while others were writing on paper, they would stand out like sore thumbs with their stones.
Despite her reservations, Bella found herself captivated by Luke’s excitement. With a slight sigh of resignation, she picked up the Sharpie and feeling the weight of the decision. Reflecting on her hopes and dreams for the future, she pondered for a moment what words would encapsulate her feelings. Finally, she decided on the sentiment that felt most genuine:
I hope Luke and I will find our own happiness.
A soft smile spread across her face as she looked at him and her heart lifting at the thought. “I’m done,” she declared, bouncing the stone playfully in her palm like a child with a new toy. Before they could dive into the next step, Bella’s attention was drawn to Jia's cheerful voice echoing across the field. She turned to see her friend waving enthusiastically amid the soft glow of the festival lights.
“Time to fly these, I think?” Bella suggested with a twinkle of excitement in her eye, glancing between their decorated stones and the waiting lanterns.
Bella had always prioritized safety in every situation, a habit that had been ingrained in her from a young age. The thought of a falling stone plummeting from the sky like a misguided meteor made her uneasy. On the other hand, Luke seemed unfazed, already busy cleaning his own stone, while Bella hovered in indecision. She weighed the risks in her mind, counting the scenarios on her fingers, debating whether it was safe to attach a stone to their lantern. “But what if it doesn’t even fly?” she worried aloud. Even if Luke said that no one saw them, yet Bella couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be obvious. After all, while others were writing on paper, they would stand out like sore thumbs with their stones.
Despite her reservations, Bella found herself captivated by Luke’s excitement. With a slight sigh of resignation, she picked up the Sharpie and feeling the weight of the decision. Reflecting on her hopes and dreams for the future, she pondered for a moment what words would encapsulate her feelings. Finally, she decided on the sentiment that felt most genuine:
I hope Luke and I will find our own happiness.
A soft smile spread across her face as she looked at him and her heart lifting at the thought. “I’m done,” she declared, bouncing the stone playfully in her palm like a child with a new toy. Before they could dive into the next step, Bella’s attention was drawn to Jia's cheerful voice echoing across the field. She turned to see her friend waving enthusiastically amid the soft glow of the festival lights.
“Time to fly these, I think?” Bella suggested with a twinkle of excitement in her eye, glancing between their decorated stones and the waiting lanterns.
Everyone else seemed to be working on their wishes. Tabby sat her guitar down and turned the amp off. She figured she might as well participate, too.
"So, how does this work," She asked no one in particular. Several people had joined in around her. Despite being included in the group, she still felt a bit like a stranger. All of these people were much older than she was. She'd be starting a new school in the fall.
Tabby could definitely use a wish, some luck and anything else that might make her life even a little better at home. She just hoped no one would learn what her real wish was. It was doubtful she'd ever see any of them again after tonight anyway.
"So, how does this work," She asked no one in particular. Several people had joined in around her. Despite being included in the group, she still felt a bit like a stranger. All of these people were much older than she was. She'd be starting a new school in the fall.
Tabby could definitely use a wish, some luck and anything else that might make her life even a little better at home. She just hoped no one would learn what her real wish was. It was doubtful she'd ever see any of them again after tonight anyway.
The evening had shifted into that golden-blue quiet—the kind where conversations got softer and fireflies drifted closer, as if even they didn’t want to break the spell.
Holland had been watching the lanterns float upward like slow, glowing thoughts when he caught the sound of a soft guitar chord fading into silence. He turned toward the source just in time to see Tabitha gently powering off the amp and setting her guitar aside.
There was a look on her face he recognized.
That “I’m here, but not quite sure if I belong yet” look.
He started making his way over, brushing his hands off on the sides of his jeans, his gait easy but purposeful. A few feet away, he heard her voice. She wasn’t asking anyone directly, and that was enough of an invitation.
Holland stepped into the soft pool of light near her, offering a small smile.
“Hey—sorry,” he said, hand lifting in a small apologetic wave. “I probably should’ve explained the whole… wish ritual thing better earlier. Kinda got caught up hosting and—” he stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck, “—well, talking too much.”
