A Crow's Dream

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With a scrunched up nose and mouth agape, Kijuro snipped off the leaves of the bush that poked out of its meticulously constructed curve. Kip ogled at his diligence and dedication over something that would be lost within a few days. Though he had a sketchbook in his hand, it was blank as he respected Kijuro’s craftsmanship.
The garden surrounded a set of stone steps leading from their backdoor patio that sat just before a steep ledge. Dogwood trees sporadically lined the outer perimeter of the garden and narrowed in with dollops of Japanese Boxwood shrubs side by side. The steps themselves were encased with trimmed bamboo to sit a few inches above each step—Kip sometimes examined their hollow insides to check if the water from the last typhoon was still there. A handful of foliage and pebbles sat on the silken fields of sand alongside the garden’s stone path, and where there was small greenery, the sand echoed in rings to attract viewers. A wooden birdhouse was one of those centerpieces. A crow latched itself onto the ledge, cocking its head in search of its nuts stored inside. It dug into the hole and eventually emerged with a peanut. It hopped down and ambled around in the sand, its footprints overlapping the designs.
Kip’s eyes broke contact from Kijuro’s work to the emphatic noise of its wings. The trail of bird talons disrupted the now eroded circles in the sand. His lips thinned out from how hard he pressed them together. “Ah, don’t do that!” he scolded with an intoned voice, rising from the stairs when Kijuro hushed him.
“Don’t mind them. It’s only normal.”
He lowered himself onto the rock again, face taut with resistance. “How are you so calm when they destroyed your hard work?”
After a bit of a laugh, he scooted away from the bush. “They’re a part of nature,” he said, wiping his trimmers with a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “The animal tracks give the garden a unique touch, don’t they?”
“I would be mad if a crow stepped all over my artwork with its sandy feet.” “You’re the only one who can create your art, but nature is a collaborative effort,” he said with gentle assurance.
Then entered Eliu, who hopscotched his way backward onto the scattered path, aiming a Super Soaker at Bul, who was inching towards him with one of his own. Eliu drenched him with a shot to his forehead and spun to escape, but slipped in his wet flip flops and slid into the sand. Kijuro glared at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Unfortunately, my brother is not part of nature,” he sighed.
“Oh no! Key, I’m so sorry!” Bul said with tears rushing to his beady eyes. Kip ran to his side to rub his back.
“No worries, but try to stay closer to the lake next time, alright?”
“It ain’t my fault, the little devil was purposely cornerin’ me into your garden!” Eliu said, swatting the debris off of his knees.
“What are you guys doing with those, anyway? We’re going to the beach tonight for Fireworks Fest, y’know.”
Bul beamed, his gloomy posture shedding with ease. “That’s why we’re testing them!”
“They work like they’re brand new, alright. Reloads fast, too,” Eliu added with a smirk. “You better keep your eyes peeled, Key.”
“I’ve perfected that over the years from always babysitting you.” He folded up his leather pouch that snugly fit his gardening tools, rising. He passed the group with a slight smile, stopping at Eliu for a moment to ruffle his hair, before turning and waving them off. “I’ll be getting the car ready,” he called as he walked away.
The hard sunlight glimmered on his ghostly complexion when he made it to the top of the stairs, blending his skin with his delicate outfit as his figure grew distant. In haste, Bul climbed the steps in an almost animalistic manner to keep up with him. “Wait, let me help too!”
By the time the boys arrived at the boardwalk in Daytona Beach, the sky had developed blotches of yellows that dissolved from the sun and stretched into the peachy horizon. The carnival displays, more prominent by the darkening minute, could be seen highlighting rides with blaring detail, despite being nearly a mile out on the pier. Although Eliu had begged to go down to the beach first, Bul convinced them to buy dessert with his pure countenance. What began as one visit to a concession stand became a shopping spree of treats. They would enter almost every shop— occasionally, when Kip noticed something that Bul would have locked eyes on if he saw, he stood in front of it until they left. Other times, salespeople would prey upon the small gullible-looking boy until he was swiftly dragged away by Kijuro. In the end, the boys were stuck carrying handfuls of food and at long last entering the main attraction—the carnival.
Much to Eliu’s dismay, the group rode the majority of the attractions. He couldn’t help getting antsy, however, when carnies would throw insults as they passed. “You want a try at this with that stupid lil’ smug look of yours?” Eliu clenched his jaw at first, but Kijuro squeezed his shoulder as he pushed him along. “How ‘bout that spray tan? Florida sun too hot for ya?”
