VALENTINE'S DAY, 1992
Video games have officially become the bane of Sawyer's existence. Over the edge of the porcelain bathtub, her cramped fingers rapidly click a series of buttons on her boyfriend's Game Boy console. She's in the midst of fighting an enemy because, God forbid, they're trying to destroy the ghoul realm.
If she's being honest, nothing about what's happening on the tiny, pixelated screen makes any sense to her, but she's been trying to beat this level for the past hour, and she hates that it's too addictive to put down. Harry had left it behind for her in case she got unbearably bored and resorted to picking out one of his many cartridges so she could immerse herself in a different reality. Well, that's precisely what occurred.
She hasn't seen him in nine days due to a national baseball tour he's on, and she's been awfully lonely. She lives with her parents, but most of the time, she just wants Harry's company.
However, the hole in her heart is temporarily filled whenever he calls her landline or office's fax number, depending on where she is. Still, not seeing his face except on the low-quality television in her bedroom is slowly taking a toll on her sanity.
Not only that, but it's ten o'clock at night on Valentine's Day, and she's stuck at home with no one to celebrate it with.
Sighing defeatedly, Sawyer shuts the console off in the middle of her losing battle and gently sets it on the floor beside the tub. She sinks in the lukewarm water, letting the soap bubbles tickle her chin as two candles flicker beside her. They're orange and vanilla scented, a trick to make it seem like summertime.
Just as she's about to shut her eyes to rest, the monophonic ringtone of her Nokia phone goes off from atop the sink. She contemplates whether she has enough energy to go grab it. No, she's too comfortable. But then again, it could be an emergency.
With a huff, she heaves herself out of the tub and sacrifices her warmth to whoever is calling. She leaves puddles in her path as she reaches the sink and picks up the ringing device. On her way back, she checks the number on the screen. The familiar ten digits instantly cause rapturous butterflies to escape in her stomach, and she eagerly holds the phone against her ear.
"Sunray," she answers, a delighted smile evident in her tone as she submerges her body in the water again. "I was getting worried you wouldn't call."
"Baby." Harry sounds relieved that she picked up, but his voice is worn out due to traveling nonstop. Scratchily and with strain, he asks, "Did I wake you? How have you been sleeping?"
Sawyer cradles her burning cheek and giddily tucks her knees against her chest. "No, I'm taking a bath," she replies softly. "Harry, hi. I miss you so much. It's hard to fall asleep when you're not here to hold me."
He makes a wounded noise, something similar to a whimper. "Fuck, that's a knife to my heart. How's my girl? I miss your pretty face. Hey, guess what? I had a dream about you last night. We were giggling and making out on the beach."
"Did you wake up kissing your pillow?"
"Yeah. Wished it was you instead."
She shivers, even with the warm water engulfing her. "Soon. Only three more days until we can make that dream come true."
A desperate hum of agreement blossoms through her phone speaker. "How was work, by the way? What's the 411? Any juicy gossip making rounds in the cubicles?"
Sawyer rolls her eyes in amusement and says, "It went fine, just boring. I've been dozing off since I got home, so I played your stupid quest game to stay awake."
"And how did that go?" Harry pries with a hint of humor.
"Awful," she grumbles, popping a soap bubble before it floats to the ceiling. "I gave up after an hour. The ghoul realm can fend for itself."
Laughing. He's laughing at her futile attempt. "Tough luck, buttercup. Not everyone has the gift of being a master ghoul slayer."
"Whatever." She steers the conversation in a different direction by mentioning, "I heard your game got canceled today in Baltimore because of the weather. Is everyone safe?"
"'Twas only a wee little storm," he reassures in a random Scottish accent for a reason unbeknownst to Sawyer. Jet lag delirium might be the case. "Appreciate you asking, though. You're sweeter than a Georgia peach."
"I'm happy to hear that. And your flight home is on Wednesday, right?"
It's dead silent on the other line long enough for sneaking suspicion to settle in. Sawyer has to double-check the phone screen to make sure they didn't somehow disconnect by accident.
Eventually, Harry says, "Uh, slight change of plans. I may or may not be in Orlando already."
Sawyer freezes, her heart skipping a beat. "What? Right now? What are you talking about?"
"The game got rescheduled for next month, so we had the option to go home early since that was the last stop on tour."
A flicker of hope causes her lips to break into a beautiful smile. "Where are you?" she dares to ask, anxiously biting her thumbnail.
"Attica Lane, third house on the left," he says coyly. "I see a pink light coming from a window upstairs. Perhaps a lava lamp?"
She gasps and sits up like a bat out of hell, causing some water to slosh over the sides of the tub and splat onto the tiles. "As if! Are you serious?"
His gleeful, airy laugh confirms it. "Open your front door and find out. Hurry up, though. It's cold and lonely out here."
