“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.”
“Oh no,” Tabby replied quickly. “You’ve done great! I totally understand. It’s your job to talk to everyone here as the host.”
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.”
Tabby nodded. She bit her lower lip and twisted a lock of red hair around her finger for a moment as if lost in thought.
He set the lantern in front of her, along with a pen from his hoodie pocket.
She stared at it for a moment before taking the pen.
“Once it’s written, we light the wax and let the flame carry it upward. That’s it. Low tech magic.”
“And no one else will see it or read, right,” She asked uncertainly. The answer, of course, was obvious. Tabby just needed the verbal reassurance. “Mine is… really personal.”
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.”
“I’ll do it,” Tabby agreed. “And thanks. I’m going to have to get going soon. It’s getting dark, but I’ll do my wish first.”
She took the pen and began writing.
“Oh no,” Tabby replied quickly. “You’ve done great! I totally understand. It’s your job to talk to everyone here as the host.”
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.”
Tabby nodded. She bit her lower lip and twisted a lock of red hair around her finger for a moment as if lost in thought.
He set the lantern in front of her, along with a pen from his hoodie pocket.
She stared at it for a moment before taking the pen.
“Once it’s written, we light the wax and let the flame carry it upward. That’s it. Low tech magic.”
“And no one else will see it or read, right,” She asked uncertainly. The answer, of course, was obvious. Tabby just needed the verbal reassurance. “Mine is… really personal.”
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.”
“I’ll do it,” Tabby agreed. “And thanks. I’m going to have to get going soon. It’s getting dark, but I’ll do my wish first.”
She took the pen and began writing.
Quentin had been content to let Jia lead the enthusiasm between the two of them—she always did, anyway. Where she radiated like a lantern already mid-flight, he remained her tether, moving at a quieter pace, with his usual dancer’s grace and carefully measured expressions. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying himself. Quite the opposite. It was just that joy, for Quentin, didn’t come in bursts. It settled in slow. Like warmth steeped into bone.
His dark eyes tracked Bella’s flustered reply and Luke’s open ease, and something about the exchange made him exhale faintly through his nose. Not a laugh—something softer. Like he’d seen the flutter of wings and chose to respect the hush it left behind.
Then Bella turned to him and Jia, offering her suggestion like a baton in a relay.
Quentin shifted his weight onto one leg, the shadows playing gently across the planes of his face as a breeze moved past. His fingers were stuffed in the pockets of his loose, cropped jacket, and the hem swayed just slightly.
“Stone’s more poetic,” he mused, voice low but audible. “Paper’s lighter, but it burns up fast.”
“But I think it’s nice—writing something down and letting go of it before you get the chance to second-guess yourself.”
He turned slightly toward Jia then, just enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, and arched a brow. “You got something in mind, ballerina?” His voice was gentler now, teasing only at the edges. Not too much. Never with her. He didn’t want to turn something meaningful into a punchline.
He stooped to pick up a small, flat stone from the grass at his feet. It fit easily into his palm, smooth and cool. There were pens nearby—someone had left a few on a blanket—and he passed one over to Jia without a word, his fingers lingering for a brief moment as their hands brushed.
Quentin straightened, holding his own stone now between his fingers like a delicate prop. Something sacred, even.
“Hope no one minds if mine’s not a wish,” he added with a wry tilt of his lips, half-turning back toward the group. “Might just be a promise.”
His dark eyes tracked Bella’s flustered reply and Luke’s open ease, and something about the exchange made him exhale faintly through his nose. Not a laugh—something softer. Like he’d seen the flutter of wings and chose to respect the hush it left behind.
Then Bella turned to him and Jia, offering her suggestion like a baton in a relay.
Quentin shifted his weight onto one leg, the shadows playing gently across the planes of his face as a breeze moved past. His fingers were stuffed in the pockets of his loose, cropped jacket, and the hem swayed just slightly.
“Stone’s more poetic,” he mused, voice low but audible. “Paper’s lighter, but it burns up fast.”
“But I think it’s nice—writing something down and letting go of it before you get the chance to second-guess yourself.”
He turned slightly toward Jia then, just enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, and arched a brow. “You got something in mind, ballerina?” His voice was gentler now, teasing only at the edges. Not too much. Never with her. He didn’t want to turn something meaningful into a punchline.
He stooped to pick up a small, flat stone from the grass at his feet. It fit easily into his palm, smooth and cool. There were pens nearby—someone had left a few on a blanket—and he passed one over to Jia without a word, his fingers lingering for a brief moment as their hands brushed.
Quentin straightened, holding his own stone now between his fingers like a delicate prop. Something sacred, even.
“Hope no one minds if mine’s not a wish,” he added with a wry tilt of his lips, half-turning back toward the group. “Might just be a promise.”
“Yeah, no rush,” Holland said, settling into a crouch beside her without crowding her space. “Take your time.”
His eyes lingered on the lantern kit for a moment—on the quiet concentration etched into Tabby’s face as she began to write—and something about it made him pause. The way she curled in on herself slightly, like she wasn’t used to anyone looking at her when she was trying to be honest. Like maybe she wasn’t sure she deserved to be seen at all.
It tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“I’ll hang back,” he said after a beat, voice low and steady. “Your words are yours.”
He gave a small nod to punctuate it, then looked up toward the skyline where a few lanterns had already begun their slow ascent. The warm flicker of light against the indigo dusk painted the hill in a kind of golden hush. A silence you didn’t want to break with noise, only moments.
Then, glancing back at Tabby one more time, he added with a quiet warmth, “I’m glad you came out here tonight.”
He stood slowly, brushing the grass from the back of his jeans, and stepped away just far enough to give her space—but not so far she’d think he was leaving.
Holland turned toward the tree where he’d left his own lantern kit, his hands digging in his pockets like they were searching for a grip on something. He didn’t say more. But his shoulders didn’t move away either—just hovered close. Just in case she looked up again. Just in case she needed someone to walk with when it was time to go.
He lingered just a step or two away, his frame outlined by the soft flicker of the nearby lanterns. He looked back at her, who was still hunched slightly over the paper, her fingers tense around the pen like whatever she was writing was heavier than it looked.
He hesitated for half a second before stepping a little closer again. “Can I ask you something?” he said, voice kept low like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.
He scratched the back of his neck, a small, sheepish grin forming as he glanced off toward the horizon where the lanterns rose like slow-moving stars. “What made you come tonight?”
There wasn’t any pressure in the way he asked because came from someone who was genuinely trying to know another person because he wanted a story if she felt like telling it.
His eyes lingered on the lantern kit for a moment—on the quiet concentration etched into Tabby’s face as she began to write—and something about it made him pause. The way she curled in on herself slightly, like she wasn’t used to anyone looking at her when she was trying to be honest. Like maybe she wasn’t sure she deserved to be seen at all.
It tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“I’ll hang back,” he said after a beat, voice low and steady. “Your words are yours.”
He gave a small nod to punctuate it, then looked up toward the skyline where a few lanterns had already begun their slow ascent. The warm flicker of light against the indigo dusk painted the hill in a kind of golden hush. A silence you didn’t want to break with noise, only moments.
Then, glancing back at Tabby one more time, he added with a quiet warmth, “I’m glad you came out here tonight.”
He stood slowly, brushing the grass from the back of his jeans, and stepped away just far enough to give her space—but not so far she’d think he was leaving.
Holland turned toward the tree where he’d left his own lantern kit, his hands digging in his pockets like they were searching for a grip on something. He didn’t say more. But his shoulders didn’t move away either—just hovered close. Just in case she looked up again. Just in case she needed someone to walk with when it was time to go.
He lingered just a step or two away, his frame outlined by the soft flicker of the nearby lanterns. He looked back at her, who was still hunched slightly over the paper, her fingers tense around the pen like whatever she was writing was heavier than it looked.
He hesitated for half a second before stepping a little closer again. “Can I ask you something?” he said, voice kept low like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.
He scratched the back of his neck, a small, sheepish grin forming as he glanced off toward the horizon where the lanterns rose like slow-moving stars. “What made you come tonight?”
There wasn’t any pressure in the way he asked because came from someone who was genuinely trying to know another person because he wanted a story if she felt like telling it.
As they prepared to light their lanterns and send them soaring into the sky, Jia rummaged through her sling shoulder bag in search of a piece of paper and a pen. "I'm not going to write on stone!" she exclaimed, recalling her initial hesitation. She remembered that she had stuffed some shopping bills into her bag, and a spark of hope lit up her eyes. Maybe she could use one of those as a makeshift surface to write her wish. She shook her head quickly, chuckling at her own forgetfulness, and continued to dig through her bag for a pen. Her eyes scanned the contents of her bag, and her face lit up with joy when her fingers finally closed around the pen. "Ah, here it is! Better than nothing, I suppose," she said with a smile.
She bit down on the lid of the pen and knelt down on the soft grass. Placing the crumpled shopping bill on her thigh, she smoothed out the wrinkles and began to write her wish in neat cursive script. The words flowed effortlessly onto the paper:
I hope I will win the next ballet competition, and I hope Quentin will continue to love me unconditionally.
Once she had finished writing, Jia carefully folded the paper into a compact strip and returned the lid to her pen. Standing up, she turned to face Quentin, a bright grin still plastered on her face. "Have you written your wish, handsome?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Jia walked over to her lantern, which was still waiting patiently on the ground, and tied her wish to the lantern's frame. As she waited for Quentin to finish writing his own wish, she raised an eyebrow, observing that he was still intent on writing his wish on the stone. "Luke must have had a bad influence on you, I think," she teased, her tone light and playful. It was clear that she was joking, but a hint of curiosity lingered beneath her words.
She bit down on the lid of the pen and knelt down on the soft grass. Placing the crumpled shopping bill on her thigh, she smoothed out the wrinkles and began to write her wish in neat cursive script. The words flowed effortlessly onto the paper:
I hope I will win the next ballet competition, and I hope Quentin will continue to love me unconditionally.
Once she had finished writing, Jia carefully folded the paper into a compact strip and returned the lid to her pen. Standing up, she turned to face Quentin, a bright grin still plastered on her face. "Have you written your wish, handsome?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Jia walked over to her lantern, which was still waiting patiently on the ground, and tied her wish to the lantern's frame. As she waited for Quentin to finish writing his own wish, she raised an eyebrow, observing that he was still intent on writing his wish on the stone. "Luke must have had a bad influence on you, I think," she teased, her tone light and playful. It was clear that she was joking, but a hint of curiosity lingered beneath her words.
For all the times she’d felt the crushing weight of expectation and the relentless grind of her academic schedule, for what it’s worth staying here beneath the soft, summer night sky with a vast dew-kissed grass field sprawling around her, and the gentle ephemeral glow of lantern wishes ascending once a year, Janice wasn’t really regretting coming here. Not even a little. She had cut her study time short and decided to let loose herself, at least for a few precious hours.
With Max sitting comfortably beside her, she merely offered a slight shrug when he questioned her if she was being polite for calling him "Sir." It was just out of habit. Most people she encountered in her structured academic life had been a lot older than her. And having grown up in a solid hierarchy family where every gesture and word was measured, calling someone older without their given name, especially in a first interaction had always been her thing to behave well and avoid censure. It felt almost alien to be addressed so casually, to be prompted to drop her guard.
When Max asked her to share what she wrote on her lantern wish, Janice suddenly felt a rush of heat bloom around her body. It wasn't just the lingering warmth of the humid summer night; it was a flush of acute self-consciousness. "I just… hope about my friend’s health… And… our studies," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. To avoid his gaze, she quickly lifted both of her knees up, pulling them close to her chest and resting her chin on them. She hadn't entirely lied. Part of it was true that she did write about Holland’s health and their academic pursuits on her wish. Yet, the most significant, the most private part, remained locked behind her lips. "It… Isn’t really interesting wish," she added. Trying to brush it off with a forced lightness hoping he wouldn't press further.
