Four years went by faster than Takakura could even blink.

He and the farmer did not speak of their proximity that night on the rock overlooking the sea. Day after day, though, they continued their diligent work fixing up the old farmstead and turning it into something worth calling home. A fresh coat of paint and far more attention to the fields had brought new life to the property, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. Healthy crops sprang up as the proof of their labor, and they made a fair living from the cash they received in exchange on their trips into the city. While his friend would steer the horse strapped to a cart full of their produce, Takakura mulled over the thick, leather-bound book that was their ledger—rain or shine, through wind and snow.

The city had been overwhelming at first. The farmer had shown him around, an eager restlessness and a big smile never fading the entire day. He'd grown up there and it seemed everywhere they went, someone knew of him by name. Over the years, they'd come to know Takakura by name, too. Some of them even liked him, but the farmer's charisma far outshone his when it came to the ladies.

Of course, it wasn't long before one of them had caught his eye in a very serious way.

Early one autumn, they stood together beneath his porch, if it could even be called that—more an overhang outside his front door. The choring for the day had been done too early, an off-season heat wave having killed off a sizable portion of their crop just three days ago. But the chill had gradually crept back into the air, sending an almost pleasant numbing to Takakura's fingertips as he held a cigarette between them. Evening insects chirped and hummed like their own orchestra, and the farmer leaned his head back against the wooden wall.

"She wants me to move back to the city," he said, much too calmly.

Takakura froze mid-drag, a cough tearing through him. The farmer smacked his back, plucking the cigarette from him and bringing it to his own lips to take a long inhale.

"Is that really so surprising?"

But he sounded sad, almost like he was fishing for Takakura's opinion—who was trying to come up with reasons through which to convince the other man not to do it. He was quiet for some time, staring straight ahead at their barn, their pasture beyond, all the run-down buildings they'd patched up and made new together. And then, barely a minute's walk down the main road, was Takakura's own house. The lights were off, because he just wasn't home all that often.

He was always down the road, here. With his friend.

"You gonna be able to find a job out there?" he asked, relying on his stoicism to not give away that his heart felt near to shattering. Please say it'll be a challenge. He could convince him to stay if he weren't sure.

But the farmer gave a hum of affirmation. "Her uncle's a supervisor at a textile mill. He wants to hire me."

Something about him stuck inside a hot, dim warehouse made Takakura feel almost nauseated. He looked good out in the waist-high wheat fields. He could see it clearly in his mind's eye, his best friend wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, a broad smile across his face, his hair tied back. In the light of the sun, the dimple on his right cheek was so prominent that he looked almost boyish.

"What about—"

"I know," the farmer said in a hurry. "But look—you're the one who really knows what he's doing here. The farm might look better because I helped you fix it up, but you're the one who taught me everything I know. It'll be fine."

The truth of it couldn't be argued. Takakura grew up on a sprawling farm not unlike this one; fine was an understatement. His progress on it had been slow until the farmer showed up, but it wasn't like the former had been flying by the seat of his pants.

"Won't it...?" His voice sounded so damned small, and Takakura's heart squeezed unpleasantly.

He wasn't a comforter by nature, but he would try. His friend deserved no less. "It'll be fine. Slow going without yer help, but...fine."

When the cigarette came back to him, he nearly sighed in relief. He brought it to his mouth immediately, eager to have some motion to occupy his mind and mask the shake in his hands. It wasn't that he was upset at the circumstance, but rather that he'd posed it like it was still up in the air when clearly his mind had been made up from the start.

He did sigh at that. It just wasn't worth starting a fight over.

"I'll come visit."

Takakura glanced over, catching those big brown eyes already gazing at him, an undeniable earnest in them that he couldn't help but smile at. "Yeah? You taking the horse to live with you?"

A playful punch landed in his bicep. "I don't mind making the walk, least 'til I can save up for a car."

"Oh," Takakura said teasingly through a half-bitter laugh, "a car? Well, you'll be outgrowin' us country folk for good once that happens."

"Yeah, yeah." He reached for the cigarette, their fingers clumsily brushing against each other in the motion. He spoke only after taking in a quick drag, blowing a shallow cloud of smoke into the evening air. "Y'know, I..."