He knelt down beside the blanket, careful not to disrupt her setup, and picked up one of the spare lantern kits nearby—fabric, wire ring, small paper sheet attached to the base, with a little square of wax in the center.
“You write something on the paper part. Something you’ve never said out loud.” He glanced up at her, tone softer now. “It doesn’t have to be big or poetic. Just real.”
He set the lantern in front of her, along with a pen from his hoodie pocket.
“Once it’s written, we light the wax and let the flame carry it upward. That’s it. Low tech magic.”
He caught her eye briefly, offering something between a grin and a quiet reassurance.
“And for what it’s worth? I thought your playing earlier was cool. Like, it fit the vibe. You didn’t try to take the spotlight. You just… added to the moment.” He winked, the energy light again, then nodded at the pen. “You wanna try? I can hang around if you want—or give you space. Dealer’s choice.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the figure of Wesson standing near the edge of the clearing, just beyond the flickering ring of lantern light. The man hadn’t said much all night, but his presence had been grounding. Steady. Like an oak tree planted just outside the melody, offering shade but never demanding attention.
Now, he was moving.
Wesson gave a faint wave—half-salute, half-gratitude—as he adjusted his coat and turned toward the same narrow path he’d walked in on, boots crunching softly through grass and mint. There was no fanfare. Just the kind of exit that said: This was good. But I’ve had enough.
Holland straightened slightly and raised two fingers in return. No words needed.
“Thanks for being here, man,” he murmured under his breath, even if Wesson couldn’t hear it. “Glad you came.”
And just like that, Wesson disappeared into the tree line, fireflies blinking slowly behind him like they were escorting a guest home.
Then he turned his attention back to Tabitha, his voice softer now, matching the atmosphere.
“See?” he said with a quiet smile. “No pressure. You come, you stay, you go. Everyone just kinda… drifts through. But even the short visits mean something.”
He glanced at the pen again and offered it to her between two fingers. “So. You ready to send one up?”
(( Wesson's writer has given me permission to write his exit due to IRL reasons. ))
Holland had been watching the lanterns float upward like slow, glowing thoughts when he caught the sound of a soft guitar chord fading into silence. He turned toward the source just in time to see Tabitha gently powering off the amp and setting her guitar aside.
There was a look on her face he recognized.
That “I’m here, but not quite sure if I belong yet” look.
He started making his way over, brushing his hands off on the sides of his jeans, his gait easy but purposeful. A few feet away, he heard her voice. She wasn’t asking anyone directly, and that was enough of an invitation.
Holland stepped into the soft pool of light near her, offering a small smile.
“Hey—sorry,” he said, hand lifting in a small apologetic wave. “I probably should’ve explained the whole… wish ritual thing better earlier. Kinda got caught up hosting and—” he stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck, “—well, talking too much.”
He knelt down beside the blanket, careful not to disrupt her setup, and picked up one of the spare lantern kits nearby—fabric, wire ring, small paper sheet attached to the base, with a little square of wax in the center.
“You write something on the paper part. Something you’ve never said out loud.” He glanced up at her, tone softer now. “It doesn’t have to be big or poetic. Just real.”
He set the lantern in front of her, along with a pen from his hoodie pocket.
“Once it’s written, we light the wax and let the flame carry it upward. That’s it. Low tech magic.”
He caught her eye briefly, offering something between a grin and a quiet reassurance.
“And for what it’s worth? I thought your playing earlier was cool. Like, it fit the vibe. You didn’t try to take the spotlight. You just… added to the moment.” He winked, the energy light again, then nodded at the pen. “You wanna try? I can hang around if you want—or give you space. Dealer’s choice.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the figure of Wesson standing near the edge of the clearing, just beyond the flickering ring of lantern light. The man hadn’t said much all night, but his presence had been grounding. Steady. Like an oak tree planted just outside the melody, offering shade but never demanding attention.
Now, he was moving.
Wesson gave a faint wave—half-salute, half-gratitude—as he adjusted his coat and turned toward the same narrow path he’d walked in on, boots crunching softly through grass and mint. There was no fanfare. Just the kind of exit that said: This was good. But I’ve had enough.
