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“And here we are. So, what do you think?” Seifer proclaims, chin jutting into the air, arms gesturing grandly towards a doorway wreathed in late afternoon light.
Hayner sticks his head through the threshold and takes it all in. “This is… the clocktower. Where I hang out every day.”
It’s the same view of the town, slightly obstructed at this angle by the same rust-red shingled spire, casting the same shadow towards his feet for this time of day. He blinks, as if something novel or hidden will manifest in the fraction of a second between eyelids closing and opening. “What am I supposed to be looking at? Don’t tell me I have to climb up to the top for the next clue.”
A noise of protest, not unlike a distressed goose honk, dislodges itself from the back of Seifer’s throat, and he pushes his way past Hayner to stand alone on the clocktower’s walkway. Seifer whips his head in every direction, brow furrowed, before he starts stamping around. His white coat accentuates his agitated movements as he pitches his upper body through the gaps in the columns of the arcade and wrenches himself out. When his search proves unsuccessful, he rips his phone out of his pocket and jabs at the screen. “Give me a minute,” he snarls, and he turns his back on Hayner while bringing the device up to his ear. There’s a pause, and then a demanding “Where are you?!” to the unlucky recipient on the other end of the line.
Hayner doesn’t catch what the response is, as Seifer stalks around the corner and out of earshot, and suddenly, he only has the muffled distortion of the distant phone call for company. Not knowing what else to do, Hayner settles down on the ledge and takes a deep breath.
Today’s date with Seifer had been… fun, surprisingly so. When Seifer had first won “A Date with Twilight Town’s #1 Bachelor, Hayner” at the volleyball team’s fundraising auction, Hayner had nearly used the proceeds to buy the next train ticket out of town (“It was a joke,” Roxas had insisted, “No one was supposed to take it seriously!” “Is my life a joke to you?” was Hayner’s desperate response, before Olette strong-armed him into returning the cash box). But if nothing else, Hayner is a man of his word, and thus he had arrived precisely at 11:00am by the job board in Tram Common, where Seifer was already waiting for him, instructions for a scavenger hunt in hand. Hayner accepted the paper dubiously.
“A one-person scavenger hunt? You came up with this, right? What’re you going to do, follow me around while I solve it by myself?”
Seifer smiled lazily at him. “You think I’m just gonna sit back and make it easy for you?”
He tapped the sheet twice. “There’s a time limit on this, in case you didn’t know. Better get moving.”
If nothing else, Hayner is a man of his word, and a man who very easily loses his cool. Seifer’s smug attitude and insinuations were all he needed to rise to the challenge. The first hint was right there, nestled among the job listings: “I need a certain blondie on a date to swing by the Garage. Payment: the next clue.” Hayner particularly relished the sensation of the note crumpling up in his fist as he dashed across the common and up the hill towards Station Heights, Seifer in his dust.
The chain took them from the mailbox at the Garage, to the accessory shop rack where he gets all of his leather bracelets (Hayner didn’t know there was a new design on sale, he’ll look into it later when he’s not actively trying to show Seifer up), to the chalk sign menu of a café, to the alley in Sunset Terrace that’s occasionally used for the most painful games of wallball known to the human race, to the underside of a bench on Sunset Hill, to the top of a moving tram. Hayner spent the first couple minutes at each site speculating at the clue’s location, throwing out guesses in Seifer’s general direction and getting riled up regardless of whether the responses were helpful or not. But his expression always lit up whenever he uncovered it, grinning as if he had outwitted Seifer- at least until he deciphered where they had to run to next. The last one was less of a mental puzzle to solve and more of a physical trial that left Hayner sprawled out on the tram’s metal roof, and the passengers inside concerned about the freakish teenager that had just sprinted down a moving vehicle and might have died above their heads. By the following stop, Hayner had regained enough energy to hop off the top. He waved the clue victoriously at Seifer, who was still a block behind, and shouted, “Movie theatre! Keep up!”