Eliu whipped around and armed himself with his wallet. “Alright, I’ll play your dumb game ‘n beat you with it after,” he said and slammed the money down on the counter. Kijuro pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll be here all night.” By the fifth try, Eliu was visibly red. The game had a simple concept: Knock down a triangle of glass bottles with a ball in three tries. But no matter how hard he threw, the bottles absorbed his strength. When he drew back his arm, his veins popped out like a stress ball under pressure. After each round, Kip timidly suggested leaving, only for the carnie to cut him off. “Are those big muscles for show or somethin’?”
“I’ll be glad to show you if you step out from behind that counter.”
Kijuro took a ball from the new round and locked onto the bottles with a hard stare. He lodged the ball between the bottles, and the targets separated and tipped off the platform. Bul yanked on Eliu’s sleeve, balling his other fist in the air. “Can you get the big dragon?!”
His lips were parted but no words left his mouth. Instead, he looked at Kijuro in awe. He couldn’t decide if he was angry or impressed. “How did you—”
“You can’t throw and expect it to fall. There’s strategies to these games.” He took the green dragon stuffed animal and handed it over to Bul. Bul tried to offer it to Eliu, but he shook his head and walked off.
“Let’s go on some more rides. He needs to cool off for a bit,” Kijuro said and continued down the pier. The other two watched Eliu disappear into the sea of people. The conversations between them were static after that. As much as the event that had just occurred was small, the group felt a heavy air amongst them. Since Bul’s duty was to be the hype man, he continued to act as if he were a kid on Sesame Street. But the more he noticed Kip’s uneasiness, the more he toned down and glued himself to his side.
At one of the rides requiring two people, Kijuro was the one to stand out. Kip and Bul climbed into the spherical car attached to an axle, which then violently rolled them in the air as it spun in circles and waves. When the ride was over, the two were waddling around back and forth on their feet in an attempt to walk in a straight line, laughing as they continuously rammed into each other. The glittering cyan and hot pink lights brutalized their sight and gave them flashes of colors in their eyes even after they left the vicinity.
Bul grabbed onto a lamp post and crouched down to recuperate. “Where’s Key? I can’t see anything.”
“Me neither.” Kip looked around anxiously, patches of his vision gone with each glance of the crowds surrounding them. A moment went by until he felt something tickling his thigh and reached inside his pocket for his phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, I’m in a bit of a bind right now...” Eliu cleared his throat and with a long pause said, “I lost some bets and they ain’t lettin’ me go unless Kijuro comes.”
He exchanged a look with Bul, who leaned in to listen. “What happened?” “A buddy of mine told me there’d be a gambling site run by the Cross State Kings tonight. I felt like payin’ a visit and gettin’ my money back after what happened.” His voice was shaking. Murmuring droned in the background. “Look, I’ll send my location in the groupchat. They don’t want me talkin’ to you for long.”
“Okay. We’ll be there soon.” He hung up. “We have to find Key. El’s in trouble with gambling debt.”
“What’s this about El?” Kijuro asked, towering behind him. Kip scrambled away from him. “Why the face? I thought you said I wasn’t scary.” He bluffed a frown.
Kip’s hand quivered as he tried to find the pocket for his phone. “U-um, well, not to ruin our fun, but El lost some bets and some people would like to see you...”
“Ah, again? They’re not gonna touch him. He’ll be fine on his own.” He played around with the positioning of his bangs. “The fireworks are starting in twenty. Are there any last minute rides you’d like to go on?”
Bul tossed his arms in the air. “I wanna go on that spinny ride again with Kip!” “But it seems like he’s in a lot of trouble. A-and he’s going to miss the fireworks if we don’t help,” Kip said, glancing at Bul for help.
“The bookies probably won’t want to miss the fireworks either,” Kijuro said light-heartedly before his tone shifted into a genuine one. “If anyone is scarier than me, it’s El. They just want us all in one place.”
“But he sounded—”
“He’ll be okay. If you two want to go on that ride again, you should get in line now before we miss the show,” he said, patting Kip’s back.
“Come on, the line’s getting longer!” Bul exclaimed. He yanked Kip’s arm, pulling them away from Kijuro.
Bul slung his arm over Kip’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, we’re going to see Ellie,” he whispered with a cheeky wink.