She honestly was hard to express herself, or any nuanced emotion that wasn't strictly logical or academic. Her eyes wandered across the field to where Holland now knelt, patiently teaching Tabitha about making a wish and preparing her own lantern for its ascent. Holland has always been nice to anyone. He treated everyone the same. He was too kind, almost impossibly so. He was all warmth that drew people in like moths to a flame. Maybe Janice had made her own assumption thinking that she might even have any special place on Holland’s piece of heart. Maybe Janice was thinking far too forward when Holland treated everyone equally. Maybe she shouldn’t have felt a bit of a spark when Holland had previously shown concern or cared about her. Seeing how effortlessly he interacted with Tabitha tugged something sharp and cold on her chest. Maybe she was just the same as anyone Holland had been socially with. It wasn’t Tabitha’s fault at all, of course. Tabitha was simply being honest and open.
Her eyes scanned another side of the field where she could clearly see Bella and Luke throwing words at each other. How nice it was to have someone that you knew since you were a child, someone whose presence was as comforting and reliable as your own breath. Janice had already lit up her own lantern, watching its flickering light drift upwards into the dark expanse, and she was waiting for Bella to light hers. But, it seemed that Bella was preoccupied with Luke. Maybe Bella had simply forgotten about her existence. Janice then swept her eyes toward Jia and Quentin, nestled close together, sharing soft whispers and quiet laughter. They were always that sweet and cheerful couple and Janice wouldn’t want to interrupt their perfect bubble. She took one last deep steadying breath, letting the cool night air fill her lungs before she finally decided to stand up and brushing the stray bits of grass and earth from her pants.
“Hey… Max.” Her voice was quiet and she bit her lower lip because she suddenly felt like a bad girl. “If anyone asks, I’m going home. I’m done with my wish anyway.” It wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough. “Tell Holland that I’m sorry, I couldn’t stay any longer or my parents will really ground me,” she added. “And don’t worry, my home is nearby, just a short walk, so I can go home myself.”
With that, she took one last lingering glance toward Holland as he helped Tabitha, then shifted her gaze to Max before she finally turned around with a decisive set of her shoulders and walked out of the grass field retreating back into the familiar solitude of the night.
With Max sitting comfortably beside her, she merely offered a slight shrug when he questioned her if she was being polite for calling him "Sir." It was just out of habit. Most people she encountered in her structured academic life had been a lot older than her. And having grown up in a solid hierarchy family where every gesture and word was measured, calling someone older without their given name, especially in a first interaction had always been her thing to behave well and avoid censure. It felt almost alien to be addressed so casually, to be prompted to drop her guard.
When Max asked her to share what she wrote on her lantern wish, Janice suddenly felt a rush of heat bloom around her body. It wasn't just the lingering warmth of the humid summer night; it was a flush of acute self-consciousness. "I just… hope about my friend’s health… And… our studies," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. To avoid his gaze, she quickly lifted both of her knees up, pulling them close to her chest and resting her chin on them. She hadn't entirely lied. Part of it was true that she did write about Holland’s health and their academic pursuits on her wish. Yet, the most significant, the most private part, remained locked behind her lips. "It… Isn’t really interesting wish," she added. Trying to brush it off with a forced lightness hoping he wouldn't press further.
She honestly was hard to express herself, or any nuanced emotion that wasn't strictly logical or academic. Her eyes wandered across the field to where Holland now knelt, patiently teaching Tabitha about making a wish and preparing her own lantern for its ascent. Holland has always been nice to anyone. He treated everyone the same. He was too kind, almost impossibly so. He was all warmth that drew people in like moths to a flame. Maybe Janice had made her own assumption thinking that she might even have any special place on Holland’s piece of heart. Maybe Janice was thinking far too forward when Holland treated everyone equally. Maybe she shouldn’t have felt a bit of a spark when Holland had previously shown concern or cared about her. Seeing how effortlessly he interacted with Tabitha tugged something sharp and cold on her chest. Maybe she was just the same as anyone Holland had been socially with. It wasn’t Tabitha’s fault at all, of course. Tabitha was simply being honest and open.
Her eyes scanned another side of the field where she could clearly see Bella and Luke throwing words at each other. How nice it was to have someone that you knew since you were a child, someone whose presence was as comforting and reliable as your own breath. Janice had already lit up her own lantern, watching its flickering light drift upwards into the dark expanse, and she was waiting for Bella to light hers. But, it seemed that Bella was preoccupied with Luke. Maybe Bella had simply forgotten about her existence. Janice then swept her eyes toward Jia and Quentin, nestled close together, sharing soft whispers and quiet laughter. They were always that sweet and cheerful couple and Janice wouldn’t want to interrupt their perfect bubble. She took one last deep steadying breath, letting the cool night air fill her lungs before she finally decided to stand up and brushing the stray bits of grass and earth from her pants.
“Hey… Max.” Her voice was quiet and she bit her lower lip because she suddenly felt like a bad girl. “If anyone asks, I’m going home. I’m done with my wish anyway.” It wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough. “Tell Holland that I’m sorry, I couldn’t stay any longer or my parents will really ground me,” she added. “And don’t worry, my home is nearby, just a short walk, so I can go home myself.”
With that, she took one last lingering glance toward Holland as he helped Tabitha, then shifted her gaze to Max before she finally turned around with a decisive set of her shoulders and walked out of the grass field retreating back into the familiar solitude of the night.
- Janice is officially leaving the Summer Soiree: Midsummer Nights & Fireflies - Thank you!
“Yeah, no rush,” Holland said, settling into a crouch beside her without crowding her space. “Take your time.”
Tabby nodded and picked up the pen.
His eyes lingered on the lantern kit for a moment—on the quiet concentration etched into Tabby’s face as she began to write—and something about it made him pause. The way she curled in on herself slightly, like she wasn’t used to anyone looking at her when she was trying to be honest. Like maybe she wasn’t sure she deserved to be seen at all.
It tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“I’ll hang back,” he said after a beat, voice low and steady. “Your words are yours.”
Tabby nodded. That was what she needed to hear. No one could know her secret. Writing it down was a risk, but at the same time felt therapeutic, even if it was only temporarily so.
He gave a small nod to punctuate it, then looked up toward the skyline where a few lanterns had already begun their slow ascent. The warm flicker of light against the indigo dusk painted the hill in a kind of golden hush. A silence you didn’t want to break with noise, only moments.
Then, glancing back at Tabby one more time, he added with a quiet warmth, “I’m glad you came out here tonight.”
"Thanks," Tabby replied. "I'm glad I found it."
He stood slowly, brushing the grass from the back of his jeans, and stepped away just far enough to give her space—but not so far she’d think he was leaving.
Holland turned toward the tree where he’d left his own lantern kit, his hands digging in his pockets like they were searching for a grip on something. He didn’t say more. But his shoulders didn’t move away either—just hovered close. Just in case she looked up again. Just in case she needed someone to walk with when it was time to go.
Tabby wrote down her wish Wishing that things got better at home, that we'd find a permanent place and I could have a normal life. I wish I head a permanent group of friends... and to find my people.
That should do it, she thought.
He lingered just a step or two away, his frame outlined by the soft flicker of the nearby lanterns. He looked back at her, who was still hunched slightly over the paper, her fingers tense around the pen like whatever she was writing was heavier than it looked.
He hesitated for half a second before stepping a little closer again. “Can I ask you something?” he said, voice kept low like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.
"Sure, I guess," Tabby answered.
He scratched the back of his neck, a small, sheepish grin forming as he glanced off toward the horizon where the lanterns rose like slow-moving stars. “What made you come tonight?”
She shrugged. "I don't know. I was wandering. My family just moved here out of state," She replied. "I needed to get out of the house. We have no furniture yet, and I wanted to explore. I saw a flyer on a pole."
Tabby nodded and picked up the pen.
His eyes lingered on the lantern kit for a moment—on the quiet concentration etched into Tabby’s face as she began to write—and something about it made him pause. The way she curled in on herself slightly, like she wasn’t used to anyone looking at her when she was trying to be honest. Like maybe she wasn’t sure she deserved to be seen at all.
It tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“I’ll hang back,” he said after a beat, voice low and steady. “Your words are yours.”
Tabby nodded. That was what she needed to hear. No one could know her secret. Writing it down was a risk, but at the same time felt therapeutic, even if it was only temporarily so.
He gave a small nod to punctuate it, then looked up toward the skyline where a few lanterns had already begun their slow ascent. The warm flicker of light against the indigo dusk painted the hill in a kind of golden hush. A silence you didn’t want to break with noise, only moments.
Then, glancing back at Tabby one more time, he added with a quiet warmth, “I’m glad you came out here tonight.”
"Thanks," Tabby replied. "I'm glad I found it."
He stood slowly, brushing the grass from the back of his jeans, and stepped away just far enough to give her space—but not so far she’d think he was leaving.
Holland turned toward the tree where he’d left his own lantern kit, his hands digging in his pockets like they were searching for a grip on something. He didn’t say more. But his shoulders didn’t move away either—just hovered close. Just in case she looked up again. Just in case she needed someone to walk with when it was time to go.
Tabby wrote down her wish Wishing that things got better at home, that we'd find a permanent place and I could have a normal life. I wish I head a permanent group of friends... and to find my people.
That should do it, she thought.
He lingered just a step or two away, his frame outlined by the soft flicker of the nearby lanterns. He looked back at her, who was still hunched slightly over the paper, her fingers tense around the pen like whatever she was writing was heavier than it looked.
He hesitated for half a second before stepping a little closer again. “Can I ask you something?” he said, voice kept low like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.
"Sure, I guess," Tabby answered.
He scratched the back of his neck, a small, sheepish grin forming as he glanced off toward the horizon where the lanterns rose like slow-moving stars. “What made you come tonight?”
She shrugged. "I don't know. I was wandering. My family just moved here out of state," She replied. "I needed to get out of the house. We have no furniture yet, and I wanted to explore. I saw a flyer on a pole."
Quentin’s fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the river stone, the sharpie poised delicately between his fingers. His brow furrowed. His handwriting was always small, neat, a habit born from years of having to fit detailed choreography notes into tiny margins of notebooks and rehearsal schedules. He wasn’t a particularly sentimental person—at least, not outwardly—but he found himself pausing over what he wanted to write.
He could hear Jia muttering to herself in that charming, frantic way she did when she was half-serious, half-dramatic. Her declaration caught him off guard, and he let out a sudden, honest laugh and it was deep enough to make his shoulders shake slightly. A moment later, he glanced sideways to see Luke laughing too, just behind Bella, who looked equally amused and exasperated.
Quentin looked back down at his stone and finally wrote:
I hope we keep dancing together, winning together, and that she never takes my suitcase again.
– Q.
The memory made him smile as he capped the marker. The France competition. She’d been jet-lagged and sleepy and so sure that her bag was hers until he’d opened the identical one in his room and found ballet shoes two sizes too small and her ballet attire… which was supposed to be his hip hop and pop outfit. And where was his Converse at? They’d laughed about it then, even as they panicked before the performance. It was ridiculous but it was also the moment where their fates intertwined.
He stood, brushing off his palms, and turned just in time to see Jia grinning up at him like she always did—like nothing in the world could ever go truly wrong. His gaze softened.
“Already wrote it,” he said, holding the stone out in one palm for her to see. “It’s got the usual hopes… winning competitions, staying in sync. And a little prayer that you don’t steal my luggage again.”
As Jia approached, securing her paper wish onto the lantern frame with that natural grace that never seemed forced, Quentin watched her quietly for a moment. There was a stillness in him that hadn’t been there earlier yet came when he realized a night like this—however simple—was one you’d remember for a long time.
When she mentioned Luke, Quentin let out a small chuckle, his eyes flicking briefly toward their friend. “Yeah, maybe a little,” he replied. “But Luke never means harm. He’s just got this… effortless way of making trouble look charming. I’m not sure how our school’s authorities never managed to reprimand him.”
He knelt down beside her and adjusted the lantern, careful not to crumple her paper. “You two are a lot alike, you know,” he added under his breath, his tone quieter now. “You both make everything feel… lighter. Just like how Bella is with him too, but don’t tell him I said that.”