Hayner reached the outdoor movie theatre first and immediately busied himself combing over the posters for hints, missing how Seifer coolly slid two tickets and cash to the attendant, until a bucket of popcorn was dropped in his arms and he was steered to the upper level. Even then, he was antsy through the opening scene, forcing Seifer to shove his face into the popcorn and hiss, “Shut up and watch the movie.” It was the latest action flick, and once Hayner wiped the melted butter off of his nose, it was easy to get absorbed in the chase sequences and espionage plots. The fatigue from running loops around town soaked into his muscles, and the solid stone beneath him was a welcome relief. From where they were seated, they could snark through the sappier dialogue without receiving glares from other audience members, although Seifer gave him a death stare when Hayner correctly anticipated the betrayal at the climax. Hayner let the scavenger hunt drift to the back of his mind, and it resurfaced when the projector reel switched from the studio credits to an advertisement for “Memory Lanes: Your bowling venue for birthdays, celebrations, and more. Complete a game for a free scavenger clue!”
They returned to the beat, but without the frenetic drive of the morning. That isn’t to say that they weren’t animated- on the walk to the bowling alley, in the middle of a discussion on the film’s sickest stunts, Hayner clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “That’s what I should’ve done!”
“Huh? You’ve lost me, weirdo.”
“Like that scene in the movie! When he jumped off the skyscraper and landed on the plane flying by! I should have done that to get on the tram, I totally could’ve gotten the timing right!”
“Or I would be scraping you off the street with a stick,” said Seifer, but his harsh words were undercut by a smile threatening to form at the corner of his lips.
At the bowling alley, they chose the ugliest available rental shoes for each other. It was probably the first time either of them had seen the other out of their usual footwear, leading to snippy comments about the merits of boots vs. clogs that ended abruptly when neither could remember the last time they had properly laced up a shoe. As it turns out, both Hayner and Seifer are both pretty shit at bowling and have egos as fragile as the crystal orbs adorning the Struggle trophy, so after a kid in the next lane mocked Seifer for his third consecutive gutter ball, they postponed the scavenger hunt to team up and put this runt in her place.
Unfortunately for them, “the runt’s place” was at the top of the local bowling league’s standings. Hayner and Seifer lost spectacularly, a monument to hubris heaped on the shiny wooden floor. They dredged up the sufficient dignity to climb to their feet and ask the little girl what she wanted in exchange for her win. In an instant, she recessed into a different person, nervously adjusting her hairclip and stumbling over her words. Hayner gave the opportunity to think it over and swapped out the hideous bowling shoes for a receipt and the scavenger clue. He idly checked where the next hint would be. Wait, when did Seifer sneak into the—
His thoughts were interrupted by the kid confessing that she was a huge Struggle fan, and she recognized the champion from the summer tournament. She wanted them to teach her how to Struggle. Seifer unconsciously recoiled, shoulders tight. His eyes dropped to the slip in Hayner’s grasp, then flickered to the clock on the wall. Hayner endured the awkwardness for exactly three more seconds before he relented. Scavenger hunt or not, time limit or not, plans tonight or not, they had made a deal with this girl and they had to honor it. Besides, what kind of jerk turned down a pure-hearted plea from a kid (ignoring how said kid had crushed their morale a half hour earlier)?
They detoured to Hayner’s house to pick up his Struggle equipment and set up an informal arena right outside his doorstep. Even an old vest of his almost reached her knees, and the headgear was outright unworkable, but he doubted they’d be doing anything more strenuous than easy sparring. At the outset, Hayner took the lead in demonstrating the basics of grip, strikes, and guarding, but once he started on strategy, Seifer swooped in and took her under his wing, much to the girl’s delight. Hayner nobly allowed himself to be relegated to a glorified practice dummy as Seifer explained when the best time to attack was and how to take advantage of your opponent’s openings (despite Seifer being dead wrong about all of it), taking Struggle bat hits like a pro.
They closed it out with a simulated match between Seifer and the girl, which ended with Seifer kneeling to look her in the eye and telling her that no matter how great Struggling was, if bowling was her real passion, she had to protect her arm above all else. It was sweet, in the same way that Hayner found cupcake icing to be too sweet and he kinda needed to gag afterward. Seifer didn’t need to recruit anyone else to his army.