They stood silent for an indeterminate amount of time. The farmer reached out and flicked the burnt ash from the end of the burning paper, staring out at the golden glow of the setting sun over the wave-like grass ready to be harvested from the grazing pasture.

"I wanted to start a life here," he said at last. "It just seems like...such a better place for a kid. You could teach 'em all you know, Uncle Takakura. They'd spend hours and hours in the woods, making up stories, finding bugs, getting into anything they can."

Takakura considered that with severity. Over the years the two hadn't said much about their pasts, but they'd spoken some about the future: which crops they couldn't quite tame that would simply take more expertise, or where the best place would be to start construction on a coop for chickens. He'd spoken about wanting fresh eggs for breakfast someday, but not about a life. Maybe he'd come here to escape the city, to find a woman who didn't know him through six degrees of separation.

"And...coming home to someone every night would just be..."

He didn't go on, and Takakura almost did not want to hear more in the first place. He was not sure what was worse: that the other man hadn't found what he was looking for, or that he would leave in search of it.

"Well," he said, unable to stop the hint of sadness seeping into his tone, "you should do what you think is right."

The farmer—not one anymore, though, wasn't it?—had packed up what little he owned and left within the week. He'd made good on his promise to visit, although those visits were few and far between for how long the trip could take on foot. And since he worked in the mill during the days, they rarely saw each other when Takakura visited to sell his monthly produce.

Autumn had given way to winter, and by the time the snows melted he was back to his normal, solitary self. There'd been nothing but an easy camaraderie gained with the man who'd left him, and therefore nothing truly lost; settling back into his routine from before he'd even showed up was almost too easy. Takakura was a farm boy born and raised, knew that a bad season never lasted, that the sun always rose anew. And so he woke each morning and swung his legs out of bed before his peaceful solitude had the chance to turn into a sharp loneliness in his bones. With each strike of his old, heavy hoe into the soft earth, he felt a little better. Each time he knelt down in the rain to tie a bright blue tarp of plastic over the more delicate flowers, he felt the ache a bit less.

It was his first summer alone in five years. The air was so hot that it was like walking in bathwater, and he made his way down to the newly-built bar in town to rest in the merciful air conditioning. As he rounded the bend in the road and brought his sweat rag to his shimmering face, he heard the distant sound of an old motor chugging across the nearby bridge. It caught his attention immediately, the heat of the day forgotten as he whipped his head and spun around to get a look; it certainly didn't sound like the mail truck that came once a week.

A car was a rare sight indeed, and many of the villagers couldn't help their gawking. It wasn't a modern thing by any means, rusted in small patches here or there, but it was a sign that whoever it was had expendable income the likes of which most of the townsfolk only dreamed of. Even Miss Romana thought it a frivolous expense.

But it came to a stop directly at Takakura's side, and he knew at once.

"Oi!" said the man who left. He hung out of the driver's side window, his smile as easy as it'd ever been. His face had rounded out and his once-tanned skin had paled a few shades, so much less of his time spent laboring under the sun's rays, but in a way it suited him. "You up for some fireworks tonight?"

Takakura stared back dumbly, taking everything in and forgetting himself for a moment. Forget-Me-Not Valley's tiny show wouldn't be until midsummer, at least. Just yesterday the twins had explained they'd be finished cooking up the last of the explosives next week. In response, all he could offer at first was a simple, "Hm?"

"The city's got a big ol' show they're putting on at sundown," he explained, then dipped beneath the window again to push open the passenger's side door. "Come on. We watch them together every year, don't we?"

It was true, they had, ever since that first night. This would be the fifth year, and Takakura could see the value in some tradition. That was all it'd taken—that and that toothy grin—to convince him to round the front of the car and settle into the hot, cloth seat next to his friend who clapped him on the back once before shifting the car into gear, pulling a tight three-point turn to go back the way he'd come.

Being in his company again in so close a setting was equal parts a comfort and a strain. Takakura had been in vehicles only a few times in his life, but his friend was not a bad driver. The bumps of the valley's walkable pathways gave way to an even bumpier ride up the first hill of the mountain pass. They sat in silence for a while as he watched the rich colors of the greenery pass by out of his open window.

"Your old lady around?" he asks, the suddenness of the question surprising himself.