***
Eliu had little clue why he had walked away from the group. At the time he couldn’t admit that the miniscule insults made by the carnie and reused on every muscular-looking man affected him personally. He didn’t have the guts to return to the group. There was nothing sadder, he thought, than a young man with his head hanging low as he walked around a carnival on his own. It would have been even worse to run back to his friends after losing his temper and ruining the night’s energy.
The best way he determined to handle his predicament was to travel out to the pier and watch over the beach until it was about time for the fireworks show. Since he didn’t want to stray too far from his friends, simply admiring the beach composed him enough to think clearly once again. His gaze trailed off to gander at the light dispersing out underneath from where he was. He recalled one of his subordinates talking about a gambling site taking place under the Daytona pier tonight. The site was being operated by the Cross Road Kings, and with the amount of potential business swarming them, they were sure to bring in decent bets. He hadn’t planned to go because he was aware how Kijuro felt about doing business on a family trip—however, it wouldn’t hurt now that he was by himself. He could crash the party, regain septuple the money he lost from the carnival game, and itch that desire to win.
When he reached the shore, the CRK’s lookouts rushed inside. In mere seconds, several people were expelled from the tent and a manager sporting a red Miami Marlins jersey stepped outside. As he got in range, they traded serious looks.
“What brings you all the way out ‘ere?” the manager inferred.
“A birdie told me you’se would be here tonight,” Eliu said. A smirk broke across his face. “We weren’t expectin’ any of Putra’s boys, but...” He jerked his head over his shoulder for a moment. “We’ll make an exception for the one and only.”
A few howls and scrutinizing chuckles were emitted from the inside. Eliu scoffed. “That’s a lame taunt. The carnies were better at irritatin’ me,” he said. “What’s your name?” “Nicolas,” he said, extending out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Putra.”
He squinted. “Adachi,” he corrected. “Eliu Adachi.” Putra was his birth surname, but was only commonly used by his rivals.
Nicolas’s upper lip lifted in contempt as he led him to a large table. There were only a few private games left around them.
As he perched his hands against the edge of the table, the inferior members of the other gang stepped away, leaving a distinct passage between him and the second manager known to be Mateo. He pressed his weight further on the table as he used his other arm to gesture to the cards and dice placed in the middle. “What’re my options?”
“Blackjack, roulette, or Pai Gow.”
He tilted his head to the side, wading in decision. Roulette had low odds of winning, and Pai Gow was too complex to be offered by an inexperienced dealer. But with blackjack, it was one of the first card games he had ever played. He knew the in’s and out’s.
He slapped his palm down on the cards and slid it towards Mateo. “Let’s keep this quick. I only came to visit.”
Mateo split the cards and fanned them. “Your minimum is $500,” he said sternly. Without a word, Eliu drew his wallet and placed a husky stack of dollars. Nicolas examined the stack, peeling down each edge as he counted. “$2,500,” he announced. “You carry money like that around, huh?” Mateo commented as Nicolas converted the dollars into chips.
“Why not if I don’t need to worry about anyone pickpocketin’ me?” He sat. “Fair enough.”
Mateo placed two cards facing up in front of Eliu along with two cards for himself, one up and one down. The round started with a bet of $750.
Eliu was dealt a five and a four. He tapped the green felt to receive a card from the dealer. The card was a ten. He signaled his turn was finished with a flat palm above the table. “Beginner’s luck,” Mateo muttered as he prolonged drawing a card.
Eliu’s chin perked while watching, crossing his arms. As the dealer’s face card was a king, there was a high probability that he had a total of twenty. But when he spotted Mateo’s glimpses at the deck during his turn, he was led to believe that was not the case.
The third card was a five. He chewed on his lip as he switched his hole card to face up. It was an eight—for a total of twenty-three.
They’re making this real easy for me, he thought. The dealer’s moves were translucent. “Not so lucky, yeah?” he said pitifully.
The next few rounds were played out in similar fashion. The smacking of lips while Mateo and Nicolas had been chewing on gum started to get under Eliu’s skin. Their faces had a permanent stuck-up expression plastered on them as they chewed like cows. He questioned why the Cross Road Kings positioned them as managers for a gambling operation when they seemed to be a couple of bratty teenagers.
A few spectators joined the game, aware of Eliu’s prominent presence.
“You know you can split that, right?” Mateo asked when he gestured to be dealt a card.