With a windmilling wave and a promise to give them bowling tips if they ever returned to Memory Lanes, the girl departed. She had to leave if she wanted to make the festivities tonight, which reminded Hayner of their obligations.
He pulled out the paper from the bowling alley. “Really? You hid a clue at the Usual Spot?”
Hayner knows the Usual Spot better than his own room, so it didn’t take him very long to track down the hidden hint. Also, Seifer didn’t try to hide it at all. Hayner unpinned the clue from the dartboard, taking a moment to reflect how Seifer had placed each and every one of these clues around town, scouting out locations and writing up hints. How hours ago, he had held this dart in the same gentle manner that he had clasped that little girl’s hand when he spoke to her about keeping a dream alive, and then pressed it deep into the cork so that the tiny slip of paper wouldn’t fall. But they were tight on time, so Hayner simply put the dart aside and read the last message.
“This is the finale! Climb to the highest point in town for the ultimate prize!”
Yeah, today’s date had been fun. From up here, Hayner can trace their whole route, even if the overall image is a mess of crisscrossing lines. A train pulls into the station, and floods of people spill out into the plaza, moving with a touch more haste than usual. The reason for their rush, and the reason why he and Seifer had to avoid the Sandlot all day, is because tonight is the big fireworks show. Commuters arriving late from work or from other areas of town scurry to situate themselves before it starts, and the Sandlot is the epicenter of that activity. Sure, there are other sites that set off fireworks too, but nothing compares to the atmosphere and the scale of the Sandlot. Normally, Hayner would be among their numbers, along with Roxas, Pence, and Olette, as it was a yearly tradition for them to stake out a spot with blankets and snacks, whittling away the wait until the sky reached its deepest hue. More than once they had bumped elbows with Seifer and his gang, forced into adjoining positions due to the sheer crowds.
Walking up to the clocktower today, moving against that current, had been strange, surreal. On any other day, on any other year, that would have been him. Perhaps his friends were also part of masses flowing downhill and they had unknowingly passed each other, separated from sight by the density of bodies, or perhaps they were already camped out in the Sandlot by then, playing cards and calling Pence’s terrible bluffs. After all, with his date with Seifer penciled into his calendar and at the forefront of his attention, Hayner hadn’t made any promises about the evening. And admittedly, if you had asked Hayner where he thought the scavenger hunt would end, he would have put money on the Sandlot. It made sense, given its proximity to the last clue in the Usual Spot and their history of the fireworks show. He had been certain of it. Maybe it’s his unwillingness to admit he was wrong, or the divergence from customs of the past, but something is making the back of his throat tight.
Today had been fun, but now that he’s alone and some of the rush is fading away, deep-seated suspicions are rising again in Hayner. Why did Seifer win the auction in the first place? Why set this whole scavenger hunt up? What is he planning now? Hayner’s expecting Seifer to do something… Seifer-ish, like push him off the clocktower. Or present him with a dozen red roses and a personally-written sonnet.
For the betterment of Hayner’s intact spine and pride, Seifer doesn’t do either of those things. He wraps up his phone call and returns from around the corner, hugging the inside of the walkway. Most of the tension dissipates from his frame upon seeing Hayner, though it's replaced by a sense of sheepishness in the tilt of his shoulders. He eases himself down next to Hayner, unfolding his legs one at a time over the side and using his arms to brace himself.
“Don't worry about that.” Seifer squints into the sun. “So, this is an everyday thing for you? Does the view ever get old?”
Hayner’s initial reaction is to press for answers of his own—his mouth already forming the words, “Don’t worry about what?”—but the question Seifer poses catches him by surprise. In that it doesn’t have a straightforward response, not to him, anyway.
It takes him a little while to sort through his thoughts. “I mean, the sun doesn’t set the same way every day, right? The clouds are always different, and sometimes the sky gets like, really red, the kind you can’t capture in a photo.”