Then, with a soft smile, he stood again and offered his hand. “Ready? Let’s send them off together.”
The lantern trembled in Quentin’s hands from the anticipation that always came with moments like these. Moments where silence was thicker than noise, where time slowed just enough for the heart to speak louder than words.
The soft paper shell rustled faintly as he adjusted the base, making sure both his and Jia’s wishes were secured—his stone, her folded strip. It was such a strange combination. A ballet dancer’s version of a love letter. And yet, it was perfect.
He knelt briefly, striking the match and lighting the wax square at the center. The flame flickered to life, orange and low at first, then steadying into a golden glow that cast a gentle light across both their faces. Quentin’s fingers lingered a little too long near the base to feel the warmth. In that second, he glanced sideways—just enough to catch Jia’s silhouette bathed in lanternlight. With his hand, he reached sideways, his fingers gently brushing against hers, and then curling to take hold. His grip was warm, sure, quietly steadying—as if to say, I’m here. With you.
The lantern tugged upward, ready.
He didn’t look away when he let go. Together, they watched it rise—slowly, steadily—until it hovered and then lifted into the sky. Two wishes, tied side by side, floating into the stars.
Quentin’s gaze followed the light for a long moment before flicking downward again, eyes settling softly on their still-joined hands. He didn’t say anything—there was no need. The way his thumb grazed over the back of her knuckles, the way his shoulders settled slightly… it all said enough.
His voice was low when it finally came.
“Think it’ll reach?”
He glanced over at her again, lips twitching faintly, as if bracing for another playful jab.
He could hear Jia muttering to herself in that charming, frantic way she did when she was half-serious, half-dramatic. Her declaration caught him off guard, and he let out a sudden, honest laugh and it was deep enough to make his shoulders shake slightly. A moment later, he glanced sideways to see Luke laughing too, just behind Bella, who looked equally amused and exasperated.
Quentin looked back down at his stone and finally wrote:
I hope we keep dancing together, winning together, and that she never takes my suitcase again.
– Q.
The memory made him smile as he capped the marker. The France competition. She’d been jet-lagged and sleepy and so sure that her bag was hers until he’d opened the identical one in his room and found ballet shoes two sizes too small and her ballet attire… which was supposed to be his hip hop and pop outfit. And where was his Converse at? They’d laughed about it then, even as they panicked before the performance. It was ridiculous but it was also the moment where their fates intertwined.
He stood, brushing off his palms, and turned just in time to see Jia grinning up at him like she always did—like nothing in the world could ever go truly wrong. His gaze softened.
“Already wrote it,” he said, holding the stone out in one palm for her to see. “It’s got the usual hopes… winning competitions, staying in sync. And a little prayer that you don’t steal my luggage again.”
As Jia approached, securing her paper wish onto the lantern frame with that natural grace that never seemed forced, Quentin watched her quietly for a moment. There was a stillness in him that hadn’t been there earlier yet came when he realized a night like this—however simple—was one you’d remember for a long time.
When she mentioned Luke, Quentin let out a small chuckle, his eyes flicking briefly toward their friend. “Yeah, maybe a little,” he replied. “But Luke never means harm. He’s just got this… effortless way of making trouble look charming. I’m not sure how our school’s authorities never managed to reprimand him.”
He knelt down beside her and adjusted the lantern, careful not to crumple her paper. “You two are a lot alike, you know,” he added under his breath, his tone quieter now. “You both make everything feel… lighter. Just like how Bella is with him too, but don’t tell him I said that.”
Then, with a soft smile, he stood again and offered his hand. “Ready? Let’s send them off together.”
The lantern trembled in Quentin’s hands from the anticipation that always came with moments like these. Moments where silence was thicker than noise, where time slowed just enough for the heart to speak louder than words.
The soft paper shell rustled faintly as he adjusted the base, making sure both his and Jia’s wishes were secured—his stone, her folded strip. It was such a strange combination. A ballet dancer’s version of a love letter. And yet, it was perfect.
He knelt briefly, striking the match and lighting the wax square at the center. The flame flickered to life, orange and low at first, then steadying into a golden glow that cast a gentle light across both their faces. Quentin’s fingers lingered a little too long near the base to feel the warmth. In that second, he glanced sideways—just enough to catch Jia’s silhouette bathed in lanternlight. With his hand, he reached sideways, his fingers gently brushing against hers, and then curling to take hold. His grip was warm, sure, quietly steadying—as if to say, I’m here. With you.
The lantern tugged upward, ready.
He didn’t look away when he let go. Together, they watched it rise—slowly, steadily—until it hovered and then lifted into the sky. Two wishes, tied side by side, floating into the stars.
Quentin’s gaze followed the light for a long moment before flicking downward again, eyes settling softly on their still-joined hands. He didn’t say anything—there was no need. The way his thumb grazed over the back of her knuckles, the way his shoulders settled slightly… it all said enough.
His voice was low when it finally came.
“Think it’ll reach?”
He glanced over at her again, lips twitching faintly, as if bracing for another playful jab.
Luke stood still for a moment longer, the glow of the lanterns catching faintly in his eyes as he watched Quentin and Jia release theirs. There was something almost sacred in that quiet hush—just the crackle of the flame, the collective breath held between lift-off and ascent.
He felt Bella at his side, their hands still linked from earlier, and even now, her touch was grounding. It made the moment feel… real. His fingers adjusted slightly in her grasp. He was holding space for her to move, or stay. If she were to remain silent, Luke would listen to everything in between. He would read people like that, something that even got him out of trouble almost all the time. Almost. Not with her.
The stone in his other hand had grown warm, not from heat but from how tightly he’d been holding it. His thumb traced the curve of it—over her writing, maybe. He didn’t know the words, but the way she’d looked when she gave it to him was enough. He crouched again, setting their lantern carefully on the ground. It was already beginning to heat up, the wax flickering to life beneath the frame. Luke watched it grow round and luminous, and something in his chest echoed that same expansion. The strange weight of hope.
“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now, barely above the hush of grass rustling around them. “This is our shot.” He knelt beside the lantern for another beat—just long enough to steady it. And when it finally lifted, catching the upward drift of warm air, Luke straightened and took a slow breath.
A slow grin ghosted over his lips.
“…Let’s hope the stone doesn’t fall and hit someone on the head,” he said with mock solemnity, glancing sidelong at her. His brows lifted as if in jest, but the concern underneath was genuine. “Seriously. Like, I was joking before, but I really hope this one makes it all the way.”
His eyes followed the lantern as it floated higher and higher, their stone—and her wish—tied to its center. The flame inside lit the paper from within like a heart glowing through skin.
Then, softer still, he murmured, “You made a wish and I’m not going to mess that up.”
Luke’s hand, still loosely connected to hers, gave one gentle squeeze. As the lantern disappeared into the ink-blue sky, he looked over at her—just for a second—and offered a small smile. It was not the usual smirk or lopsided grin but something deeper, perhaps almost grateful.
He watched the lantern until it was just a flicker in the sky, then lowered his gaze slowly—back to the crowd, back to the warm glow of the field around them, back to her.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “As much as I wanna stick around and hang with everyone…” His voice trailed off a bit as he glanced toward the hill, then back to Bella, his tone softening. “I think we should head out.” He was saying it because he’d been thinking about it… because he wanted to make sure they got home safe together.
“That’s more for you than me, though,” he admitted, a faint chuckle under his breath. “I just… I’d rather we don’t stay out too late. I’d rather get you home while everything’s still glowing.”
Luke gave her hand one final, light squeeze before letting it go gently. He looked toward Quentin and Jia, lifting a hand in parting. “I’ll catch you guys later,” he called out, the usual energy in his voice now tinged with a mellow warmth. Then he turned back to her, letting her take the lead. Whatever she wanted to do next, he’d follow. If she wanted to do so.
(( Luke has taken his leave. Bella is suggested to leave as well but may stick around should her writer intends. ))
He felt Bella at his side, their hands still linked from earlier, and even now, her touch was grounding. It made the moment feel… real. His fingers adjusted slightly in her grasp. He was holding space for her to move, or stay. If she were to remain silent, Luke would listen to everything in between. He would read people like that, something that even got him out of trouble almost all the time. Almost. Not with her.
The stone in his other hand had grown warm, not from heat but from how tightly he’d been holding it. His thumb traced the curve of it—over her writing, maybe. He didn’t know the words, but the way she’d looked when she gave it to him was enough. He crouched again, setting their lantern carefully on the ground. It was already beginning to heat up, the wax flickering to life beneath the frame. Luke watched it grow round and luminous, and something in his chest echoed that same expansion. The strange weight of hope.
“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now, barely above the hush of grass rustling around them. “This is our shot.” He knelt beside the lantern for another beat—just long enough to steady it. And when it finally lifted, catching the upward drift of warm air, Luke straightened and took a slow breath.
A slow grin ghosted over his lips.
“…Let’s hope the stone doesn’t fall and hit someone on the head,” he said with mock solemnity, glancing sidelong at her. His brows lifted as if in jest, but the concern underneath was genuine. “Seriously. Like, I was joking before, but I really hope this one makes it all the way.”
His eyes followed the lantern as it floated higher and higher, their stone—and her wish—tied to its center. The flame inside lit the paper from within like a heart glowing through skin.
Then, softer still, he murmured, “You made a wish and I’m not going to mess that up.”
Luke’s hand, still loosely connected to hers, gave one gentle squeeze. As the lantern disappeared into the ink-blue sky, he looked over at her—just for a second—and offered a small smile. It was not the usual smirk or lopsided grin but something deeper, perhaps almost grateful.
He watched the lantern until it was just a flicker in the sky, then lowered his gaze slowly—back to the crowd, back to the warm glow of the field around them, back to her.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “As much as I wanna stick around and hang with everyone…” His voice trailed off a bit as he glanced toward the hill, then back to Bella, his tone softening. “I think we should head out.” He was saying it because he’d been thinking about it… because he wanted to make sure they got home safe together.
“That’s more for you than me, though,” he admitted, a faint chuckle under his breath. “I just… I’d rather we don’t stay out too late. I’d rather get you home while everything’s still glowing.”
Luke gave her hand one final, light squeeze before letting it go gently. He looked toward Quentin and Jia, lifting a hand in parting. “I’ll catch you guys later,” he called out, the usual energy in his voice now tinged with a mellow warmth. Then he turned back to her, letting her take the lead. Whatever she wanted to do next, he’d follow. If she wanted to do so.
(( Luke has taken his leave. Bella is suggested to leave as well but may stick around should her writer intends. ))
Holland’s posture softened the moment she spoke like someone trying not to spill more than necessary. What she did say though pressed on his chest and made him feel like a visitor in his own life. He nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth lifting in understanding. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I get that.”
And he did, more than he could explain. Moving around as a kid—his mom chasing jobs, him chasing normalcy—he knew that temporary places could start to feel permanent if you stayed lost in them long enough. “The flyer thing, though?” He gave a small, amused exhale. “Maybe that’s fate. You just happened to spot it and show up. Like the universe said, ‘Hey, maybe you need a little light tonight.’
He glanced at her lantern, still grounded, but now carrying something vulnerable inside it. A wish with its roots. “Can I say something kind of… cheesy?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head. Then, without waiting too long, added gently, “I think you found your people the second you showed up.”
The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Holland crouched again, resting his arms over his knees as he settled into her space close enough that she wouldn’t feel so untethered. “So, listen,” he went on, a flicker of playful energy slipping into his tone. “I’m in a band. Watermelon Sugar. Don’t judge the name—we picked it on zero sleep and too much soda.”
His eyes flicked upward to hers, glinting with warmth. “You’ve got good hands. I saw you play earlier. You’ve got that feel thing. That raw, makes-people-listen kind of rhythm. You ever wanna jam sometime? Me, my bandmates, we practice near campus. We always have room for another artist with something real to say.”
He paused just a beat before adding, quieter now, “No pressure. Just… if you want to feel less temporary for a little while.”