"She's out of town," came the other man's answer after a brief pause, "for work. It was a last-minute thing. I figured it was the best time to take the car on her maiden voyage down to the valley."

Takakura gave a hum in response, lacking the courage to bring attention to the hesitance in his voice. Not that he wanted this relationship to fail, but he was aware of a small pebble of envy somewhere deep in his stomach if he thought about it for too long. But such a feeling was no use, served him no purpose. His friend was moving on, so he should too—and besides, a day trip into the city every year wasn't so bad at all. It felt good to be remembered, especially when it was so hard for their schedules to line up.

"Gotcha," said Takakura. "And you've got the day off, too?"

"Sure do," he replied with that sparkling smile. "Finally had a couple days of P.T.O. saved up. Figured I might as well use one to see you."

"Well, ain't you a charmer."

By then the backroad had widened and began to split off in a few branching paths, each paved far better than the mostly dirt road that led up to that point. The small, scattered shacks and cabins gave way to sprawling suburbia, the taller buildings of the city just ahead on the horizon.

The day was a fine one, not unlike their visits to sell product in years past. They stopped at a bar his friend had begun to frequent in his time living here, had smoked out front for over half an hour just talking about life and the farm and the textile mill. Then they'd hopped in the car again and scooted over to a local grocery store, where they'd gathered some things to have a makeshift dinner. For some reason, his friend avoided his own home—Takakura felt that stone in his stomach flash white-hot for just a moment, suspicious something was being kept from him.

By the time they'd eaten, it was already getting dark, and they drove off again to prepare to see the fireworks.

"I know just the spot," said his friend, turning the wheel to round a sharp corner that snaked its way up a small hill. He must have taken pity on Takakura, his sweating face still shining even in the dimming light, for he switched on the air conditioning, the breeze from the center vents a crisp reprieve. "We should be able to see 'em pretty good from up here."

A playground was nestled at the top, just three or four children clamoring about on the equipment, shouting and squealing in good fun. Facing west was a small overlook, a falling-apart wooden fence wrapped in ivy framing it against the purpling sky. He pulled the car to a stop just in front of it, lifting the parking brake but not cutting the engine. The headlights' glow illuminated the shoddy fence before them, almost intrusively. The hill was not high enough to see clear over the city, and even some residential houses jutted up into what should have been quite the view—let alone the taller buildings dotted here or there.

They said nothing for a long while, waiting.

"I heard they start a few minutes after sundown," he said, "so any minute now it—"

There was the boom, but it was faraway, and Takakura realized he hadn't even seen the flash of it. He furrowed his brows, scanning the cityscape. His friend craned his neck, bracing his arms on the steering wheel when they caught their first glimpse of that glittering flash, the sky cracking in tandem. But it was half obscured by the buildings to their right, and he tried not to let his heart sink.

"You think we—"

Outside in the park behind them, the children shrieked in laughter. Takakura was going to suggest finding another spot, but he found it hard to speak up again. Another firework burst higher in the sky, and this they were able to see in full, sparkling golds and whites fanning over the city. It captured the children's attention, silencing them for the time being.

They sat there in the car, stretching from side to side to try to catch glimpses of what they could, grateful when one shot clear up into their line of sight. Takakura hefted a sigh, but the icy edge of the too-cold air conditioning pierced his lungs through his throat, making him cough quite roughly. His friend offered some pats on the back, then brought his hand away. Takakura blinked the tears from his eyes, then glanced out of his window in slight shame.

He did not know why, but now that he had seen the dark brush and tree cover surrounding the overlook, he couldn't tear his eyes away. There was not one single firefly glowing here, none of them bothering to use this space to find a mate. Not a trace of magic, not a trace of romance was to be found here.

He shifted his weight in his seat uncomfortably. They sat in the cold, dark car. The fireworks display ended in a grand finale, the spectacle impressive from what little of it they could see: at least fifty went up one after the other, the sound of it nearly as loud as they were in the valley where they were practically face-to-face with the heat of the explosions.

When finally things quieted, Takakura's discomfort was so widespread throughout his body that he couldn't even pinpoint where or when exactly things had gone wrong. He wanted to ask for a cigarette, but the question died on his tongue. He wanted to bolt, but that was horrible manners.

"Come on," said the man who'd left, and damn did he sound as tired as the other felt. "Let me get you back home."