Holland straightened slightly and raised two fingers in return. No words needed.
“Thanks for being here, man,” he murmured under his breath, even if Wesson couldn’t hear it. “Glad you came.”
And just like that, Wesson disappeared into the tree line, fireflies blinking slowly behind him like they were escorting a guest home.
Then he turned his attention back to Tabitha, his voice softer now, matching the atmosphere.
“See?” he said with a quiet smile. “No pressure. You come, you stay, you go. Everyone just kinda… drifts through. But even the short visits mean something.”
He glanced at the pen again and offered it to her between two fingers. “So. You ready to send one up?”
(( Wesson's writer has given me permission to write his exit due to IRL reasons.
))
Luke watched her through the edges of his lashes, pretending to focus on smoothing the smudges off his own stone but truthfully, he was listening. Every softly murmured doubt. Every scenario she tried to map out in her head, safety-first-style. Every what-if that made her so her.
It made his grin tug at the corner of his mouth as she hesitated, calculating whether a lantern could become a sky missile. He didn’t look up at first—just leaned back on one hand and tilted his stone between his fingers. “Then I hope it’s someone with a hard skull and a forgiving heart,” he deadpanned.
But when he finally looked up, his eyes softened, watching as her fingers finally curled around the Sharpie. That tiny flicker of resolve—hers—meant more than any fireworks or big gestures could. It was in that moment of acceptance. Of trust.
When she finished, her smile bloomed like dusk light on water, and Luke felt it land somewhere warm behind his ribs. She bounced the stone in her palm like it was suddenly lighter—like maybe saying something made it real, but less heavy to carry.
Luke reached out slowly, palm up, letting her place the stone into his hand if she wanted to. His eyes never left hers.
“You really wrote something?” he asked gently, not prying—just curious. “Like… something you mean?”
Then he laughed under his breath. “Nah. You did. I can see it in your face.”
Her next words caught him mid-breath.
Luke looked at her, looked at their two stones—and then past her, toward Jia’s bright voice and the floating lanterns painting arcs in the sky. There was joy everywhere now, but this moment felt carved out just for them.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, rising to his feet and brushing grass from the back of his jeans. “Let’s fly ’em.”
He offered his honest hand out to her.
“We toss ‘em into the sky and let the universe deal with the fallout,” he said, his smile flickering into something brighter. “Worst case, someone gets bonked on the head and falls in love. That’s gotta count for something.”
The field around them buzzed with soft voices and the rustle of summer air through wild grass. Lanterns floated like slow-drifting stars above, and for a second, Luke just watched them in silence—thinking about how small their wishes were compared to the sky, and how big they felt anyway.
He gave Bella’s hand a light squeeze. “Let’s find a good launch point.”
As they turned toward the open hill just beyond the crowd, Jia’s bright voice rang out again, full of that bubbling joy she wore like a second skin. Luke looked over his shoulder just in time to spot her skipping—literally skipping—toward them, her lantern kit clutched in one hand and Quentin trailing behind with that cool calmness that somehow never managed to dull Jia’s sunshine.
Luke raised his free hand in greeting, grinning. “You two coming to crash the flight path or just here to judge our handwriting?”
He gave Bella a sidelong glance. “Pretty sure hers deserves its own constellation.”
He motioned to the soft rise in the hill, where the breeze lifted gently upward—the perfect place to release. The four of them naturally fell into step, the closeness of their friend group weaving together without effort.
“Figured we’d all send off at once,” Luke added, nodding to Jia and Quentin. “Group wish energy. Gotta be stronger than going solo.”
He looked back at Bella, his voice softer now.
“Besides… wouldn’t mind having this memory with all of you.”
It made his grin tug at the corner of his mouth as she hesitated, calculating whether a lantern could become a sky missile. He didn’t look up at first—just leaned back on one hand and tilted his stone between his fingers. “Then I hope it’s someone with a hard skull and a forgiving heart,” he deadpanned.
But when he finally looked up, his eyes softened, watching as her fingers finally curled around the Sharpie. That tiny flicker of resolve—hers—meant more than any fireworks or big gestures could. It was in that moment of acceptance. Of trust.