He furrowed his brows. His hand was two five’s—an advantageous ten. “I’m still hitting.” Was he just sneering to provoke him? The guy seemed completely deadpan. Twenty minutes in, he considered leaving with his six wins. The pot yielded $18,000, far from how much he had lost earlier that night. But his gut told him Mateo was not faking his naivete. His monotone voice might have been a ploy to protect his hidden card, but his nonverbal movements spoke for themselves. In spite of that, Eliu was aware that the CRK’s screening process gave little leeway for the inexperienced.
Mateo and Nicolas shared a brief moment of pained visage. Eliu clenched his fists, and on impulse he rose from his chair to bring half of the pot into his betting square. “Let’s get serious now,” he said, lips twitching into a grin. These two might be beneficial to the gang, but they had to have been put in the wrong position. They were sweating right through their facade.
The other players hesitated and tapped out of the round. None of them had the money to bet off nearly ten grand. Mateo’s face froze in sight of the dozens of chips covering the betting square to the point where the square was no longer visible. He nodded nonchalantly. Nicolas provided him with an equal number of chips.

• Next ➻

He picked up the stack of cards and gave it a quick shuffle. Being the dealer gave the advantage that he chose what deck to use and players usually gave no thought about the design. Although miniscule, there were small white dots on the black-and-white design on the back of the cards. One dot on each of the corners meant the number was odd, while two meant it was even. If there were no dots on the right side of the card, it was hearts or diamonds. Unless the cards were spread out side by side, Eliu would be unassuming even if he was the dealer himself.
In each game, Mateo made sure to tilt the cards towards himself. This made it easy to show the edges of the next few cards with his behavior now inconspicuous. He dealt Eliu the first and third cards, both odds, and saved the evens to his own hand. His up card was a queen—Eliu’s cards were two red three’s.
Eliu hummed, leaning forward in his seat. He brought the remaining of his chips into the round, then made a peace sign to signal to split his double numbers.
Mateo glanced over at Nicolas as he separated the three’s, passing him two more red odds—a seven and a five now. Eliu hit for both of them. He reached a total of twenty for his first hand before standing and tapped the table for another card for his hand of fifteen. Mateo picked an even number, knowing he would bust or be under—but with too big of a number to hit again. The total came to be seventeen. He hissed through his teeth and unwillingly chose to stand.
Now, with a majority of the red odd cards given to Eliu, Mateo had a high chance of a red ace or one. He flipped his hole card over and revealed it to be a jack. It no longer mattered whether Eliu was aware of his card counting. He bit the bullet and pulled a card with one dot on the left side.
At first, Eliu shined with hope as Mateo reached for another card despite hitting twenty. An idiotic play to try and break the tie instead of redoing the round. But his face fell when he flipped the card over.
“Blackjack.”
“You’re some real brats, huh...” Eliu whispered, his mouth ajar.
“Want to go another round?’
He sprung out of his seat and strode towards Nicolas. “No way in hell.” He snatched his collar and tugged him close. “You’re going to give back my 25 hundred,” he snarled. “I thought you didn’t need to worry about anyone pickpocketin’ you,” Nicolas said with a strain in his tone.
He heaved him off his feet. “If you don’t return the money, you can expect not to wake up for school tomorrow.”
The lookouts came from outside and circled him. The remaining dealers dropped their games to follow suit. Mateo spat out his gum onto the sand before he stepped up to Eliu. “We can either jump you for all your worth, or you can call your brother over.”
He stared at Mateo from his peripherals until he eventually pushed Nicolas off his grip and pulled out his phone. He called Kip to avoid leaking Kijuro’s number.
As time crept by, the rival members grew restless. By now Eliu was tied to a chair with an inch thick rope. His head hung low while he groveled in his own thoughts. He was anxious, but not only from the situation he was in. What was supposed to be an excursion turned into a rescue mission on his part. He always seemed to cause Kijuro stress in some capacity when it came to work. Even when the stress was unnecessary, he still somehow managed to make him worry because of his own carelessness. This could be the last straw of Kijuro’s compassion.
Mateo was pacing when a blast of ice cold water soaked his entire chest area. “What the—” he coughed when a rustling came from the left side of the tent. The white cloth fluttered. The lookouts poked their heads outside for a glance, peeling back the opening flaps. “Stay here,” one commanded, ducking his head as he exited. He rounded the corner, only to be ferociously high-kicked by Bul, plummeting to the ground. He grabbed the man by the throat and shoved a water gun in his mouth.
“Good job,” Kip mouthed to Bul from the far corner. He crawled around the back of the tent and dug himself under the nylon cloth again, positioning his water gun. He shot another member in the stomach, who yelped from the sudden cold.