No, that’s not actually the meaning he wishes to impart, even if it’s not wrong. He pauses, and restarts. “The mountains, the buildings, the houses, they don’t change much. Sometimes a new business comes in, or someone repaints their roof, but you barely notice that sorta stuff in the big picture. What you do see from up here is that everything goes through a cycle.”
“Everybody rushes around when it’s cold and wet in the spring, but then summer hits and everything slows down. All sorts of people just hang out in the evening around restaurants and in the parks. The shop lights stay on later. But you know what the coolest season is? It’s autumn, definitely, ‘cause those hills in the distance dry out and get kinda yellow, and the leaves on those trees turn orange,” Hayner points out into the expanse to the rolling landscape beyond Twilight Town, “so it looks like the whole horizon comes up to the edge of the city limits and you could ride the train tracks into the sky. At least, that’s what Pence says.”
“The point is, you can tell the time of year just by how the town changes. And when you see certain signs, you get psyched up for the days ahead.” He remembers squeezing shoulder-to-shoulder between Roxas and Olette in low temperatures, watching employees set up holiday decorations around the plaza. The week or so each June when they don’t even make it out onto the ledge, because the pounding rain is too heavy, so they huddle behind the columns and reluctantly review for their final exams, with the knowledge that when the showers let up it’ll be summer vacation. The four of them meeting up in the dead of night to watch shooting stars and inevitably falling asleep. Hayner savors those memories, the lightness they bring to his chest. “Those are moments that all of us share, together.”
“I get the idea,” says Seifer.
Hayner jerks his head towards Seifer. He had been so caught up in his response, he had almost forgotten who he’s talking too. He rarely lets himself get sappy around his friends, let alone his rival-and-one-time-date. Hot embarrassment surges through his system, but it’s quieted by the thoughtful expression Seifer wears on his face, his eyes scanning their surroundings for the lived reality of Hayner’s statement. Something unclenches in the pit of Hayner’s stomach, something he wasn’t aware was there before.
There’s a noise behind Hayner, several noises, and Seifer peers over Hayner’s shoulder. A sharp grin cuts across his features. “Speak of the devil.”
Emerging from around the corner are Rai, Fuu, Roxas, Pence, and Olette. “Pizza delivery!” Pence calls, although it’s Rai who’s sporting the stack of square cardboard boxes, grease staining the bottom and the scent of cheese and tomato sauce wafting from within. Olette and Roxas each carry a liter bottle of soda, and Fuu plastic cups. They stroll in all smiles and good cheer, like it’s perfectly normal for them to be walking in on Hayner and Seifer’s date.
“Heya,” Olette tries to wave without shaking the bottle too much.
Hayner gapes at them. “Wha—”
“You’re late,” Seifer interrupts. “Hand over the food, I’m famished.”
Rai blubbers and does as he’s told. “Sorry Seifer! The pizza shop was packed, ya know? Everyone in Twilight Town decided to buy pizza tonight!”
“Who cares about them? What if we had starved to death?” says Seifer, but he’s spreading out the boxes among them for equal access.
“Ritual sacrifice,” Fuu says gravely.
Seifer cackles. “I’ll accept that!”
Fuu smirks, and settles down next to Olette, who’s already pouring her a cup of soda. The group forms a distorted oval with the pizzas and drinks in the center, Hayner and Seifer swiveling around so that they now sit with their backs to the vista. Roxas takes the spot to Hayner’s right and leans in to crack open the first box. “How was the date?” he asks in his open, honest way that, if Hayner didn’t know any better, might make him think that Roxas was messing with him. He might still be messing with him.
“It’s not over yet. Who knows, something might happen in the next ten minutes to shake things u—oh hell yeah.”
Roxas fully opens the box, and it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. For all the gushing Hayner did about the cyclical nature of Twilight Town’s appearance and the comfort and reassurance in its familiar markers, nothing took his breath away like a pizza topped with chicken and hot sauce. Okay, so he can’t really see the hot sauce, but he can certainly smell it, a hint of fruitiness underneath the other spices. Hayner lifts a slice to bask in the glory, the strings of melted cheese hanging off the ends catching the light. He internally composes symphonies to its majesty.