When she finished, her smile bloomed like dusk light on water, and Luke felt it land somewhere warm behind his ribs. She bounced the stone in her palm like it was suddenly lighter—like maybe saying something made it real, but less heavy to carry.
Luke reached out slowly, palm up, letting her place the stone into his hand if she wanted to. His eyes never left hers.
“You really wrote something?” he asked gently, not prying—just curious. “Like… something you mean?”
Then he laughed under his breath. “Nah. You did. I can see it in your face.”
Her next words caught him mid-breath.
Luke looked at her, looked at their two stones—and then past her, toward Jia’s bright voice and the floating lanterns painting arcs in the sky. There was joy everywhere now, but this moment felt carved out just for them.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, rising to his feet and brushing grass from the back of his jeans. “Let’s fly ’em.”
He offered his honest hand out to her.
“We toss ‘em into the sky and let the universe deal with the fallout,” he said, his smile flickering into something brighter. “Worst case, someone gets bonked on the head and falls in love. That’s gotta count for something.”
The field around them buzzed with soft voices and the rustle of summer air through wild grass. Lanterns floated like slow-drifting stars above, and for a second, Luke just watched them in silence—thinking about how small their wishes were compared to the sky, and how big they felt anyway.
He gave Bella’s hand a light squeeze. “Let’s find a good launch point.”
As they turned toward the open hill just beyond the crowd, Jia’s bright voice rang out again, full of that bubbling joy she wore like a second skin. Luke looked over his shoulder just in time to spot her skipping—literally skipping—toward them, her lantern kit clutched in one hand and Quentin trailing behind with that cool calmness that somehow never managed to dull Jia’s sunshine.
Luke raised his free hand in greeting, grinning. “You two coming to crash the flight path or just here to judge our handwriting?”
He gave Bella a sidelong glance. “Pretty sure hers deserves its own constellation.”
He motioned to the soft rise in the hill, where the breeze lifted gently upward—the perfect place to release. The four of them naturally fell into step, the closeness of their friend group weaving together without effort.
“Figured we’d all send off at once,” Luke added, nodding to Jia and Quentin. “Group wish energy. Gotta be stronger than going solo.”
He looked back at Bella, his voice softer now.
“Besides… wouldn’t mind having this memory with all of you.”
Janice was already feeling caught up in the serene atmosphere after she sent her lantern up to the sky and watching as it soared higher and higher until it was just a tiny speck of light among the stars. As she turned to take in the rest of the scene, she noticed Holland already making his way over to the younger girl with the electric guitar, Tabitha, who was setting up to play earlier. Janice stepped aside, not wanting to interrupt them and found a spot where Wesson had stood earlier before he left. Now, Janice stood beside the man who had taken Wesson's place, a man who looked a bit more intricately dressed than Wesson had been with a subtle air of sophistication about him.
She didn't mean it but she caught snippets of their conversation from earlier when they had mentioned that they were off duty for the rest of the night. Janice bowed her head slightly towards Max as she was being polite and then decided to sit down on the soft grass field to watch the lanterns flying overhead. The sky was filled with a dazzling array of lights, each one representing a wish or a dream. As she sat there, she turned to Max and asked, "You're not lighting up a lantern, Sir?" as she lifted her head up to look at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
She didn't mean it but she caught snippets of their conversation from earlier when they had mentioned that they were off duty for the rest of the night. Janice bowed her head slightly towards Max as she was being polite and then decided to sit down on the soft grass field to watch the lanterns flying overhead. The sky was filled with a dazzling array of lights, each one representing a wish or a dream. As she sat there, she turned to Max and asked, "You're not lighting up a lantern, Sir?" as she lifted her head up to look at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Were you serious?” Bella snapped toward Luke. Her eyes narrowing in a skeptical side-eye. His casual suggestion that he hoped the lantern’s stone would at least fall on someone with a hard skull and a forgiving heart sent an anxiety through her. The least Bella wanted was to bring harm to anyone because of their fleeting moment of fun. Her mind was already projecting disastrous outcomes. She pictured the lantern snagging on a dry tree branch, or worse, drifting onto the thatched roof of a nearby farmhouse. She could almost smell the smoke, hear the frantic shouts....