The breeze shifted, catching the edges of the lanterns overhead, and for a second Holland looked up—watching their slow, dreamy climb—before turning his gaze back to Tabby. His voice, when he spoke again, was almost a whisper.
“You belong just as much as anyone else here. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
…
Even as he stayed present in her orbit, his attention gradually drifted.
He looked up—first toward the sky, tracing the floating embers that danced overhead, then across the field. He scanned the small gathering instinctively. It wasn’t the faces he found, but the absences that hit hardest. And there it was.
A strange weight in his chest as soon as he realized she wasn’t there.
He hadn’t seen Janice leave. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d disappeared from her earlier spot near the tall guy in the coat—Max, that was his name he thinks. But she had been there. He was sure of it. He remembered glancing up after helping Tabby earlier and catching a glimpse of her off to the side—sitting, watching, maybe waiting.
The breath that left his lungs wasn’t dramatic or obvious. It was a faint, inward pull. The kind you only feel when you’ve missed something small that ended up meaning more than you’d expected.
He blinked once. Twice. Then cleared his throat and turned back to Tabby with a soft half-smile. “Hey,” he said gently, “I’m gonna check in with someone real quick. No rush on your answer. If you ever wanna jam or hang out, just hit me up online or whatever. I’m easy to find.”
He offered her a nod, warm and lowkey, before taking a step back, giving her space as promised. And then he was moving—long, even strides toward Max.
The man still sat in the grass, coat too nice for the ground, but looking like he belonged there anyway. He seems like a guy who didn’t flinch at staying still. Who read people before they ever spoke. Holland had seen the type before—usually behind soundboards or security lines. The ones you noticed even when he wasn’t saying a damn thing.
“Hey,” Holland greeted, dropping into a crouch nearby to avoid looming, his tone casual but not careless. “Sorry to bug you. Just wondering—did Janice head out?” There was a pause, just enough to suggest the question meant more on the surface.
He didn’t say what he was really thinking.
Did she leave because she wanted to? Or did I miss something important?
He didn’t say:
I was going to ask her something tonight.
Something that’s been sitting on the edge of my chest for weeks.
Nothing huge. Just… real.
But it feels stupid now. Too late. And maybe—
Maybe I read everything wrong.
Instead, he just kept his eyes on Max, voice level but quiet.
“Did she say anything before she left?”
And he did, more than he could explain. Moving around as a kid—his mom chasing jobs, him chasing normalcy—he knew that temporary places could start to feel permanent if you stayed lost in them long enough. “The flyer thing, though?” He gave a small, amused exhale. “Maybe that’s fate. You just happened to spot it and show up. Like the universe said, ‘Hey, maybe you need a little light tonight.’
He glanced at her lantern, still grounded, but now carrying something vulnerable inside it. A wish with its roots. “Can I say something kind of… cheesy?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head. Then, without waiting too long, added gently, “I think you found your people the second you showed up.”
The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Holland crouched again, resting his arms over his knees as he settled into her space close enough that she wouldn’t feel so untethered. “So, listen,” he went on, a flicker of playful energy slipping into his tone. “I’m in a band. Watermelon Sugar. Don’t judge the name—we picked it on zero sleep and too much soda.”
His eyes flicked upward to hers, glinting with warmth. “You’ve got good hands. I saw you play earlier. You’ve got that feel thing. That raw, makes-people-listen kind of rhythm. You ever wanna jam sometime? Me, my bandmates, we practice near campus. We always have room for another artist with something real to say.”
He paused just a beat before adding, quieter now, “No pressure. Just… if you want to feel less temporary for a little while.”
The breeze shifted, catching the edges of the lanterns overhead, and for a second Holland looked up—watching their slow, dreamy climb—before turning his gaze back to Tabby. His voice, when he spoke again, was almost a whisper.
“You belong just as much as anyone else here. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
…
Even as he stayed present in her orbit, his attention gradually drifted.
He looked up—first toward the sky, tracing the floating embers that danced overhead, then across the field. He scanned the small gathering instinctively. It wasn’t the faces he found, but the absences that hit hardest. And there it was.
A strange weight in his chest as soon as he realized she wasn’t there.
He hadn’t seen Janice leave. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d disappeared from her earlier spot near the tall guy in the coat—Max, that was his name he thinks. But she had been there. He was sure of it. He remembered glancing up after helping Tabby earlier and catching a glimpse of her off to the side—sitting, watching, maybe waiting.
The breath that left his lungs wasn’t dramatic or obvious. It was a faint, inward pull. The kind you only feel when you’ve missed something small that ended up meaning more than you’d expected.
He blinked once. Twice. Then cleared his throat and turned back to Tabby with a soft half-smile. “Hey,” he said gently, “I’m gonna check in with someone real quick. No rush on your answer. If you ever wanna jam or hang out, just hit me up online or whatever. I’m easy to find.”
He offered her a nod, warm and lowkey, before taking a step back, giving her space as promised. And then he was moving—long, even strides toward Max.
The man still sat in the grass, coat too nice for the ground, but looking like he belonged there anyway. He seems like a guy who didn’t flinch at staying still. Who read people before they ever spoke. Holland had seen the type before—usually behind soundboards or security lines. The ones you noticed even when he wasn’t saying a damn thing.
“Hey,” Holland greeted, dropping into a crouch nearby to avoid looming, his tone casual but not careless. “Sorry to bug you. Just wondering—did Janice head out?” There was a pause, just enough to suggest the question meant more on the surface.
He didn’t say what he was really thinking.
Did she leave because she wanted to? Or did I miss something important?
He didn’t say:
I was going to ask her something tonight.
Something that’s been sitting on the edge of my chest for weeks.
Nothing huge. Just… real.
But it feels stupid now. Too late. And maybe—
Maybe I read everything wrong.
Instead, he just kept his eyes on Max, voice level but quiet.
“Did she say anything before she left?”
"The flyer thing, though?” He gave a small, amused exhale. “Maybe that’s fate. You just happened to spot it and show up. Like the universe said, ‘Hey, maybe you need a little light tonight.’
Tabby nodded.
He glanced at her lantern, still grounded, but now carrying something vulnerable inside it. A wish with its roots. “Can I say something kind of… cheesy?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head. Then, without waiting too long, added gently, “I think you found your people the second you showed up.”
"Maybe," Tabby agreed. Although, she had found her people temporarily, she needed to find her true people. Those that were her own age and were like her, and she knew they were out there... somewhere.
The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Holland crouched again, resting his arms over his knees as he settled into her space close enough that she wouldn’t feel so untethered. “So, listen,” he went on, a flicker of playful energy slipping into his tone. “I’m in a band. Watermelon Sugar. Don’t judge the name—we picked it on zero sleep and too much soda.”
"Nice," Tabby replied.
His eyes flicked upward to hers, glinting with warmth. “You’ve got good hands. I saw you play earlier. You’ve got that feel thing. That raw, makes-people-listen kind of rhythm. You ever wanna jam sometime? Me, my bandmates, we practice near campus. We always have room for another artist with something real to say.”
"Sure," Tabby answered. "Maybe we can do that at some point."
He paused just a beat before adding, quieter now, “No pressure. Just… if you want to feel less temporary for a little while.”
The breeze shifted, catching the edges of the lanterns overhead, and for a second Holland looked up—watching their slow, dreamy climb—before turning his gaze back to Tabby. His voice, when he spoke again, was almost a whisper.
“You belong just as much as anyone else here. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
Tabby didn't know about that, but she was grateful at Holland's effort of inclusion. She finished up her lantern and released it.
"Thanks for everything," She said. "It's getting late and I really must be going."
Tabby unplugged her guitar and returned the amp. Then she packed up her guitar. Offered a wave and began to head home.
OOC: Thanks for running! That concludes Tabby's post.
Tabby nodded.
He glanced at her lantern, still grounded, but now carrying something vulnerable inside it. A wish with its roots. “Can I say something kind of… cheesy?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head. Then, without waiting too long, added gently, “I think you found your people the second you showed up.”
"Maybe," Tabby agreed. Although, she had found her people temporarily, she needed to find her true people. Those that were her own age and were like her, and she knew they were out there... somewhere.
The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Holland crouched again, resting his arms over his knees as he settled into her space close enough that she wouldn’t feel so untethered. “So, listen,” he went on, a flicker of playful energy slipping into his tone. “I’m in a band. Watermelon Sugar. Don’t judge the name—we picked it on zero sleep and too much soda.”
"Nice," Tabby replied.
His eyes flicked upward to hers, glinting with warmth. “You’ve got good hands. I saw you play earlier. You’ve got that feel thing. That raw, makes-people-listen kind of rhythm. You ever wanna jam sometime? Me, my bandmates, we practice near campus. We always have room for another artist with something real to say.”
"Sure," Tabby answered. "Maybe we can do that at some point."
He paused just a beat before adding, quieter now, “No pressure. Just… if you want to feel less temporary for a little while.”
The breeze shifted, catching the edges of the lanterns overhead, and for a second Holland looked up—watching their slow, dreamy climb—before turning his gaze back to Tabby. His voice, when he spoke again, was almost a whisper.
“You belong just as much as anyone else here. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
Tabby didn't know about that, but she was grateful at Holland's effort of inclusion. She finished up her lantern and released it.
"Thanks for everything," She said. "It's getting late and I really must be going."
Tabby unplugged her guitar and returned the amp. Then she packed up her guitar. Offered a wave and began to head home.
OOC: Thanks for running! That concludes Tabby's post.
The raw transparent look on the young girl beside Max made him lift his brows. Youth, he thought. That look when a nascent demon of unrequited longing or bitter envy begins to scratch at the fragile membrane of one's heart leaving a phantom ache. Max wasn't entirely certain if the way Janice's gaze lingered, then sharply darted away between Holland and Tabitha was purely jealousy. There was a deeper current that spoke of something more profound. He knew for sure that suffocating when your soul yearns to unburden itself, to scream out the pain that aches in your very core but the words remain trapped. He’d seen it before, felt it himself.
And when Janice suddenly stood up making Max lift his head. "Woah, easy there, kiddo. Would you be entirely okay? I mean, it will be dangerous for a young woman to walk alone, especially with the sky getting so dark." His voice held an uncharacteristic note of genuine concern. Smoothly, Max rose to his full height, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored coat. "Alright, lady. Just be careful on your way. I’ll let your man know you’ve made a tactical retreat." He winked at her.
The cool evening air, now carrying the faint scent of charcoal and burnt sugar, wrapped around him. Max was content to wait, watching as the hopeful embers of paper lanterns drifted lazily skyward, their soft light painting fleeting trails against the deepening indigo. He intended to linger until the last remnants of the magical lanterns had vanished into the vast expanse above.
A moment later, Holland sauntered over. “Hey, your lady said she went home first because she was afraid her parents will ground her if she was late.” He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with a knowing glint that belied his casual explanation. "Although I’m sure it was another reason entirely," he added.
With a soft thud, Max delivered a friendly knuckle to Holland’s shoulder. “Sometimes, kid, women aren't looking for solutions; they're looking for understanding. You gotta learn to read between the lines, see the storm beneath the calm. That’s my sage advice as someone who's seen a few more sunsets than you, pal.” A rumbling laugh shook his chest before he pulled a stick of gum from his pocket, carefully folding it into his mouth. “Nice event you held, anyway. Truly top-notch. I’ll linger till the very last ember fades, so don’t you dare try to shoo me away.”
And when Janice suddenly stood up making Max lift his head. "Woah, easy there, kiddo. Would you be entirely okay? I mean, it will be dangerous for a young woman to walk alone, especially with the sky getting so dark." His voice held an uncharacteristic note of genuine concern. Smoothly, Max rose to his full height, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored coat. "Alright, lady. Just be careful on your way. I’ll let your man know you’ve made a tactical retreat." He winked at her.