Across from him, Pence wrinkles his nose like something exceptionally foul has died underneath it. Olette has a thousand-yard stare, and all Roxas has to say is a wavering, “Oh.”
There’s a reason why they’re reacting like this, because not only is this pizza the absolute best on the planet (in Hayner’s infallible opinion), it is also the absolute spiciest on the planet, and no one else can stomach it besides him. It’s been officially banned from their get-togethers, as even half a pizza is too much to dedicate it to, and occasionally someone besides Hayner will mindlessly take a piece and then suffer the consequences. So to have an entire pizza before him with only chicken and hot sauce is a blessing from above.
The silence (and weird adulation) doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. “What’s the big deal, ya know?” says Rai.
“You have to try this pizza,” breathes Hayner, because he enjoys sharing the sweeter things in life and he’s an evangelist at heart, at the same time Olette breaks out of her trance and cries, “Do not eat that pizza!” because she’s a generous soul who would rather not witness a tragedy on the clocktower.
“That pizza will burn your tongue off. And all of your internal organs,” says Roxas.
Unfortunately, taking the wise advice of more experienced folk has never been Rai’s strong suit, and it doesn’t help that Hayner is gleefully motoring through his first piece. “I ain’t no wimp, ya know?” he exclaims, and seals his fate.
He replaces his partly-eaten slice of pepperoni with a chicken and hot sauce, and downs half of it in two bites. “This ain’t bad, ya know?” he says thickly. There’s no visible reaction as he chews, not yet, but Olette, Pence, and Roxas know to wait. Then, there’s an odd glint in Rai’s eye, his jaw slows—and suddenly, it’s as if all of his facial features have been pulled into a singular point, like drawing a bow. And in the following second, the arrow is released. His eyes bulge, his chest erratically expands in an effort to take in more air. Sweat pours down his ruddy skin, and he pounds the ground next to him with a fist. Seifer dodges a writhing leg and hands him a whole liter of soda, which Rai snatches and chugs straight from the bottle, some of it sloshing out and over the side of his mouth in his desperation. The rasping sounds he emits would be haunting, if the gang hadn’t been visited by this very specter multiples times in the past and warned him about it in advance.
“What’s in that?” Seifer asks, after the worst of the fit dies down.
“Ghost peppers,” Hayner says casually. He’s on his third piece.
Fuu cautiously picks up Rai’s abandoned slice, examines it, and takes a nibble. Her frame goes rigid and every hair on her head stands on end. With the slightest tremor, she puts the slice back down.
In between wheezes, Rai manages out, “’Eifer… could tot… ally… take on that pizza… ya know?”
“Invincible,” Fuu agrees. No one mentions the tear tracks staining her cheeks, nor that that’s a bizarre thing to say in the context of eating dinner.
“Hey, hey,” says Seifer, spinning around under the unexpected pressure from his own side. As it turns out, Seifer has an ego as fragile as the crystal orbs adorning the Struggle trophy, but that already got shattered today by a little girl with a high bowling score, and he’s in no hurry to replicate that humiliation. This pizza has a body count. He extends his arms, palms facing outward in pacification. “I don’t want to die on our first date.”
Seifer makes eye contact with Hayner. “Maybe next time.”
The implication isn’t lost on Hayner. “What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” or “You’ll have to win another auction before that happens,” are the easy answers, the answers that could spill from his lips and keep the conversation flowing with laughs and no need for introspection on his part; although they’re not the right ones, not anymore. They don’t taste right on his tongue, not after Seifer had sincerely listened to him ramble and told him that he understood.
But to play along and commit to something he is barely beginning to grasp seems similarly dishonest, and daunting in its own manner. An unknown where it’s not just his feelings at stake. And so Hayner is stranded in the gulf between.
Silence is a response in itself, and Hayner must speak. He breaks the eye contact. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, trying to keep the undercurrent of emotion beneath the surface. It’s the truest thing he can say in this moment.