Oh, for the love of God.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and forcing the images away. She had to stop this. For once in her life, she needed to let go of the relentless 'what-ifs' and simply exist in the beautiful, tangible now. She needed to have fun with Luke, to borrow some of his easygoing nature and act like she didn’t care just for tonight.
Taking a deep and grounding breath of the crisp night air, she opened her eyes and focused on him. Luke was watching her with a playful, knowing glint in his gaze as if he could read her internal turmoil. “Hey, I did write it, and I meant it, you know,” she added with a faint blush warming her cheeks. She wouldn't tell him what it said but the wish was for a courage she rarely felt, a future she was too scared to even dream of.
Then, she pressed the small, smooth stone into Luke’s palm, their fingers brushing for a brief electric moment. Driven by an impulse that felt both terrifying and right, she reached out and laced her fingers with his free hand. His hand was warm and strong, engulfing hers in a way that felt like an anchor. Just as the comfortable silence began to deepen between them, Jia and Quentin bounded over, their own unlit lantern in tow.
When Luke said that she deserves her own constellation, the words hit Bella with a gentle stunning force. Her blush which had been a faint warmth now bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck. She felt a delightful, dizzying tickle deep in her chest like trapped birds taking flight. It was such a simple and beautiful thing to say, yet no one had ever said anything like it to her. She wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it, but the sincerity in his eyes left no room for doubt. It was a compliment that went beyond her appearance, acknowledging a light within her she rarely saw herself.
Struggling to find her voice, she tightened her grip on his hand, the solidness of his touch the only thing keeping her grounded. To hide her flustered state, she turned her attention to their friends.
“Alright,” she managed, her voice a little shaky but clear. “We send them off together. You should write your wish, Jia and Quentin. Find a good stone. Or, well... a paper I mean.”
Oh, for the love of God.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and forcing the images away. She had to stop this. For once in her life, she needed to let go of the relentless 'what-ifs' and simply exist in the beautiful, tangible now. She needed to have fun with Luke, to borrow some of his easygoing nature and act like she didn’t care just for tonight.
Taking a deep and grounding breath of the crisp night air, she opened her eyes and focused on him. Luke was watching her with a playful, knowing glint in his gaze as if he could read her internal turmoil. “Hey, I did write it, and I meant it, you know,” she added with a faint blush warming her cheeks. She wouldn't tell him what it said but the wish was for a courage she rarely felt, a future she was too scared to even dream of.
Then, she pressed the small, smooth stone into Luke’s palm, their fingers brushing for a brief electric moment. Driven by an impulse that felt both terrifying and right, she reached out and laced her fingers with his free hand. His hand was warm and strong, engulfing hers in a way that felt like an anchor. Just as the comfortable silence began to deepen between them, Jia and Quentin bounded over, their own unlit lantern in tow.
When Luke said that she deserves her own constellation, the words hit Bella with a gentle stunning force. Her blush which had been a faint warmth now bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck. She felt a delightful, dizzying tickle deep in her chest like trapped birds taking flight. It was such a simple and beautiful thing to say, yet no one had ever said anything like it to her. She wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it, but the sincerity in his eyes left no room for doubt. It was a compliment that went beyond her appearance, acknowledging a light within her she rarely saw herself.
Struggling to find her voice, she tightened her grip on his hand, the solidness of his touch the only thing keeping her grounded. To hide her flustered state, she turned her attention to their friends.
“Alright,” she managed, her voice a little shaky but clear. “We send them off together. You should write your wish, Jia and Quentin. Find a good stone. Or, well... a paper I mean.”