The cool evening air, now carrying the faint scent of charcoal and burnt sugar, wrapped around him. Max was content to wait, watching as the hopeful embers of paper lanterns drifted lazily skyward, their soft light painting fleeting trails against the deepening indigo. He intended to linger until the last remnants of the magical lanterns had vanished into the vast expanse above.
A moment later, Holland sauntered over. “Hey, your lady said she went home first because she was afraid her parents will ground her if she was late.” He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with a knowing glint that belied his casual explanation. "Although I’m sure it was another reason entirely," he added.
With a soft thud, Max delivered a friendly knuckle to Holland’s shoulder. “Sometimes, kid, women aren't looking for solutions; they're looking for understanding. You gotta learn to read between the lines, see the storm beneath the calm. That’s my sage advice as someone who's seen a few more sunsets than you, pal.” A rumbling laugh shook his chest before he pulled a stick of gum from his pocket, carefully folding it into his mouth. “Nice event you held, anyway. Truly top-notch. I’ll linger till the very last ember fades, so don’t you dare try to shoo me away.”
Holland let out a soft huff of breath that might have been a laugh if it had more force behind it. His head tilted a little as he processes Max’s remark—both the part about Janice and the unsolicited sage advice wrapped neatly inside. He blinked once, then again, like he’s searched for the joke in the older man’s words but finding only sincerity beneath the wry exterior.
“What are you talking about?” he said, brows furrowing just slightly, his voice genuinely confused.
It isn’t defensive, not really—just earnest, like he’s actually trying to understand. Holland is a naturally social guy, always has been, the type who could sit on the roof of someone’s car and chat about anything under the sun. Friendly, approachable, animated. But social ease isn’t the same thing as social intuition, and he knows it. It’s not that he’s oblivious to feelings, but nuance often slips through his fingers like trying to catch water in cupped hands. Especially when it came dressed in silence and soft goodbyes, the kind that didn’t leave a trace until they were already gone.
“I don’t intend to,”, he said with a hint of a smile as Max warns him not to try and shoo him away. “At least we’ve got an adult supervising whatever’s left of this thing.”
He dropped onto a nearby stretch of grass beside Max with the practiced flop of someone used to late rehearsals and outdoor jams, legs kicked out in front of him. The field around them is quieter now, dotted with a few lingering souls and scattered laughter in the distance. There’s a peacefulness to the end of things. A kind of echo you would feel more than hear.
He glanced toward the path Janice disappeared down, his expression unreadable for a moment—some quiet something trying to press through the surface before he exhales again and lets it go. Not everything can be chased. Some things just have to find their own way back, if they ever do.
“So… adult-on-duty,” Holland said, voice lightening a bit as he turned back toward Max, “any notes for next time? Did I make it too artsy? Not enough hot dogs?”
“What are you talking about?” he said, brows furrowing just slightly, his voice genuinely confused.
It isn’t defensive, not really—just earnest, like he’s actually trying to understand. Holland is a naturally social guy, always has been, the type who could sit on the roof of someone’s car and chat about anything under the sun. Friendly, approachable, animated. But social ease isn’t the same thing as social intuition, and he knows it. It’s not that he’s oblivious to feelings, but nuance often slips through his fingers like trying to catch water in cupped hands. Especially when it came dressed in silence and soft goodbyes, the kind that didn’t leave a trace until they were already gone.
“I don’t intend to,”, he said with a hint of a smile as Max warns him not to try and shoo him away. “At least we’ve got an adult supervising whatever’s left of this thing.”
He dropped onto a nearby stretch of grass beside Max with the practiced flop of someone used to late rehearsals and outdoor jams, legs kicked out in front of him. The field around them is quieter now, dotted with a few lingering souls and scattered laughter in the distance. There’s a peacefulness to the end of things. A kind of echo you would feel more than hear.
He glanced toward the path Janice disappeared down, his expression unreadable for a moment—some quiet something trying to press through the surface before he exhales again and lets it go. Not everything can be chased. Some things just have to find their own way back, if they ever do.
“So… adult-on-duty,” Holland said, voice lightening a bit as he turned back toward Max, “any notes for next time? Did I make it too artsy? Not enough hot dogs?”
The lantern they held in their hands cast a gentle, flickering glow that made everything around them seem quiet and peaceful. The wishes written on their lanterns shimmered softly, adding a subtle sparkle to the warm summer night. The scene was so calm and serene that it almost felt like a moment touched by magic. As the light from the lanterns floated up into the sky, it created an enchanting, dreamlike atmosphere that wrapped around them like a cozy blanket. The tall blades of grass swayed slightly in the night breeze, and the sky above was clear, with stars twinkling faintly in the distance. This peaceful setting made Jia feel happy, filling her with a quiet joy she wanted to hold onto forever.
With her lover right beside her, sharing this beautiful moment during their holiday, everything felt just right. Spending a summer night like this, surrounded by nature was enough to make her feel complete. This simple yet perfect scene made her realize she didn’t need anything more. Quentin’s presence was all she needed to feel content. When he mentioned that his wish was something simple, Jia couldn’t help but huff softly. She looked at him
curiosly. "You don't really think this kind of wish will come true?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with teasing. She wasn’t expecting magic or miracles. More like a small, hopeful chance that maybe Quentin’s wish might somehow lift her spirits or bring them a little closer.
She didn’t expect her love to suddenly deepen or for the universe to bend at her whisper. No, it was enough to dream about something small, like not losing his bag or having everyday worries fade away. She figured that fate had somehow brought them together after all and that was enough in itself. Still, she wondered aloud, half-joking, about whether Quentin believed in these wishes really coming true. Her brows furrowed playfully, eyes searching his face for hints of hope or skepticism.
Then Quentin raised his lantern and lit it with a small match, the tiny flame flickering alive. Jia followed suit, carefully holding her own lantern in her hands, watching as it steadied and started to lift off the ground. It took a moment for the lanterns to gain altitude. They wobbled slightly at first, as if shy or unsure, much like newborn birds trying to take their first flight. She watched carefully, fascinated by the delicate dance of the light, how it seemed almost to pulse with a life of its own. Her heartbeat quickened as she saw her lantern growing higher, floating upward, glowing brighter amid the dark sky. The sight was utterly mesmerizing. Its shimmer reflected in her eyes as if she were witnessing some secret magic played out right before her.
The glow from her lantern cast a warm aura around her, illuminating her face in a soft, golden hue. She stared in awe as it rose, feeling a thrill of excitement as if her secret wish was blending into the light, soaring with it toward the night sky. The lantern’s glow seemed to brighten and spread, lighting up the space around them with an almost fairy-tale scene come to life. Jia’s attention was entirely captured by this, her hands unconsciously cupping her cheeks as she watched it ascend. The gentle crackle of the paper, the flicker of the flame... everything felt vivid and alive.
She couldn’t help but whisper, "Whoa..." as her eyes followed the lantern’s ascent, her voice quiet but full of wonder. Watching it rise higher and higher, her heart fluttered as she thought about her wish. Hoping it might somehow come true, hidden among the stars. In that fleeting moment, she felt a quiet hope blossom inside her, like the lantern was carrying all her wishes on its gentle journey into the sky. It was as if the universe was listening, waiting to see if her hope would reach the stars.
Once the lantern was far enough into the sky that it looked like a tiny star, she turned her gaze back to Quentin, a warm smile spreading across her face. "What a way to spend the summer holiday, right?" she said softly, voice full of contentment. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, grateful for this quiet, magical night they shared. She scanned the landscape around them: Janice was nowhere in sight now. The girl with the electric guitar, who’d been strumming softly for Holland earlier, had also disappeared into the night. Luke, who had shared a quick goodbye, was probably heading home or joining the others. She noticed Bella was probably getting ready to leave as well, just like everyone else.
Holland was now deep in conversation with an older man, both watching the drifting lanterns with serious interest. Jia watched this scene quietly. She tug at Quentin's sleeve, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "Should we get going now?" she asked, her eyes searching his. "Or are you planning to stay a little longer and soak it all in?"
The night was young, and the lanterns still floated gently in the sky. Yet, a part of her wondered if they should wrap up or let themselves linger just a bit more. The night held a kind of magic that she didn’t want to end too soon. She was perfectly happy here, with him, sharing this quiet, beautiful moment.
With her lover right beside her, sharing this beautiful moment during their holiday, everything felt just right. Spending a summer night like this, surrounded by nature was enough to make her feel complete. This simple yet perfect scene made her realize she didn’t need anything more. Quentin’s presence was all she needed to feel content. When he mentioned that his wish was something simple, Jia couldn’t help but huff softly. She looked at him
curiosly. "You don't really think this kind of wish will come true?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with teasing. She wasn’t expecting magic or miracles. More like a small, hopeful chance that maybe Quentin’s wish might somehow lift her spirits or bring them a little closer.
She didn’t expect her love to suddenly deepen or for the universe to bend at her whisper. No, it was enough to dream about something small, like not losing his bag or having everyday worries fade away. She figured that fate had somehow brought them together after all and that was enough in itself. Still, she wondered aloud, half-joking, about whether Quentin believed in these wishes really coming true. Her brows furrowed playfully, eyes searching his face for hints of hope or skepticism.
Then Quentin raised his lantern and lit it with a small match, the tiny flame flickering alive. Jia followed suit, carefully holding her own lantern in her hands, watching as it steadied and started to lift off the ground. It took a moment for the lanterns to gain altitude. They wobbled slightly at first, as if shy or unsure, much like newborn birds trying to take their first flight. She watched carefully, fascinated by the delicate dance of the light, how it seemed almost to pulse with a life of its own. Her heartbeat quickened as she saw her lantern growing higher, floating upward, glowing brighter amid the dark sky. The sight was utterly mesmerizing. Its shimmer reflected in her eyes as if she were witnessing some secret magic played out right before her.
The glow from her lantern cast a warm aura around her, illuminating her face in a soft, golden hue. She stared in awe as it rose, feeling a thrill of excitement as if her secret wish was blending into the light, soaring with it toward the night sky. The lantern’s glow seemed to brighten and spread, lighting up the space around them with an almost fairy-tale scene come to life. Jia’s attention was entirely captured by this, her hands unconsciously cupping her cheeks as she watched it ascend. The gentle crackle of the paper, the flicker of the flame... everything felt vivid and alive.
She couldn’t help but whisper, "Whoa..." as her eyes followed the lantern’s ascent, her voice quiet but full of wonder. Watching it rise higher and higher, her heart fluttered as she thought about her wish. Hoping it might somehow come true, hidden among the stars. In that fleeting moment, she felt a quiet hope blossom inside her, like the lantern was carrying all her wishes on its gentle journey into the sky. It was as if the universe was listening, waiting to see if her hope would reach the stars.
Once the lantern was far enough into the sky that it looked like a tiny star, she turned her gaze back to Quentin, a warm smile spreading across her face. "What a way to spend the summer holiday, right?" she said softly, voice full of contentment. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, grateful for this quiet, magical night they shared. She scanned the landscape around them: Janice was nowhere in sight now. The girl with the electric guitar, who’d been strumming softly for Holland earlier, had also disappeared into the night. Luke, who had shared a quick goodbye, was probably heading home or joining the others. She noticed Bella was probably getting ready to leave as well, just like everyone else.
Holland was now deep in conversation with an older man, both watching the drifting lanterns with serious interest. Jia watched this scene quietly. She tug at Quentin's sleeve, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "Should we get going now?" she asked, her eyes searching his. "Or are you planning to stay a little longer and soak it all in?"
The night was young, and the lanterns still floated gently in the sky. Yet, a part of her wondered if they should wrap up or let themselves linger just a bit more. The night held a kind of magic that she didn’t want to end too soon. She was perfectly happy here, with him, sharing this quiet, beautiful moment.
Throughout the long night that Bella faced, peace was never truly within her reach. It was like something so rare and precious that she could only dream of possessing it, yet it always seemed just out of grasp. To Bella, peace felt like a luxury. Something she yearned for but could never quite afford. It was the kind of peaceful moment she deeply longed for, the kind that offered a break from the chaos and pain that seemed to follow her everywhere.