Rai’s background chorus of wheezing escalates into a full-blown coughing fit, and Seifer’s attention shifts to assisting him. Roxas tosses the other bottle of soda over, and Fuu steps around Olette to kneel by her friend’s side and flap one of the cardboard boxes as an improvised fan. “Is there anything we can get for him?” Olette inquires, but Seifer shoos her off and hauls Rai further down the walkway to provide some peace.
“Another victim of the hot sauce pizza,” Pence says, solemnly saluting the fallen.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Hayner remarks. “Less for you is more for me.”
“You can keep it. I wonder why they still have it on their menu,” says Olette. She tries to wipe the grease off her hands and succeeds in only making it worse. “Oh! We forgot napkins!”
“That’s usually Hayner’s job,” says Roxas through a mouthful of pizza.
“Nice going, Hayner,” adds Pence.
Hayner reels, affronted. “How is this my fault? I didn’t even know you guys were going to be here!” A glance in Seifer’s direction affirms that they’re not close enough to be overheard. He returns to the question he initially had when the peanut gallery showed up, but now with deeper motivations. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
Pence shrugs. “Seifer asked us to.”
“And why did he ask you?”
“You’ll have to ask him. All he said was that pizza was on him, and to meet up with Rai and Fuu at the restaurant. But this is kind of nice, isn’t it?” says Olette. “The seven of us never hang out without fighting.”
Hayner huffs, tosses his head back, and folds his arms. “Yeah, nice,” he echoes dryly.
Roxas leans toward him, purposefully keeping his voice low. “What d’you make of all this?”
“Dunno.” He’s going to have to talk to Seifer eventually to untangle whatever it is that’s going on between them, but he wishes he had a clearer idea of where they stood. Hayner sighs, and then aims his best grin at Roxas and teasingly pushes at his friend’s shoulder to drive away his concern.
“But I’ll work it out.”
Rai recovers and rejoins them, hoarser for his exertions. Conversation turns to more mundane topics, like an upcoming school assignment and how the volleyball team’s activities are going. The remains of the pizza are nibbled at, before they’re boxed up and pushed to the side. Time passes in this way, with the sun slipping lower in the sky until it rests on the horizon, a wedge of blinding gold against a field of dusky clouds. In the middle of a discussion on sportswear brands, Seifer cuts them off.
“Alright, clam it. Everyone move over to the ledge. It’s gonna start soon.”
Hayner quirks an eyebrow but complies with the rest. “What is?”
“The end of the scavenger hunt.”
No more than twenty seconds later, there’s a flash of light and a faint boom. The fireworks show from the Sandlot has begun. Viewing it with the entire expanse of the town between them, and not directly underneath it, is odd but a tad refreshing. Hayner has never watched fireworks from this far away, and the new perspective means that the pinwheels of color and chemicals are bound within neat circles, and he’s not straining to fit everything within his range of vision. The smoke still hangs in the air, illuminated in bursts, but it’s not close enough to weigh on his clothes and lungs. For all the people crowded on the Sandlot floor, there are only seven of them up here, seeing what they can see.
“Whoa! Look over there!" Roxas points across to the right. "They’ve started too!”
Burning trails serpentine and scatter from the top of Sunset Hill, briefly lighting up the minuscule silhouettes of the technicians scurrying back and forth to set more off. They don’t seem to be as dramatic, launching at a slower rate, but they climb higher in the heavens. If Hayner were to reach his hand straight out, he could wrap his fingers around their glow. While his attention is on the outlying neighborhood, he notices another source of brightness, over where Sunset Terrace’s bottom tier plummeted into grassy valley, barely visible over the buildings. He’s elbowing Roxas to fill him in when Pence gasps.
“They’re everywhere…”
From every corner of Twilight Town, fireworks erupt through the night. Not only at the Sandlot and Sunset Terrace, but at Tram Common, the park, and the roof of the community center as well. Open intersections and lots are occupied by individuals showing off their own supplies, and balconies are covered in showers of sparks as families ignite fountains. Even miles and miles into the distance, where the fields are divided only by rising hills and stretches of farmland, Hayner can discern sharp pinpricks above bare ground. The cityscape is dyed in shades of fuchsia, emerald, and cerulean, an ever-shifting rotation of color and shadow. At any moment, there are five or six fireworks exploding in the air at once, and dozens more blazing at street level.
