“Bash?” I call, searching the quiet forest that grows thicker as I walk.
“Over here!” he calls in the distance.
The trees open around a pond as I crest a small hill, and Bash waits for me there. Tiny lights flicker behind him, candles with their flames whipping in the breeze, but his body blocks the rest.
“What is this?” I breathe as I step closer.
He fidgets as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then smooths a hand over his hair before taking a quiet, steadying breath. I try to glance past him, catching the edge of a blanket laid out on the ground, but my attention quickly returns to him.
Bash is adorably shy, tugging at the back of his neck as I stop in front of him.
“It’s a date.”
“A date?” I repeat.
“Yeah… a, uh… a second first date?” he says hesitantly. “I promised you one, and things have been a little…”
“Crazy,” I finish in a whisper.
He chuckles as he drops his hand, reaching for mine. “Yeah, crazy.”
Our fingers lace as he steps aside, and I stare at the blanket stretched over the grass, surrounded by a flickering collection of candles. Big ones, small ones, short and fat, tall and skinny. Mismatched and sporadic, they cast a shifting glow over the blanket and the basket placed in the center.
“It’s not much—”
“Stop saying that,” I interrupt, tugging on his hand and forcing him to face me. “It’s perfect.”
His throat moves in a swallow as he nods, then guides me forward to sit on the blanket. The night is peaceful out here, disconnected from the rest of the community. Frogs croak and crickets sing back and forth over the quiet rush of water from the pond. The sky is orange over the horizon, and I close my eye as its warmth washes over me.
“I brought dinner,” he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
I glance at the basket, and he pulls out a few rolls and an assortment of fruit, then a glass container filled with a slab of roast that makes my mouth water. He passes me a fork, but I shake my head when he reaches for plates.
“We don’t need them,” I say as I scoot closer and lean against him.
I grab the bowl and stick my fork right into the chunk of meat. A groan leaves my throat as I take a bite, and I tip the bowl in his direction.
He chuckles as he stabs himself a piece as well. “So, what does a pretty thing like you do for fun?” he teases.
I grin as I take another bite of roast. “Pester handsome men and convince them to spoil me, mostly.”
He leans over to reach for the bread, offering me a roll before taking one for himself. “Oh? And how am I doing so far?”
“You’ve got the handsome part down,” I tease. “The spoiling… well, I’ll need more of it to make my assessment.”
We both laugh, and I’m lighter than I’ve been in years.
Conversation comes easily between us as we reminisce about the past. We share stories about the moments we found joy at Ljómur, swapping memories of nights spent closed up in that tiny apartment playing cards or trying to make cafeteria food exciting.
Laughter wasn’t easy to find in that place, happiness less so, but we’d managed.
He asks about the experiments they performed on me, and I tell him, despite his clenched jaw and how the mood darkens over us. I update Bash on what happened after he was gone. How our friends banded together to keep me from losing my mind, even if they didn’t understand the depth of my sorrow in the beginning.
I share stories of the newly rekindled friendships with Sprocket and Aryn now that we’re all together again, and tell him more about the group that will become his family as much as mine.
Bash, in turn, tells me the adventures he’s been on in the city. The dangerous missions he dove into when he was self-destructing, and the moments of connection he’d found with his new friends that became his family, too.
By the time we fall into a comfortable silence, the food is long gone, and the stars form a twinkling canopy overhead. We lay back on the blanket, hands woven, and I rub my deliciously full belly.