Today, being here with Luke and her friends brought her a rare sense of calm. Watching them make their wishes, seeing the glowing lanterns lift up into the dark sky, tugged at her heart in a way words couldn’t. It was as if the rising lanterns carried her wishes and hopes as well. The feeling of shared silence, the gentle warmth of the firelight, and knowing she wasn’t alone made this simple act of setting a lantern free feel like peace itself. Bella found herself quietly grateful for those fleeting moments of serenity amidst her troubled life, moments that reminded her how much she valued peace and happiness.
As she listened to Luke speak, she couldn’t help but joke softly, “Yeah... I really hope the stone won’t hit anyone, or else they'll be mad at us." Her voice was light, but her words carried a hint of frustration. She was tired of being caught in chaos, tired of feeling like she was just another target for constant hurt. Her life had been a series of hardships, especially because of her brother Marcus, whose mental state had deteriorated over the years. Marcus, once her protector, had become a source of pain for Bella. Sometimes violent, sometimes silent, but always destructive. She never truly wished bad things on him, yet she often felt overwhelmed by that dark desire for peace, for happiness.
Maybe she’d even wished for something darker like her brother’s death, just so she could finally get a break. But her heart was too kind for that. That’s why, as she watched her lantern drift upward into the sky, she secretly hoped her wish for happiness would come true. She squeezed Luke’s hand softly, feeling his warmth and steady presence. When her gaze landed on the tiny stone hanging from her lantern’s frame, she felt a strange mix of amusement and awe. The stone was so small, barely noticeable, yet it was part of something so beautiful. Something that made her lantern feel special. She marveled at how something so simple could be crafted into something so captivating.
That was when Luke nudged her gently, signaling it was time to move. Bella nodded, understanding it was time to leave. She shifted her attention from the sky to the crowd gathered around her. A small pang of regret crept in, for she hadn’t spent enough time with Janice before she had to leave. She wanted to thank her properly, to tell her how much she appreciated all the effort she put into this event. Smiling softly, she called out to Quentin and Jia, “See you at school, guys,” before she turned to follow Luke toward the exit.
As they started moving, she paused briefly when her eyes caught Holland and Max. A moment of appreciation crossed her face. She stepped closer and called out, “Hey, Holland! Thanks so much for throwing this event. Next time, I’ll bake you cookies. Promise!” Her voice was cheerful, warm. She waved her hand in a friendly gesture, saying goodbyes to Holland before fully leaving the field with Luke.
Bella didn’t want to forget Holland or his effort. Even in this peaceful moment, she knew how much Hollands’ kindness meant. Her gratitude was genuine. She hoped that Holland would see her sincerity in her smile and her promise of baked cookies. It warmed her heart, knowing someone took the time to create something beautiful for everyone.
Today, being here with Luke and her friends brought her a rare sense of calm. Watching them make their wishes, seeing the glowing lanterns lift up into the dark sky, tugged at her heart in a way words couldn’t. It was as if the rising lanterns carried her wishes and hopes as well. The feeling of shared silence, the gentle warmth of the firelight, and knowing she wasn’t alone made this simple act of setting a lantern free feel like peace itself. Bella found herself quietly grateful for those fleeting moments of serenity amidst her troubled life, moments that reminded her how much she valued peace and happiness.
As she listened to Luke speak, she couldn’t help but joke softly, “Yeah... I really hope the stone won’t hit anyone, or else they'll be mad at us." Her voice was light, but her words carried a hint of frustration. She was tired of being caught in chaos, tired of feeling like she was just another target for constant hurt. Her life had been a series of hardships, especially because of her brother Marcus, whose mental state had deteriorated over the years. Marcus, once her protector, had become a source of pain for Bella. Sometimes violent, sometimes silent, but always destructive. She never truly wished bad things on him, yet she often felt overwhelmed by that dark desire for peace, for happiness.
Maybe she’d even wished for something darker like her brother’s death, just so she could finally get a break. But her heart was too kind for that. That’s why, as she watched her lantern drift upward into the sky, she secretly hoped her wish for happiness would come true. She squeezed Luke’s hand softly, feeling his warmth and steady presence. When her gaze landed on the tiny stone hanging from her lantern’s frame, she felt a strange mix of amusement and awe. The stone was so small, barely noticeable, yet it was part of something so beautiful. Something that made her lantern feel special. She marveled at how something so simple could be crafted into something so captivating.
That was when Luke nudged her gently, signaling it was time to move. Bella nodded, understanding it was time to leave. She shifted her attention from the sky to the crowd gathered around her. A small pang of regret crept in, for she hadn’t spent enough time with Janice before she had to leave. She wanted to thank her properly, to tell her how much she appreciated all the effort she put into this event. Smiling softly, she called out to Quentin and Jia, “See you at school, guys,” before she turned to follow Luke toward the exit.
As they started moving, she paused briefly when her eyes caught Holland and Max. A moment of appreciation crossed her face. She stepped closer and called out, “Hey, Holland! Thanks so much for throwing this event. Next time, I’ll bake you cookies. Promise!” Her voice was cheerful, warm. She waved her hand in a friendly gesture, saying goodbyes to Holland before fully leaving the field with Luke.
Bella didn’t want to forget Holland or his effort. Even in this peaceful moment, she knew how much Hollands’ kindness meant. Her gratitude was genuine. She hoped that Holland would see her sincerity in her smile and her promise of baked cookies. It warmed her heart, knowing someone took the time to create something beautiful for everyone.
- Bella is officially leaving the Summer Soiree: Midsummer Nights & Fireflies - Thank you!
Quentin’s eyes tracked the arc of their lanterns as they drifted higher, the light bleeding gold against the darkening sky until they hovered like distant, fragile stars. The moment held a hush, as though the world itself dared not breathe too loudly. A faint breeze skimmed across the hilltop, rustling the tall grass and carrying with it the faint scent of burnt paper and wildflower dew. The other lanterns around them began to lift one by one, some with quick enthusiasm, others slow and hesitant as if not all wishes were quite ready to leave their makers behind.
Hands still in his pockets, he stood beside Jia, shoulder lightly brushing hers. He glanced sidelong at her, the way her face glowed in the lantern light, her eyes wide and open, reflecting every bit of the wonder above them. That wonder wasn’t just in the sky—it was written across her expression, tucked in the soft curve of her smile, in the quiet awe of someone who had let themselves believe, even just for a moment, that something as simple as light and paper could carry a hope high enough to matter.
He watched her watching, and for a few long seconds, said nothing at all.
Then he murmured, his voice warm and steady with the same kind of quiet reverence,
“We really had the whole day to ourselves, huh?” His lips curved slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “And somehow… we’re ending it on another good note.”
He turned his eyes back to the sky, lanterns still climbing, the scene above them a constellation of human longing.
“I’ve always wanted our days to end like this. Not just ours either—everyone’s.” He nodded toward the soft noise of laughter nearby, the low buzz of conversation, the occasional clatter of a guitar string being tuned again from somewhere on the hill. “Peaceful. Close. Like we actually made it through the day with something to show for it.”
His voice drifted a little, not in volume, but in tone—softer now, shaded by something deeper. Memory. Maybe even regret.
“Do you remember… after Paris?” he asked, not looking at her just yet. His hands worked absently in his coat pockets, thumbs pressing against the seam. “How we said goodbye, and I told myself, ‘That’s it. That’s where the book closes.’”
His breath drew in through his nose, slow, measured.
“And then USC.” The words came with a quiet laugh of disbelief. “Out of all the cities, out of all the campuses, we end up in the same place… again. Like something out of a story I would’ve rolled my eyes at in high school.”
He finally turned to her, the edges of his smile still curled, but it wasn’t playfulness now—it was something far more vulnerable. “That’s what fate feels like to me. Even though we could text and video call each other before then, it didn’t feel the same as being with you. God, I was so shocked that all the tiredness from staying up late went away. At least, for the moment. And even then, some of the guys were hitting on you on your first day!”
The moment hung there. Heavy. Unrushed.
And then, with a breath laced in truth he no longer wanted to withhold, he stepped half a beat closer and said it—not theatrically, not with dramatic flourish, but like a fact he’d finally accepted down to his bones.
“I love you. And I think I’d like to keep this to ourselves. Our story. Well, with the exception of our study group friends.”
The last of the lanterns shimmered like floating stars above, tracing slow arcs in the velvet-dark sky. Quentin stood beneath them, one hand tucked loosely into his jacket pocket, the other brushing against Jia’s as she leaned in, her whisper soft against his ear. Her voice carried warmth, but also the quiet weight of choice—whether to stay suspended in the moment or begin the walk back to reality.
He didn’t answer her right away.
Instead, he turned slightly, gaze falling on her—the subtle curl of her hair at the nape of her neck, the reflection of golden light dancing across her cheekbone, the faint, hopeful rise of her brows. The lanterns mirrored in her eyes made her look almost ethereal, like she belonged to the magic itself. And Quentin, hopelessly lost in the kind of affection that ran too deep for words, found himself moving before he thought to speak.
With careful hands, he reached for her face, cradling it gently, the pad of his thumb brushing a stray strand from her temple. And in the silence between them, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
It wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t hungry. It was the kind of kiss that held reverence—like a closing line in a sonnet or the last still frame in a love story. Time slowed to a hush. The kiss carried all the weight of his whispered wish from earlier, all the unspoken gratitude of finding her again after fate had once taken her away.
When he pulled back, the corners of his mouth quirked in that familiar, dimpled grin—playful, boyish, but still tinged with something real. Then, over her shoulder, his eyes caught movement—Bella, calling out her goodbyes as she followed Luke into the darkened trail leading out from the hill.
Quentin straightened, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Guess the night’s winding down,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. Then he glanced back at Jia with a mischievous lift of his brow. “We should bounce too. I did promise your mom I’d get you home at a decent hour.”
A pause. His smirk widened.
“That is, unless you’re considering a badder lifestyle… and want to break curfew and stay at my place instead?”
He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, teasing laced through the words, but his eyes stayed locked with hers in case her answer turned the night into something even more memorable.
Whatever Jia said in return—be it a flustered laugh, a playful shove, or a soft yes—Quentin didn’t need more than that. He smiled like one that belonged to summer nights like these—ones filled with unspoken things and shared warmth. As the breeze brushed past them, carrying the fading scent of wildflowers and burnt sugar from earlier in the evening, he slipped his hand into his hoodie’s front pocket and hers with it.
Fingers intertwined, hidden beneath the soft fabric, tucked away from the rest of the world like a secret only they knew.
“Let’s get outta here.”
Hands still in his pockets, he stood beside Jia, shoulder lightly brushing hers. He glanced sidelong at her, the way her face glowed in the lantern light, her eyes wide and open, reflecting every bit of the wonder above them. That wonder wasn’t just in the sky—it was written across her expression, tucked in the soft curve of her smile, in the quiet awe of someone who had let themselves believe, even just for a moment, that something as simple as light and paper could carry a hope high enough to matter.
He watched her watching, and for a few long seconds, said nothing at all.
Then he murmured, his voice warm and steady with the same kind of quiet reverence,
“We really had the whole day to ourselves, huh?” His lips curved slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “And somehow… we’re ending it on another good note.”
He turned his eyes back to the sky, lanterns still climbing, the scene above them a constellation of human longing.
“I’ve always wanted our days to end like this. Not just ours either—everyone’s.” He nodded toward the soft noise of laughter nearby, the low buzz of conversation, the occasional clatter of a guitar string being tuned again from somewhere on the hill. “Peaceful. Close. Like we actually made it through the day with something to show for it.”
His voice drifted a little, not in volume, but in tone—softer now, shaded by something deeper. Memory. Maybe even regret.
“Do you remember… after Paris?” he asked, not looking at her just yet. His hands worked absently in his coat pockets, thumbs pressing against the seam. “How we said goodbye, and I told myself, ‘That’s it. That’s where the book closes.’”
His breath drew in through his nose, slow, measured.