Sawyer squeals happily and hangs up, then gets out of the tub to grab a towel. She dries off her dripping body in record time, then throws on one of Harry's shirts that he gave her. It goes down to her knees. Letting her hair fall free from her rumpled bun, she lets out another squeal and bounces on the balls of her feet. She can't believe he's here in time for Valentine's Day. Granted, there are less than two hours left of the holiday, but every second with him is well spent.
After blowing out the candles and almost catching her hair on fire in the process, she races down the staircase as quickly as possible and rounds the corner toward the front door. She clumsily unlocks the deadbolt and turns the knob to open the door, a click resounding throughout the house. Her heart is pounding, and it's like she can feel his energy from the other side.
Oh, she could just about burst into tears of joy because of the sight in front of her.
Harry is casually standing there like the leading man in a rom-com, his ankles crossed and a bouquet covering his face. He's wearing an off-white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Tiffany Blue trousers with matching suspenders clipped to them. His athletic duffel bag is slung over his shoulder, contrasting his ornate outfit.
Sawyer will worry about being severely underdressed later. She can't even think straight right now.
"You're here," she says in disbelief.
Her beloved boyfriend theatrically reveals his face, an open-mouthed smile greeting her. "Hi. I was gonna be cheesy and throw rocks at your window, but I know that would've scared the crap out of you."
Sawyer can't help herself. She pounces forward and jumps into his arms like a flying squirrel, hooking her legs around his waist and squeezing him so close until she's inhaling his Old Spice cologne that she's missed dearly. Harry grunts and takes an unbalanced step backward from the force in which she does so but quickly catches her with one strong arm around her body, the other still holding the bouquet.
"Missed you so fuckin' much," he murmurs, his duffel bag sliding off his shoulder and hitting the floor with a clunk. "Do you know how miserable I was? Do you know what you do to me? To my heart?"
She pulls back and admires him with teary eyes, observing any changes that might have sprouted in the last nine days. The first thing she notices is that his nose is slightly red from standing outside her house for who knows how long. She smacks a loud kiss onto it, causing it to involuntarily wrinkle.
"My boy," she sighs blissfully while planting an equal number of kisses onto his deep, visible dimples. "Happy Valentine's Day."
Harry hikes her up more so that she towers over him. "I'm here," he says, his voice sounding raspier in person. "As soon as the game got canceled, I packed my bags and flew straight here. I couldn't go any longer without seeing you."
"You didn't stop to visit your parents?"
He dumbly shakes his head with an unaware smile, appearing lost. "No..."
"Harry!" she scolds as a laugh climbs up her throat.
"Is that a problem?" he asks, his gaze completely entranced by her lips. "Hmm? What're you trying to tell me?" He steals two kisses from her, both deep and borderline bruising. "You tellin' me you don't wanna make out with your boyfriend right now?"
"I didn't say that—" Another fervent kiss cuts her off abruptly, and Sawyer melts into it this time, becoming conscious of how much she missed his lips. The peach fuzz growing along his jaw and under his nose tickles her skin as she moves her mouth against his, a sign that he's been too exhausted to shave. She doesn't care if it feels like sandpaper rubbing on her freshly washed face; the softness of his lips overpowers it.
After a minute of making out like a couple of smitten teenagers, Harry finally sets her feet on the floor and presents the bouquet. "These are red camellia flowers," he explains breathlessly, licking his swollen bottom lip. "I surfed the web, and the Old Farmer's Almanac said they symbolize being a flame in someone's heart."
Sniffing the fragrant petals, Sawyer asks, "What does that even mean?"
"Dunno," he drawls sleepily. Oh gosh. She's worried his next blink will have him tipping over and falling asleep on her doorstep. "Sounds right, though, doesn't it?"
"Coming from your mouth, I suppose it does." She clasps her hands on his cheeks and stands on her tiptoes to nonverbally thank him with a gracious kiss. He lazily smiles into it before Sawyer giddily tugs him inside the house and toward the cozy ambiance of her bedroom. "Speaking of flowers," she continues distractedly, still dizzy from making out, "I also got you some."
Sawyer goes to the far side of her room to grab the mason jar on her windowsill, which is stuffed full of stems with an abundance of tiny white blossoms. She sets the bouquet of camellia flowers down in its place. When she spins around, she comes face-to-face with Harry, who's pretending he didn't just get caught looking over her shoulder.
"Hi," he whispers, innocently tapping his foot on the carpet.
She internally melts when she notices his tired eyes. "Do you want to go to bed? This can wait until tomorrow."
He shakes his head, albeit letting out a ferocious yawn. "It's our first Valentine's Day as a couple. Don't wanna waste it by zonking out."
"Okay. Well, here." She nervously thrusts forward the jar. "These are baby's breath. They, um, represent everlasting love. I know it's stupid, but—"
"Sawyer Alejandra, are these for me?" he interrupts teasingly.
She could have gotten him a classic bouquet of roses or an elegant arrangement of tulips. Yet when the nice lady behind the counter told her the meaning behind the flower with a delicacy that rivaled Harry's, the hidden romantic side of her won.