Hayner is used to yelling to be heard over the overwhelming roar of the Sandlot show, or not bothering to speak at all, yet the cumulative volume at present is hardly louder than the rumble of a radiator. Which means that both appreciative oohs and cheeky observations from the group are audible over the overlapping pops and fizzles, as Olette compares a flashy affair to Pence and his camera, and Fuu whistles at a cascade of embers that gradually fades as they descend back to earth. Rai has the loudest reaction after one firework appears to bloom inside of another, and he shouts, “That shouldn’t be possible, ya know?!”
When Hayner spies a flurry of crackles and gold lace embroidered across the sky, he nudges Seifer in the side without taking his eyes off the spectacle, saying, “Check out those, those are the best!” He keeps jostling Seifer, only tearing away his sight to guarantee Seifer knows exactly which firework he’s referring to.
He freezes. Seifer is gazing at him, his features illuminated by the lights in the background. A soft smile graces his lips, his eyes crinkle at the corners. Blood rushes to Hayner’s cheeks. His arm runs hot where it brushes against Seifer’s bare skin. He hadn’t realized how close they were until now.
“Finale,” interjects Fuu, and everybody’s attention snaps to the space above the Sandlot. It takes Hayner the span of a deep breath to pull himself together, but once he does, he can admire the display before them. The barrage of fireworks saturates their senses with radiance and sound, as wave after wave of rockets pummel the darkness. Peonies blossom in succession, fish swim through smoky seas, and spirals unfold into galaxies of their own. The final bombardment is a near-endless stream of light, the second setting sun of the evening. When Hayner blinks, he can still see the glare from behind his eyelids.
Even after the last of the sparks on the outskirts of town dissolve, after silence descends upon the neighborhood, the group stays where they are, soaking it in. They don’t speak.
Hayner commits it all to memory—the collage of pyrotechnics, the delay between flashes and their echoing booms, the smell of gunpowder that drifts in and out with the breeze. For every day he had sat here with his friends, they had never experienced anything like this. And he is certain they’re going to reminisce about tonight when they meet up tomorrow, and when the fireworks show rolls around next year, and when decades pass and all they have left to hold onto their childhoods are the brightest and darkest of times. Another treasure for them to share, and from a source he never would have expected.
The others shuffle to their feet, Rai stretching from sitting in the same position for too long and Roxas collecting the trash. “That was awesome,” says Pence, and as if a spell has been lifted, the group begins excitedly chatting and herding towards the stairs. Hayner lingers on the walkway. He summons his resolve.
“Hey, hold up a second,” he calls after Seifer. Roxas, Pence, Olette halt and peek back, but he waves them on. He’ll catch up with them later. Seifer strides over and Hayner tries to ignore how his heart is a jackhammer in his chest, furiously beating and about to rip him apart, leaving him open and exposed.
“That was really cool,” Hayner says tersely. He has to start somewhere. “This was all… really, really cool.”
He vaguely gesticulates, using his hands to refer to everything that had taken place during their date. Whatever words he can conjure already feel inadequate, like he doesn’t even possess the language necessary to address what they are. Who they are to each other, and how long they have been those people. Whether those people reflect reality. Man, this is the least eloquent he’s been in a while.
Suddenly, Seifer laughs, a loud and jarring sound that breaks through Hayner’s ruminations.
“You know,” he says when the mood finally exits his system, shaking his head and pinching the bridge between his eyes, “for weeks I’ve been going crazy, trying to think of ways to impress you. I wanted to treat you to dinner at Le Grand Bistrot, or take you to a professional Struggle match, or travel out to the countryside for a hot air balloon ride. I wanted to go horseback riding by the beach, or walk along the waterway while a violinist serenaded you. I wanted to give you a dozen red roses.”