“And then USC.” The words came with a quiet laugh of disbelief. “Out of all the cities, out of all the campuses, we end up in the same place… again. Like something out of a story I would’ve rolled my eyes at in high school.”
He finally turned to her, the edges of his smile still curled, but it wasn’t playfulness now—it was something far more vulnerable. “That’s what fate feels like to me. Even though we could text and video call each other before then, it didn’t feel the same as being with you. God, I was so shocked that all the tiredness from staying up late went away. At least, for the moment. And even then, some of the guys were hitting on you on your first day!”
The moment hung there. Heavy. Unrushed.
And then, with a breath laced in truth he no longer wanted to withhold, he stepped half a beat closer and said it—not theatrically, not with dramatic flourish, but like a fact he’d finally accepted down to his bones.
“I love you. And I think I’d like to keep this to ourselves. Our story. Well, with the exception of our study group friends.”
The last of the lanterns shimmered like floating stars above, tracing slow arcs in the velvet-dark sky. Quentin stood beneath them, one hand tucked loosely into his jacket pocket, the other brushing against Jia’s as she leaned in, her whisper soft against his ear. Her voice carried warmth, but also the quiet weight of choice—whether to stay suspended in the moment or begin the walk back to reality.
He didn’t answer her right away.
Instead, he turned slightly, gaze falling on her—the subtle curl of her hair at the nape of her neck, the reflection of golden light dancing across her cheekbone, the faint, hopeful rise of her brows. The lanterns mirrored in her eyes made her look almost ethereal, like she belonged to the magic itself. And Quentin, hopelessly lost in the kind of affection that ran too deep for words, found himself moving before he thought to speak.
With careful hands, he reached for her face, cradling it gently, the pad of his thumb brushing a stray strand from her temple. And in the silence between them, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
It wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t hungry. It was the kind of kiss that held reverence—like a closing line in a sonnet or the last still frame in a love story. Time slowed to a hush. The kiss carried all the weight of his whispered wish from earlier, all the unspoken gratitude of finding her again after fate had once taken her away.
When he pulled back, the corners of his mouth quirked in that familiar, dimpled grin—playful, boyish, but still tinged with something real. Then, over her shoulder, his eyes caught movement—Bella, calling out her goodbyes as she followed Luke into the darkened trail leading out from the hill.
Quentin straightened, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Guess the night’s winding down,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. Then he glanced back at Jia with a mischievous lift of his brow. “We should bounce too. I did promise your mom I’d get you home at a decent hour.”
A pause. His smirk widened.
“That is, unless you’re considering a badder lifestyle… and want to break curfew and stay at my place instead?”
He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, teasing laced through the words, but his eyes stayed locked with hers in case her answer turned the night into something even more memorable.
Whatever Jia said in return—be it a flustered laugh, a playful shove, or a soft yes—Quentin didn’t need more than that. He smiled like one that belonged to summer nights like these—ones filled with unspoken things and shared warmth. As the breeze brushed past them, carrying the fading scent of wildflowers and burnt sugar from earlier in the evening, he slipped his hand into his hoodie’s front pocket and hers with it.
Fingers intertwined, hidden beneath the soft fabric, tucked away from the rest of the world like a secret only they knew.
“Let’s get outta here.”
Quentin has taken his leave. Thank you for having me!
Max let out a grunt that could have been interpreted as either a chuckle or a sighs. Hard to tell. He remained reclined on his elbows, his gaze fixed intently on a lantern that drifted lazily across the sky, stubbornly resisting the gentle breeze as if it had a pressing engagement and was determined to arrive on time regardless of the time it took.
"You'd be surprised," he muttered under his breath, his eyes still fixed on the sky, "Most adults are just taller kids with a tax bracket and worse knees."
As he spoke, his fingers absently flicked a blade of grass off his boot, a small, almost imperceptible movement that betrayed his otherwise relaxed demeanor. Meanwhile, the lantern continued its stately progress across the sky, dimming slightly as it rose higher into the air.
"You did alright," he said after a moment of contemplative silence, his voice a little more generous than was typical for him. "Could've used fewer speeches, more music," he added, his tone suggesting. "But," his head tilted slightly in the direction where Janice had stood, "the silence landed where it needed to."
Max shifted his position slightly, just enough to cast a glance in Holland's direction. The young man was sprawled out on the grass, exuding an air of carefree abandon, as if the world and its troubles couldn't touch him. Max both envied and knew that this energy wouldn't last; he had seen many idealistic individuals burn out over the years, their spark extinguished by the harsh realities of the institutions they were a part of. Holland, however, possessed a certain fire, a passion that drove him, but Max knew that if not tended, it could easily fade into nothingness. Despite this, he couldn't help but respect the way Holland remained committed to his art, staying present in the moment, even when it was difficult. "Art's not supposed to be comfortable," Max added, his voice low and thoughtful. "It's supposed to wake something up. Or piss someone off. Sometimes both."
He let the silence stretch out, easy quiet that settled over the field like a blanket, filling the space where the noise had once been. It wasn't a heavy or oppressive silence, just a natural consequence of the fact that all the noise had been used up. Then, with a smirk that was just sharp enough to cut through the grass and the quiet, he added, "But next time? Yeah. Definitely more hot dogs. You're gonna lose the public if you don't feed 'em."
He pulled out a crumpled mint from his pocket. Cinnamon, as was his preference and popped it into his mouth, the crinkle of the wrapper loud in the stillness. The small action was a mundane one, but it added to the sense of quiet intimacy that had developed between the two men.
"You good, Holland?" he asked finally, his voice softer now, his eyes drifting back to the sky. The field around them had emptied out, his friends having left one by one, until it was just the two of them, lying there in the grass. It wasn't a question born out of detective's curiosity, but rather a human one.
"You'd be surprised," he muttered under his breath, his eyes still fixed on the sky, "Most adults are just taller kids with a tax bracket and worse knees."
As he spoke, his fingers absently flicked a blade of grass off his boot, a small, almost imperceptible movement that betrayed his otherwise relaxed demeanor. Meanwhile, the lantern continued its stately progress across the sky, dimming slightly as it rose higher into the air.
"You did alright," he said after a moment of contemplative silence, his voice a little more generous than was typical for him. "Could've used fewer speeches, more music," he added, his tone suggesting. "But," his head tilted slightly in the direction where Janice had stood, "the silence landed where it needed to."
Max shifted his position slightly, just enough to cast a glance in Holland's direction. The young man was sprawled out on the grass, exuding an air of carefree abandon, as if the world and its troubles couldn't touch him. Max both envied and knew that this energy wouldn't last; he had seen many idealistic individuals burn out over the years, their spark extinguished by the harsh realities of the institutions they were a part of. Holland, however, possessed a certain fire, a passion that drove him, but Max knew that if not tended, it could easily fade into nothingness. Despite this, he couldn't help but respect the way Holland remained committed to his art, staying present in the moment, even when it was difficult. "Art's not supposed to be comfortable," Max added, his voice low and thoughtful. "It's supposed to wake something up. Or piss someone off. Sometimes both."
He let the silence stretch out, easy quiet that settled over the field like a blanket, filling the space where the noise had once been. It wasn't a heavy or oppressive silence, just a natural consequence of the fact that all the noise had been used up. Then, with a smirk that was just sharp enough to cut through the grass and the quiet, he added, "But next time? Yeah. Definitely more hot dogs. You're gonna lose the public if you don't feed 'em."
He pulled out a crumpled mint from his pocket. Cinnamon, as was his preference and popped it into his mouth, the crinkle of the wrapper loud in the stillness. The small action was a mundane one, but it added to the sense of quiet intimacy that had developed between the two men.
"You good, Holland?" he asked finally, his voice softer now, his eyes drifting back to the sky. The field around them had emptied out, his friends having left one by one, until it was just the two of them, lying there in the grass. It wasn't a question born out of detective's curiosity, but rather a human one.
Holland stretched out a little more in the grass, his hands tucked behind his head as if the entire world had melted down into this one warm patch beneath the stars. The cool blades tickled the skin at the nape of his neck, and somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped a solo over the distant hush of voices and the rustle of fireflies. His eyes tracked the same lantern Max had been watching—the one dragging its feet like it was reluctant to leave.
He smirked.
“You might be right about that,” Holland said, the grin curling wider. “That explains why so many of them throw tantrums when Starbucks gets their order wrong.”
The younger man lifted one hand, shading his eyes slightly as he watched another lantern begin its slow, uncertain climb skyward. He didn’t answer Max’s comment about the speeches right away, because—well—he agreed. And also because Holland had been raised not to argue with a man who could probably disassemble a Glock blindfolded while quoting Tennyson.
But when Max spoke of silence and where it landed… Holland felt that. Deep. Like a song lyric that never quite left you. He pushed up onto his elbows, mirroring the older man’s posture now, his shoulders loose but his eyes thoughtful.
“Yeah… silence has its own music, right?” he said, voice softer this time. “Sometimes louder than chords and lyrics combined.”
The comment about art stirred something else in him. Holland picked a stray bit of clover from his sleeve, rolling it between his fingers before flicking it into the wind. His jaw tightened briefly out of agreement. “I used to think art was about making people feel good,” he said, his tone tinged with a nostalgia that didn’t quite reach regret. “But then someone told me that if no one’s ever walked out on one of your sets, you’re playing it too safe.”
He chuckled low, rubbing the back of his neck. “So now I try to get at least one person mad, uncomfortable, or crying. If I hit all three, I know I did something right.”
Holland stretched his legs out again, his heels scuffing softly against the grass as he let out a low exhale through his nose. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—not even close. It happened after something good, something satisfying. Like the last flicker of heat from a campfire that had burned bright all night. He let Max’s quip about hot dogs hang in the air for a beat, smirking as he tilted his head just enough to glance his way.
“Hey now, I did offer veggie skewers, those peanut butter mochi bites, and even brought out that weird cucumber soda Quentin likes.” Holland lifted his brows like he deserved a medal. “But I guess I underestimated how many mouths would actually show up. Should’ve bribed someone with a Costco card, huh?”
He shifted to one side, leaning back on an elbow again as his gaze swept the now mostly empty field. The lanterns were few and far between now, most having already joined the stars. The music was gone. The chatter too. All that remained was the distant buzz of insects and the faint crackle of lantern flames high above, almost like the sky was quietly applauding the end of a long, well-played set.
“Wesson dipped out early…” Holland muttered, not hiding the hint of disappointment in his voice. “Would’ve liked to talk to him a little more. I feel like there’s more under that guy’s hood than he lets on.” He paused, flicking at a blade of grass between his fingers. “And Tabitha… man, I never even got her social. She played like she’s been doing it for a minute. Would’ve been cool to jam sometime. Maybe it’s not the right time yet.”
The wistfulness in his voice didn’t stick. It came and went like a breeze, becoming more sensible. “Still, I’m glad they showed. Janice worked hard—this was just as much her night as mine. Quentin and Jia looked happy. Luke and Bella, too.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Tate and Natasha… well, they’re probably off being Tate and Natasha. That’s fine. I don’t need everyone here. Just enough.”
Holland glanced over, his tone quieting, less playful this time.
“What about you?” he asked Max. “You good?”
He smirked.
“You might be right about that,” Holland said, the grin curling wider. “That explains why so many of them throw tantrums when Starbucks gets their order wrong.”
The younger man lifted one hand, shading his eyes slightly as he watched another lantern begin its slow, uncertain climb skyward. He didn’t answer Max’s comment about the speeches right away, because—well—he agreed. And also because Holland had been raised not to argue with a man who could probably disassemble a Glock blindfolded while quoting Tennyson.
But when Max spoke of silence and where it landed… Holland felt that. Deep. Like a song lyric that never quite left you. He pushed up onto his elbows, mirroring the older man’s posture now, his shoulders loose but his eyes thoughtful.
“Yeah… silence has its own music, right?” he said, voice softer this time. “Sometimes louder than chords and lyrics combined.”