"It's all right," Takakura answered quickly, too quickly. "It's late. The car's gonna wake up the whole valley."

He was being stared at by those wide eyes, his fringe falling shorter over his brow than it had last autumn. "You're not seriously thinking of making the walk?"

"I've sure walked through worse." He had. His friend knew that. A fever, a blizzard, a bad cicada season. And he would take any of those a thousand times than being in this car for another second, for how claustrophobic and cold and crappy he felt. It was like his bones were trying to jump out of his skin, that discomfort radiating out from him now, he was certain.

He didn't register when he'd opened the door, nor when he'd stepped out into the humid night. It was more a blessing now after sitting in the freezing car, and he put one foot in front of the other and made his way down the little hill. The city was well enough known to him that he found his bearings easily even though this was his first time at this park.

Even when the dark before him was illuminated with bright light, the sound of the engine deafening in his ears.

"Oi, oi!" called his friend, driving after him slowly. "What's gotten into you? Just let me drive you home, Takakura!"

The sound of his name was desperate in the other man's mouth, and he hated to hear it. He raised up a hand to give as leisurely a wave as he could manage. "Go on home to your old lady. I'll be fine, swear."

"You can't—"

"I'll be fine." It'd come out louder and harsher than he'd meant it to, but he needed to be alone right now. He couldn't imagine spending another second in that car. He kept walking, and what he'd said—probably more how he'd said it—had worked. The headlights passed over him and turned the other way, the sound of the engine fading and leaving him in merciful silence.

He swallowed, the relief coursing through him. He veered towards where the paved streets turned into dirt roads, following the familiar path. It was a long walk, but he'd been hurrying without meaning to or even realizing it. By the time he crested the hill overlooking Forget-Me-Not Valley, his heart still felt too heavy. He was so coated in sweat that it almost didn't matter, but he couldn't well climb in bed like this, and he certainly didn't feel like drawing water and waiting for it to warm up.

When he reached the well-walked path at the foot of the mountain, he spared a look at the Valley. Not a single light shone from any of the windows out there in the dark, and one of the streetlights was blinking at irregular intervals. This was his home and he'd scarcely known any different from his day trips out to the city, but something squeezed at him that felt far too much like pity. He passed by the abandoned farmlands—Miss Vesta wouldn't purchase it for another ten or fifteen years—and crossed the bridge. The water was passing by lazily beneath it, the river desperate for a summer storm to really get it flowing. But instead of pressing on up the road, he hooked right and crossed under the ancient trees that framed an old hiking trail up to the woods.

The freshwater spring was relatively close to the forest's edge, though carefully hidden by overgrowth and low-hanging branches heavy with too-green leaves. On the colossal tree flanking its left side sat an owl, its eyes glinting in the moonlight before it took silent flight into the deeper parts of the forest. Takakura shut his eyes, willing the remaining stress from his mind and body by pinching the bridge of his nose.

Why did he feel so close to sobbing?

He shook his head violently. Simultaneously he felt too young and too old for this; just twenty-five, the rest of his life ahead of him. There would be more fireworks. There would be more fireflies. There would be more people coming and going from his life.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in one motion and discarding it along with his sweat rag carelessly on the ground. He bent over, standing on one foot to take off the boot of one foot and then switching sides, his bare feet sinking into the cool, damp earth ringing the pond. His pants came next, and then his underwear. He hadn't skinny dipped since he was a preteen, but damn was he hot and annoyed and all mixed up.

The water was cold; he'd known it would be, because here it was always somehow the exact right temperature. He let it envelop him as he waded into it, the shiver and prickling of goosebumps along his skin some of the best feelings he'd had in recent memory. As he stood there he focused on calming his breaths, taking a few more steps until he was up to his waist in it. He could feel the chill of it carried through his veins as the water closed around his wrists, finally easing his troubled heart.

He took a breath, submerging himself as quickly as he could before he could talk himself out of it. He stayed beneath the clear water for ten long seconds, counting them by the beat of his pulse. The rush of water across his ears was noisy when he stood back up, the surface rippling from the disturbance.

At the roots of the great tree, he saw three tiny, bright lights of yellow, blue, and red.

When he blinked the water away from his eyes, they were gone.