Max watched Wesson disappear into the trees, his boots barely making a sound on the soft grass, crushed mint leaves beneath his feet. Just before Wesson blended into the night’s shadows entirely, a few fireflies blinked lazily in his wake, as if the night itself was gently guiding him away. There was no drama, no grand gestures or spotlight-shining moments. It was quiet, smooth, and natural. The kind of exit that let the night keep its secret and dignity intact. His presence alone seemed to fill the space, even without a word. Max saw that right away. He didn't bother to turn his head fully; a sidelong glance was enough to track him. He chewed slowly on a piece of cinnamon gum, careful and deliberate, as Wesson shifted his coat with a slow, almost thoughtful gesture. One last look around, a faint wave of farewell, half a salute, half a thank you for letting him slip away quietly, unseen. Max didn’t lift a hand in return. Instead, he offered a slow, firm nod, a gesture packed with respect and understanding. No questions needed to be asked. No words needed to be spoken. Respect was enough.
Then Janice spoke softly from nearby, breaking the silence with her calm voice.
“You’re not lighting up a lantern, Sir?"
Max’s eyes flicked toward her, slow and thoughtful, like waking from a dazed thought or a moment he didn’t want to leave behind. He looked at her with a careful eye, not just out of slight surprise but with the kind of silent, pointed attention that people who really notice things tend to have. They notice small details. The way someone stands, the little gestures that reveal what they’re really feeling. Max had always been like that. His mind missed nothing, even when he wished it would.
Janice wasn’t flashy or loud. She wasn’t one to draw attention. But she carried herself with a quiet strength. Not stiff or awkward, but composed. It was as if she had been built to function well in a world that often broke down around her. She had a calm that was almost watchful, like the steady eye of someone who listened more than she spoke, who chose her words carefully and kept her feelings tucked away behind a gentle veneer. She had a kind of softness that wasn’t weakness. Max could see that. It was more like something worn-in and comfortable, like an old book kept in perfect condition—the kind you didn’t want to let go of but handled gently. She was the kind of person who kept her surroundings in order, even if the chaos in the world tried to seep in.
Max had seen a thousand faces tonight—some full of emotion, others cold and distant. He’d heard laughter, raised voices, quiet whispers. All in motion, trying to catch attention or hide feelings. But Janice made the quiet feel deliberate, meaningful even. It was like she understood that sometimes silence said more than words ever could.
“…Sir?” she prompted gently, breaking the moment. Her voice was steady but curious, as if testing the water. Max’s brow twitched upward, a sign that he was momentarily surprised. “Are you tryin’ to age me on purpose, or is that just habit?” His tone was dry, almost joking.
He let out a slow, tired huff and lowered himself into the grass beside her as easily as a man who probably shouldn’t be wearing that nice coat to sit on the ground. His movements told a story; someone who had seen too much, yet never quite lost the ability to find comfort in simple moments. He positioned one knee up, the other leg stretched out comfortably, as if making himself at home. The glow from the city flickered across his face—highlighting his chiseled cheekbones, the rough patches of stubble along his jaw, and the sharp, alert look in his eyes. Those eyes never quite closed. Not fully. They seemed to watch everything, always searching, never trusting sleep or rest to settle over him entirely.
He turned his gaze back to the lanterns drifting up into the night sky, voice dropping into a softer tone. “Nah,” he said, almost like a confession. “I don’t light ‘em. Not anymore. Don’t got a wish worth burnin’ these days.” The words sounded tired, full of years of small disappointments and quiet regrets, yet there was honesty in them.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. Max didn’t tell outright lies, he knew better than that. Instead, he reached into his coat, slowly pulling out a crumpled piece of cinnamon gum. He peeled it with a practiced move, like it was second nature. The faint crack of foil breaking in the hush was almost drowned out by the quiet hum of night insects and flickering lanterns. He chewed it slowly, carefully.
“But I like watching other people send theirs up,” he said after a quiet pause, eyes still tilted toward the sky. He rubbed the side of his neck, watching a small glow flicker in the dark—perhaps an ember catching fire, or maybe just a moment of silence for what was being sent out into the world. There’s something raw and real about it. Taking a fragile piece of your soul, folding it into a simple form like paper, lighting a match, and trusting that it will soar, even if temporarily. It’s a kind of honesty you don’t come across very often in his line of work, which often feels like a constant exchange of facades and half-truths. But with those paper rockets, nobody’s pretending, just hope, a flicker of trust, and a leap into the unknown.