The comment about art stirred something else in him. Holland picked a stray bit of clover from his sleeve, rolling it between his fingers before flicking it into the wind. His jaw tightened briefly out of agreement. “I used to think art was about making people feel good,” he said, his tone tinged with a nostalgia that didn’t quite reach regret. “But then someone told me that if no one’s ever walked out on one of your sets, you’re playing it too safe.”
He chuckled low, rubbing the back of his neck. “So now I try to get at least one person mad, uncomfortable, or crying. If I hit all three, I know I did something right.”
Holland stretched his legs out again, his heels scuffing softly against the grass as he let out a low exhale through his nose. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—not even close. It happened after something good, something satisfying. Like the last flicker of heat from a campfire that had burned bright all night. He let Max’s quip about hot dogs hang in the air for a beat, smirking as he tilted his head just enough to glance his way.
“Hey now, I did offer veggie skewers, those peanut butter mochi bites, and even brought out that weird cucumber soda Quentin likes.” Holland lifted his brows like he deserved a medal. “But I guess I underestimated how many mouths would actually show up. Should’ve bribed someone with a Costco card, huh?”
He shifted to one side, leaning back on an elbow again as his gaze swept the now mostly empty field. The lanterns were few and far between now, most having already joined the stars. The music was gone. The chatter too. All that remained was the distant buzz of insects and the faint crackle of lantern flames high above, almost like the sky was quietly applauding the end of a long, well-played set.
“Wesson dipped out early…” Holland muttered, not hiding the hint of disappointment in his voice. “Would’ve liked to talk to him a little more. I feel like there’s more under that guy’s hood than he lets on.” He paused, flicking at a blade of grass between his fingers. “And Tabitha… man, I never even got her social. She played like she’s been doing it for a minute. Would’ve been cool to jam sometime. Maybe it’s not the right time yet.”
The wistfulness in his voice didn’t stick. It came and went like a breeze, becoming more sensible. “Still, I’m glad they showed. Janice worked hard—this was just as much her night as mine. Quentin and Jia looked happy. Luke and Bella, too.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Tate and Natasha… well, they’re probably off being Tate and Natasha. That’s fine. I don’t need everyone here. Just enough.”
Holland glanced over, his tone quieting, less playful this time.
“What about you?” he asked Max. “You good?”
Max didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head back instead, letting the quiet hum of the field settle deep into his bones that was both comforting and a little sad. The last of the lanterns, like embers of a fading memory, drifted high above them. A breeze, a cool respite, stirred the tall grass around their ankles, a welcome counterpoint to the thick humidity that still clung to the summer night. Somewhere far off, muted by distance, a car horn bleated once, a lonely sound that held no relevance here, in this pocket of lingering peace.
“You hit all three tonight,” Max finally muttered, his voice a low rumble. “Mad, uncomfortable, crying.”
His gaze didn’t leave the vast, inky canvas of the sky, but there was a flicker of something behind his tone. Something quiet, almost reverent. Resigned, perhaps, to the raw honesty Holland had displayed. Maybe even impressed by the sheer, unvarnished emotion.
Then, with a soft breath that almost passed for a sigh, he shifted just enough to glance at Holland again, a brief, assessing look.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He let the words hang for a moment, letting their awkward weight settle. Max wasn't the kind of guy who said much when it came to himself, especially not about his inner landscape. But Holland had earned more than the usual brush-off, more than the cynical deflection he usually offered. Max let his elbows rest on his knees now, his posture folding inward, leaning forward with the practiced stillness of a man who had done far too much thinking lately, too much sifting through the dregs of human behavior. His jaw worked around a thought, a heavy, unformed thing, before he finally let it out:
“There’s something about watching people who still believe, y’know?” He gestured vaguely at the lingering remnants of the evening—the dying lanterns, the quiet, empty lawn still echoing with forgotten laughter. “Doesn’t matter if it’s hope, love, justice… whatever. They don’t always know how fragile it all is, how easily it can shatter, but they believe anyway. They throw themselves into it.”
His voice thinned slightly. Not weak, but worn, like an old, beloved garment.
“And maybe… that’s the point. Maybe that’s the only point left.”
He shook his head once, a subtle gesture, like he was brushing away a mood he didn’t ask for, a sentiment too raw for comfort. “Besides,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the brief, intense moment broken, “you brought cucumber soda to a public event. That alone should be investigated. It’s an affront to culinary decency.”
He leaned back again, his hands clasped loosely in his lap now, the brief attempt at humor a thin veil over the profound observation. The smirk faded slowly as he let himself look at Holland properly this time not as a kid with too much untested idealism, but as someone who might actually carry something forward, someone who had the capacity to make a real, messy difference.
“You did good tonight, Holland,” Max said, quieter now, the words imbued with a deeper respect. “No badge. No force. Just… people. That’s harder than it looks. Building something with nothing but goodwill is a monumental task.” Max’s gaze drifted back to the heavens, finding no answers there, only more questions. “Maybe I needed to see that,” he admitted, a quiet confession that surprised even himself. It was a glimmer, a crack in his formidable cynicism.
Then, with a barely-there chuckle, he added, “Still gonna make you work on your food choices next time. We’ll start with something less… vegetable garden in a glass.”
And despite the underlying weight behind his words, a subtle shift was undeniable. There was something lighter about Max now, a faint ease in his shoulders—like part of the cynicism he carried, a heavy, worn coat, had cracked just enough to let a little lantern-light, a flicker of that fragile belief, seep through.
Max didn’t answer the last question right away, didn’t comment on the food or the future. He just stared at the profound dark between the stars, the quiet hum of the world pressing around him like a blanket too thin for comfort, offering little warmth against the chill that seemed to emanate from within. His jaw shifted slightly, a muscle working. Thoughtful. A little tired. The pondering, the wondering, never stopped. Not for people like him. Not when the world insisted on being so profoundly broken, and he, in his own way, was tasked with picking up the pieces.
Just then, his phone buzzed against his side, once, then again. A sharp, insistent vibration that carried immediate weight. Not casual. Not avoidable. It was the sound of his real world, demanding its due.
He reached for it, pulling it from his inner coat pocket, flipping it open with a thumb that moved slower than it used to, a subtle sign of his reluctance. The screen lit his face in a harsh, cold blue light, stark against the shadowy landscape, as he read the name that appeared: Dispatch. No pleasantries. Just the stark, unyielding facts. Coordinates. A name. And a single, chilling line of text:
"DB found in Old Mill District. Multiple stab wounds. Patrol’s securing scene. They want you on it."
Max exhaled through his nose, a slow, controlled release that carried the full weight of his resignation. Of course. Just when the night had gone soft, just when a sliver of weary hope had dared to surface, the relentless pull of his grim reality yanked him back.
He slid the phone back into his coat, the cold plastic a familiar weight. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he stood, brushing off the blades of grass that clung to his slacks like the last moments of peace refusing to let go, clinging to him even as he prepared to leave them behind. There were no dramatics. No complaints, not even an internal one. Just the slow, inevitable motion of a man who always, always got pulled back in.
He gave the field one last look—the vibrant, human glow of the lanterns now distant, shrinking, the stars beginning to reclaim their vast, indifferent sky, swallowing the last vestiges of the evening's magic.
“Guess this is my cue,” Max said, his voice already shifting back to the gruff, familiar cadence of his other life. He didn't wait for a reply. “Need to go, buddy. Take care you out there. Might see you around someday. Thank you for the event. For everything.”
“You hit all three tonight,” Max finally muttered, his voice a low rumble. “Mad, uncomfortable, crying.”
His gaze didn’t leave the vast, inky canvas of the sky, but there was a flicker of something behind his tone. Something quiet, almost reverent. Resigned, perhaps, to the raw honesty Holland had displayed. Maybe even impressed by the sheer, unvarnished emotion.
Then, with a soft breath that almost passed for a sigh, he shifted just enough to glance at Holland again, a brief, assessing look.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He let the words hang for a moment, letting their awkward weight settle. Max wasn't the kind of guy who said much when it came to himself, especially not about his inner landscape. But Holland had earned more than the usual brush-off, more than the cynical deflection he usually offered. Max let his elbows rest on his knees now, his posture folding inward, leaning forward with the practiced stillness of a man who had done far too much thinking lately, too much sifting through the dregs of human behavior. His jaw worked around a thought, a heavy, unformed thing, before he finally let it out:
“There’s something about watching people who still believe, y’know?” He gestured vaguely at the lingering remnants of the evening—the dying lanterns, the quiet, empty lawn still echoing with forgotten laughter. “Doesn’t matter if it’s hope, love, justice… whatever. They don’t always know how fragile it all is, how easily it can shatter, but they believe anyway. They throw themselves into it.”
His voice thinned slightly. Not weak, but worn, like an old, beloved garment.
“And maybe… that’s the point. Maybe that’s the only point left.”
He shook his head once, a subtle gesture, like he was brushing away a mood he didn’t ask for, a sentiment too raw for comfort. “Besides,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the brief, intense moment broken, “you brought cucumber soda to a public event. That alone should be investigated. It’s an affront to culinary decency.”
He leaned back again, his hands clasped loosely in his lap now, the brief attempt at humor a thin veil over the profound observation. The smirk faded slowly as he let himself look at Holland properly this time not as a kid with too much untested idealism, but as someone who might actually carry something forward, someone who had the capacity to make a real, messy difference.
“You did good tonight, Holland,” Max said, quieter now, the words imbued with a deeper respect. “No badge. No force. Just… people. That’s harder than it looks. Building something with nothing but goodwill is a monumental task.” Max’s gaze drifted back to the heavens, finding no answers there, only more questions. “Maybe I needed to see that,” he admitted, a quiet confession that surprised even himself. It was a glimmer, a crack in his formidable cynicism.
Then, with a barely-there chuckle, he added, “Still gonna make you work on your food choices next time. We’ll start with something less… vegetable garden in a glass.”
And despite the underlying weight behind his words, a subtle shift was undeniable. There was something lighter about Max now, a faint ease in his shoulders—like part of the cynicism he carried, a heavy, worn coat, had cracked just enough to let a little lantern-light, a flicker of that fragile belief, seep through.
Max didn’t answer the last question right away, didn’t comment on the food or the future. He just stared at the profound dark between the stars, the quiet hum of the world pressing around him like a blanket too thin for comfort, offering little warmth against the chill that seemed to emanate from within. His jaw shifted slightly, a muscle working. Thoughtful. A little tired. The pondering, the wondering, never stopped. Not for people like him. Not when the world insisted on being so profoundly broken, and he, in his own way, was tasked with picking up the pieces.
Just then, his phone buzzed against his side, once, then again. A sharp, insistent vibration that carried immediate weight. Not casual. Not avoidable. It was the sound of his real world, demanding its due.
He reached for it, pulling it from his inner coat pocket, flipping it open with a thumb that moved slower than it used to, a subtle sign of his reluctance. The screen lit his face in a harsh, cold blue light, stark against the shadowy landscape, as he read the name that appeared: Dispatch. No pleasantries. Just the stark, unyielding facts. Coordinates. A name. And a single, chilling line of text:
"DB found in Old Mill District. Multiple stab wounds. Patrol’s securing scene. They want you on it."
Max exhaled through his nose, a slow, controlled release that carried the full weight of his resignation. Of course. Just when the night had gone soft, just when a sliver of weary hope had dared to surface, the relentless pull of his grim reality yanked him back.
He slid the phone back into his coat, the cold plastic a familiar weight. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he stood, brushing off the blades of grass that clung to his slacks like the last moments of peace refusing to let go, clinging to him even as he prepared to leave them behind. There were no dramatics. No complaints, not even an internal one. Just the slow, inevitable motion of a man who always, always got pulled back in.
He gave the field one last look—the vibrant, human glow of the lanterns now distant, shrinking, the stars beginning to reclaim their vast, indifferent sky, swallowing the last vestiges of the evening's magic.
“Guess this is my cue,” Max said, his voice already shifting back to the gruff, familiar cadence of his other life. He didn't wait for a reply. “Need to go, buddy. Take care you out there. Might see you around someday. Thank you for the event. For everything.”
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