“Where is it coming from?” someone cried.
“Probably some kids thinkin’ they’re funny,” Mateo said.
“Right here, sir,” the remaining lookout said, carrying a kicking and screaming Bul over his shoulder.
“Aw, come on. You didn’t have to grab the kid.” He extended his hand out for the gun. “I’m not a kid! I’m in a gang!” he whined.
Mateo’s lips parted, but before words could leave his mouth, he was clocked against the ear. Kip had lunged himself onto him, delivering punch after punch. A grin spread over Eliu’s face, but faltered as he realized Kijuro’s absence. There was no way he would let Bul of all people get captured. He had, in fact, ran out of compassion.
Kip latched onto the arm of an approaching member, flinging them into a nearby table. As he lifted his head, a blade was drawn at his neck. “You’re in a gang, huh?” Mateo growled.
Kijuro wandered around the two-person attraction, calling out Kip’s and Bul’s names repeatedly. There was less than ten minutes until the fireworks show and they were nowhere around the vicinity of the ride. He was close to calling one of them when he was reminded of the location Eliu sent earlier.
He ran to the stairway down to the shore, the ocean wind resisting his efforts to move. If he hadn't told them not to worry, they wouldn’t have betrayed his trust to rescue Eliu. Kip never did anything without telling him first, even needlessly at times. And Bul, although reckless like Eliu, listened when it came to gang orders. But, now that he thought about it, this wasn’t about the gang. Bul must have not listened because it was their family that was affected—both Kip and Eliu. It didn’t matter whether or not he believed Eliu could handle it on his own. If it was anybody else in this situation, he would’ve acted immediately. Was it because he expected more from him?
He was certain that Kip and Bul couldn’t take a whole gambling operation on their own if Eliu couldn’t. That idea alone provoked him to pick up the pace, as much as the sand prickled his eyes. He recognized he was in the right place when he saw the unconscious body out front of a tent. It had to have been from them if they had only arrived a few minutes ago.
Kijuro knew that he would find his brother and friends there, but he was not expecting to see them all strapped to chairs and held hostage. Withal, he was not ready for the sight he caught from Eliu. His exhilarated face was nothing out of the ordinary, but at that moment he appeared youthful. His brows were scrunched up together and his glossy eyes accentuated by the puffy bags forming beneath them.
Eliu’s gaze dropped to the floor, a flush sweeping over his face. His fists tightened under the rope. For that split second, it reminded Kijuro of the nights spent bandaging him after he had bragged to a few too many people that his big brother was the leader of the Prisms. As much as Eliu tried to hide his admiration, Kijuro noticed that whenever he was too embarrassed to ask for his help, an expression only a younger brother would make came across his face.
When he watched as Eliu fought to repress that face, the unnerving thought that he had damaged their relationship disturbed him. He always believed he was a reliable person. He made sure Eliu had a hearty meal every day since their mother’s passing. He sympathized with how difficult Eliu’s childhood was and did his best to make it better. Yet that all seemed to weaken when Eliu turned twenty-one.
A blade unleashed before Eliu’s face. Mateo flipped the switchblade between his fingers. “No backup? Are you planning to negotiate?” he asked Kijuro, his face contorted. “No,” he said plainly. “I’m already aware of what your leader wants. Are you missing a van by chance?”
Nicolas cocked his head to the right, stepping closer. “A van?”
“I found this old rack on that bouncer outside.” He swung the keychain around his finger, a bulky car key with a separate button for the alarm jingling. “I made sure to unlock it for you.
Figured to make it an easy trip back and all. Actually, he was carrying a second one—” He reached into his back pocket.
A rival member rushed him from the side. Kijuro swung him straight into the ground with the key still cradled in his fist. He jammed the heel of his foot into his shoulder, twisting it back and forth. “I could tell you forgot to do headcounts.” He unfastened his button-down, revealing a black shirt loosely tucked into his jeans. His orange and black tattoo sleeves were barely hidden, peeking out when he raised his arms and stretched his fingers. He tossed the fabric over the man.
Mateo’s hand trembled beneath Eliu’s chin. “Someone check on the vans!” he demanded. “Anyone who leaves will get the same fate if they try and take these,” Kijuro said as he raised the keys, approaching Mateo slowly. “I’d rather not beat some kids, but I don’t like it when my family vacations are interrupted,” he said.