“You strike me as someone who wrote a good one,” he said softly, breaking the silence. Then, with that same dry, offhanded charm like he was making a small joke he added, “Care to share it? Or am I too far down the cynical food chain to be trusted with dream secrets?” His voice held a twinkle, teasing but real.
Then Janice spoke softly from nearby, breaking the silence with her calm voice.
“You’re not lighting up a lantern, Sir?"
Max’s eyes flicked toward her, slow and thoughtful, like waking from a dazed thought or a moment he didn’t want to leave behind. He looked at her with a careful eye, not just out of slight surprise but with the kind of silent, pointed attention that people who really notice things tend to have. They notice small details. The way someone stands, the little gestures that reveal what they’re really feeling. Max had always been like that. His mind missed nothing, even when he wished it would.
Janice wasn’t flashy or loud. She wasn’t one to draw attention. But she carried herself with a quiet strength. Not stiff or awkward, but composed. It was as if she had been built to function well in a world that often broke down around her. She had a calm that was almost watchful, like the steady eye of someone who listened more than she spoke, who chose her words carefully and kept her feelings tucked away behind a gentle veneer. She had a kind of softness that wasn’t weakness. Max could see that. It was more like something worn-in and comfortable, like an old book kept in perfect condition—the kind you didn’t want to let go of but handled gently. She was the kind of person who kept her surroundings in order, even if the chaos in the world tried to seep in.
Max had seen a thousand faces tonight—some full of emotion, others cold and distant. He’d heard laughter, raised voices, quiet whispers. All in motion, trying to catch attention or hide feelings. But Janice made the quiet feel deliberate, meaningful even. It was like she understood that sometimes silence said more than words ever could.
“…Sir?” she prompted gently, breaking the moment. Her voice was steady but curious, as if testing the water. Max’s brow twitched upward, a sign that he was momentarily surprised. “Are you tryin’ to age me on purpose, or is that just habit?” His tone was dry, almost joking.
He let out a slow, tired huff and lowered himself into the grass beside her as easily as a man who probably shouldn’t be wearing that nice coat to sit on the ground. His movements told a story; someone who had seen too much, yet never quite lost the ability to find comfort in simple moments. He positioned one knee up, the other leg stretched out comfortably, as if making himself at home. The glow from the city flickered across his face—highlighting his chiseled cheekbones, the rough patches of stubble along his jaw, and the sharp, alert look in his eyes. Those eyes never quite closed. Not fully. They seemed to watch everything, always searching, never trusting sleep or rest to settle over him entirely.
He turned his gaze back to the lanterns drifting up into the night sky, voice dropping into a softer tone. “Nah,” he said, almost like a confession. “I don’t light ‘em. Not anymore. Don’t got a wish worth burnin’ these days.” The words sounded tired, full of years of small disappointments and quiet regrets, yet there was honesty in them.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. Max didn’t tell outright lies, he knew better than that. Instead, he reached into his coat, slowly pulling out a crumpled piece of cinnamon gum. He peeled it with a practiced move, like it was second nature. The faint crack of foil breaking in the hush was almost drowned out by the quiet hum of night insects and flickering lanterns. He chewed it slowly, carefully.
“But I like watching other people send theirs up,” he said after a quiet pause, eyes still tilted toward the sky. He rubbed the side of his neck, watching a small glow flicker in the dark—perhaps an ember catching fire, or maybe just a moment of silence for what was being sent out into the world. There’s something raw and real about it. Taking a fragile piece of your soul, folding it into a simple form like paper, lighting a match, and trusting that it will soar, even if temporarily. It’s a kind of honesty you don’t come across very often in his line of work, which often feels like a constant exchange of facades and half-truths. But with those paper rockets, nobody’s pretending, just hope, a flicker of trust, and a leap into the unknown.
“You strike me as someone who wrote a good one,” he said softly, breaking the silence. Then, with that same dry, offhanded charm like he was making a small joke he added, “Care to share it? Or am I too far down the cynical food chain to be trusted with dream secrets?” His voice held a twinkle, teasing but real.
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