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Sebastian grimaces at his surroundings.

Two dozen lit candles are spread around the pitch. Grey helped, cracking jokes about the grass catching on fire. Yeah, exactly what he needs. But as cheesy as it is, those flickering lights add to the whole grand-romantic-gesture crap he was aiming for.

Sebastian hugs himself against the dry, chilly air. He paid Clark, the stadium’s tech guy, to create an atmosphere. None of that One Republic or The Fray lameness. No Coldplay. Sebastian’s cheesy, but he can’t do corny.

In his head, the soundtrack to Sebastian’s life with Emir is vibrant and loud, like electric indigo. It’s thunderstorms over a city. It’s neon-bright, like summer fireflies.

The crappy PA system is playing M83, and it’s perfect.

Sebastian fishes out his phone and checks the time. He paces in a circle. He’s trying not to get too far into his own head. Lily’s words echo: “When the stars fall away…” They prevent him from having a panic attack. That is, until Emir says, “What the bloody hell is this?”

Sebastian winces, then turns slowly. Sweat prickles against his scalp. It only takes him five seconds to realize he’s not going to have a panic attack. No, this was worth the wait and the small bursts of anxiety.

Emir is staring at Sebastian, motionless. It’s discomfiting, but whatever, right? It’s not Emir’s first time using the “what the hell?” glare.

“Bastian?”

Sebastian beams, unashamed.

A line of candles separates them. Sebastian stretches a hand toward Emir. After a long pause, Emir’s palm slides over Sebastian’s. He steps forward, angling right into Sebastian’s body, hesitation be damned.

Sebastian says, “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“For a lot of things,” Sebastian quickly adds. Emir laces their fingers together and it steadies him. “For years and years of being a total idiot, and for those last days at camp.” He didn’t plan what he’d say. He whispers, “Also, for not telling you a bunch of things.”

“Like?”

“I’ve missed you, forever. When you went to England, when I first saw you at camp, the last few days.” His throat tightens. “Before and after today’s game.”

Sebastian never had to express himself to Sam. With her lack of investment, she didn’t need it. Or maybe she did, but he’s chalking up to youth his failure to recognize such things. Now, with Emir, he’s learning to get his thoughts and emotions and nameless-whatever out of his system.

Emir says, “Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, reckon so,” says Emir, smiling. “You bloody well know that.”

Sebastian doesn’t know a lot of things, but he’s discovering them. He’s tired of being a coward. But things like this take time. He says, clearly and openly, “I love you. I didn’t know it years ago, but I don’t think you understand those things when you’re ten.”

“Me neither.”

Sebastian didn’t know how much he wanted to hear those words until now.

Emir says, “You don’t realize how much you’ve done for me. Abbu was so proud of me today.” Tiny flames make Emir’s eyes translucent gray. He’s meets Sebastian’s eyes. “It was so hard being around you at first. I wanted to walk away.”

Sebastian’s fingers squeeze Emir’s. Emir twitches, but doesn’t pull away. And Sebastian, full of calm and understanding, threads fingers into Emir’s damp hair to keep loose strands off his face.

“You’re losing your touch.”

“Your face is insufferable.”

“Weak,” teases Sebastian.

“And I want your bloody hoodie back. It’s mine,” Emir says. And scowls.

It’s the opposite of romantic, and Sebastian laughs, sudden and bright, until his stomach coils into a knot. “Better,” he says between breaths.