His gradual steps—acting as though each was a second ticking past—drove Mateo to make a decision on impulse to keep from running out of time. He lashed the switchblade out in front of Kijuro, and in conjunction the rest of the rivals barred the escape routes. Kijuro blocked the others out of his vision. He was focused on disarming the real threat—the weapon that was drawn on his brother.
He sidestepped, clutched Mateo’s wrist, and thrusted him forward. When Mateo lost his footing, he placed pressure on his bicep with his knee, stopping him from loosening his wrist. He pulled on his pinkie to dislodge the blade and turned it to Mateo.
“It isn’t worth risking your life for a higher-up,” he warned in a deepened voice. Mateo’s chest rapidly rose and fell, looking to all of his members with perspiration wetting the terror on his brows. Each member stood in silence. No measly underling would dare challenge a gang leader.
Kijuro let go of his arm and got behind Eliu, sawing the ropes off with the blade. Eliu set loose a sigh of relief, clamping his hands over and over again to unstiffen his carved wrists. Soon after Kip and Bul were freed as well, and Bul took the opportunity to blow a raspberry at Mateo. He was almost met with a strike, but Mateo drew back when Kijuro’s eyes landed on him.
“Hey,” Nicolas said to him. “Give us the keys.”
“These?” He took the van keys out again, tossing them. “You can take them, but you better run. Don’t want your leader getting angrier than he’ll already be,” he said as Eliu cashed out the full 18 grand.
Bul held up Kijuro’s button-down for him. “Hurry. We’re gonna miss the fireworks!” Kijuro smiled gently. “Alright.”
The four of them strolled along until they found a bench on the edge of the boardwalk, overhanging onto the beach. Eliu leaned against the metal railing, dazed as he watched the neon colors flashing and sprinkling in the dark sky. They were relatively quiet, minus a few ooh’s and ah’s, but Eliu stayed deep in thought with only the noise of the crackling filtering through his mind. His brain resumed hearing the rest of the world when Kijuro appeared at his side, placing a cold water bottle on his forearm.
Eliu took the beverage, twisting the cap open. “Thanks,” he said softly.
“You look like you’re enjoying the show.”
“I’m just thinkin’ about those punks. They knew how to cheat the whole time and I just didn’t catch on.” He dipped his head back, sipping the water in large gulps. Kijuro scoffed, folding his arms as the breeze picked up. “You underestimate teenagers,” he said, turning his head to face him. “You were a pretty smart high schooler.” “No I wasn’t.” He closed the lid and passed it back, combing his hair back with his hand. “Or maybe smart turned dumb.”
“There’s no such thing.”
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. You got too much hope in people,” he told him. Kijuro lit up, embracing him from the side. “I just need my brother to have more faith in himself,” he squeaked teasingly, wrapping Eliu’s head close to his chest.
“Ulch, stop!” He squirmed in his hold as Kijuro laughed.
When he finished having his fun, he dropped his arm loosely around his back in a way where they each had their space and rested his chin in his hand. For a little bit, the fireworks encapsulated their attention. The sparks lit up the beach in tiny spots against the pitch dark ocean, filling what was unknown with glimmer. And when the fireworks disappeared or momentarily stopped, the mass amount of stars substituted the show. But during one of the final intermissions, Kijuro looked to Eliu again.
He studied his face as he gathered his words. Then, he whispered meekly, “I’m sorry for always treating you differently. I didn’t realize it until Kip and Bul left to save you without telling me.” He looked away. “They never should have felt the need to go behind my back like that.”
Eliu tensed, fumbling with his hands. “You mean you weren’t gonna come originally?” There was a pause before he gave a nod. “I thought you would be fine. But... you’re my younger brother. You’re a part of my nature.” He lifted his head once again and grinned, adding, “Whether I like it or not.”
He shifted his eyes, trying to resist the goofy smirk crawling up his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sappy.”
Kip watched the two make up, stifling his smile with his hand. Their endearing conversation was more interesting than the fireworks to him. Meanwhile, Bul was hanging his head off the back of the bench in order to appreciate the night.
The sky was brimming with large clusters of gold, red, purple, and blue fireworks, tinting the abyss afterwards with each powerful burst of color before fully fading away. The light show seemed as if it was happening right above them, but the people were far in the distance. The whistles of rising fireworks were muted by the heavy tidal breeze, and only erupted into crisp sounds when the lights twinkled away. Long after the last firework dusted the sky, they stood there, at peace with the silence between them.