Seifer scoffs. “None of which were actually possible because I spent all my money on the auction, and I was an idiot and didn’t save anything up.”
He continues, tone a little lighter and less self-deprecating. “But the moment I stopped to think about what you would want, it all became so easy.”
“What does that mean?” Hayner asks. With his pulse pounding in his ears, it’s simpler to concentrate on the insignificant, irritating stuff, instead of the incoming tide that threatens to overwhelm him.
Seifer stares at him, expression unreadable. But not because there is nothing on his face, but because there are too many emotions swirling around and rising to the surface. Affection, bemusement, pain, and adoration each have their turn.
“Hayner, I know you so well. I know you like action movies but suck at sitting still through them. I know you’re into that one brand of leather bands. I know you care more about the act of investigating a mystery more than the mystery itself. I know what kind of deadly pizza you eat. And now,” Seifer says, glancing over to the where the night had once been illuminated, “I know which fireworks are your favorite.”
Hayner is stranded in the gulf between. He’s not sure whether the rope in his hands is a lifeline or a weight, but it’s all he has to hold onto.
His voice is low and rough. “Tonight… why did you invite everyone else up here? Why didn’t you make it just the two of us?”
The answer comes swiftly, simply.
“Your friends are the most important people to you. You’re happiest when you’re with them.”
And it’s true. The show would have been spectacular regardless, but it wouldn’t have been the same if Roxas, Pence, and Olette hadn’t been there. It was better because they had shared this time, together. Watching the fireworks with his friends was the prize at the end of the scavenger hunt.
“I know all these things about you, because…” Seifer trails off, his first stumble amid all his confidence. “Look, I know that we fight, constantly. And the auction might have seemed like a joke to you, and it’s stupid that it took an auction to get me to act. I get that I can be an asshole.”
He stares directly at Hayner. “But I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time now. That’s all there is to it.”
Hayner should have recognized that he wasn’t the only one taking a risk standing here, that if anything, Seifer had the most to lose after everything that had been said and unsaid on their date. Seifer had confirmed what Hayner was starting to suspect, and yet the sentiment was purer than he could have anticipated. How could he match that level of sincerity? What could he possibly say?
Seifer notices Hayner’s lack of immediate response and attempts to fill in the space. “I’m not expecting—”
“No, no.” Pull it together, Hayner. For his sake.
“There’s a bunch of stuff I know about you too,” Hayner begins. “Stuff I didn’t even know I knew before today. Like, you’re not great with heights. And as much as you enjoy your posse talking you up, you don’t know what to do when you get a compliment from a stranger. And sometimes you say shit just to get a reaction out of me, but you don’t really mean it.”
He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t have it in him. “It’s kinda funny, because both of us spent all today focusing on what I want. Which also makes me an asshole. But I think I’ve come to a conclusion.”
Hayner reaches out, carefully taking Seifer’s hands in his, and Seifer lets him. He’s so still that Hayner doesn’t dare squeeze any harder. “I don’t know if we feel exactly the same way about each other. Honestly, I never considered it before this morning. But, I want to notice more things about you. The way that you notice stuff about me. I want to know why you like the things you do, and why other things annoy you, and what makes you the happiest.”
He flashes a grin at Seifer that’s mostly cheek, but he hopes Seifer can see the authenticity underneath. He has faith that Seifer can see the authenticity underneath. “Maybe we can start by going horseback riding and you can try my deadly pizza… next time.”
Seifer slides a hand out from Hayner’s grasp and moves it to his upper arm, gripping as if it’s his lifeline. In one quick step, he closes the distance between them and presses their foreheads together. At the point where where their skin touches, Hayner feels the tremors coming from Seifer’s frame, and then he realizes that he too is shaking, from joy, from excitement, from fear, and all they can do is take deep breaths until they match up. The clocktower bell tolls, and they remain like that, standing at the edge of the precipice, anchoring each other down.
Hayner inhales sharply. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Seifer's exhale brushes against his eyelids, warm and fluttering.
“That’s enough for me.”