"Hand-picked specifically for you," Sawyer says quietly, hoping the moonlight shining through the window doesn't accentuate the blush staining her cheeks. "Someone was selling flowers downtown at the Plant Street Market, and I couldn't resist."
Harry smoothly grabs her hand and pulls her in for a suffocating hug, being careful of the flowers between their bodies. "Wait, did you say they represent everlasting love?" he mumbles curiously.
"Maybe."
"What's that all about, honeybee? Can't get enough of my sweetness?"
She releases herself from his trap of love before she tackles him out of sheer adoration. "Go change into something more comfortable. I need to brush my teeth."
Once that's done and Harry is in his pajamas, which consist of a retro graphic tee and a white pair of boxers (as well as his prescription tortoiseshell glasses he doesn't wear enough), Sawyer scoots over on her twin bed to make room for him. She's working on saving money for a bigger bed since they both have fallen off too many times whenever they have sleepovers.
As the electric fan on her nightstand hums lowly, they sit against the headboard and look at each other. It's not awkward nor a mystery as to why they're doing it. It's simply a moment where Sawyer soaks her sunray in, realizing that maybe absence really does make the heart grow fonder. And in that moment, she can feel something cosmic break through the silence. A shrouded love that went unspoken for years is now center stage and glowing magnificently.
Nothing glows brighter than when the stars align.
Harry makes the first move by taking her hand in his. "I have something else for you," he says, swallowing and shifting closer to her. "It's sort of a Valentine's Day gift mixed with an early six-month anniversary gift."
Another gift? Doesn't he know his presence alone is enough for her?
Sawyer's eyes dance around his figure, noticing his timid body language. "You're making me nervous."
He gives her a handsome smile and pertly kisses her knuckles. "Good kind or bad kind?"
"Depends on the gift."
While tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he tells her, "Check under your pillow."
She pulls back and makes a face at him. "When did you put something there?"
"It's always been there, silly goose."
"Yeah, right." Sawyer reaches under her pillow and moves her hand around until it hits something solid. She grasps the unknown object, pulls it out, and then opens her palm. What lies there is a black ring box.
"Sawyer," Harry starts after clearing his throat, still holding her hand, "I miss you all the time. When I'm thousands of miles away, I call just to hear your sweet voice. When I can't sleep at night, I think about you until I dream about you. Even when you're right beside me, and I'm smothering you with affection, I still can't seem to get enough."
Her eyes widen in unforeseen panic. "Are you proposing right now? Harry, I don't think I'm—"
"Not yet, baby," he says with a quiet laugh. He nods his head toward the box in her hand. "Take a look."
Sawyer shivers at his weighted statement that he spoke as a light breeze. She waits until her goosebumps go away, then gently lifts the top of the box to reveal a beautiful gold ring resembling the top half of the sun.
"This... gosh, this is stunning!" She looks at him, mouth agape. "I love it. Thank you so much."
Harry plucks it out of the silky cushion and slides the band on her ring finger. It fits perfectly, the aureate metal complementing her tan skin.
"For when it's dreary in Orlando, and your sunray can't be here with you."
Sawyer admires it for a little longer and then gives him a big hug, which he reciprocates with an even bigger hug. "I love you," she says into his neck. "You're the absolute sweetest."
"Love you forever." He pulls away and gives her a gentle noogie. "It's also, like, a promise ring if you're comfortable calling it that. It's just that I love making you happy. I swear, making you smile and laugh is my favorite thing to do, and I... Sawyer, I want to do that for as long as you'll let me." He lets a tender kiss linger on her lips before vulnerably murmuring, "Please let me."
She cradles his face like it's made of glass and nods firmly. "I'll let you. I promise."
Harry holds his pinky out, and Sawyer hooks hers around it without a second thought. "Can I tell you another thing?" he asks, using their interlocked pinkies to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"Anything."
His eyes pinch shut. "I get scared whenever I have to leave you for a long time. I get this weird feeling in my belly."
She tilts her head to the side. "How come?"
One corner of his mouth downturns, and it shatters her heart. Shrugging meekly, he mutters, "Because I don't want you to forget about me."
She stares at him with cloaked bewilderment. He really doesn't know how often he crosses her mind or how often he's made her feel like the only girl in the world. Maybe it's her fault for not telling him enough. Either way, it's appalling that a boy like him can't see how remarkable he is. She would do anything to experience life through his eyes.
"Harry," Sawyer says with the utmost sincerity, "how could I ever forget about you? When I see the sun, my first thought is you."
His eyebrows raise at her candidness. "Wow. Have you ever considered becoming a romance novelist?"
"I'm serious," she says, fidgeting with his long fingers. "Don't deflect, okay? Let me love you with my words."
"I'm sorry." Apologetic lips press against her forehead for two seconds. "Sorry. I'm just so scared of getting this wrong. You're the best thing to ever happen to me, and I'd never forgive myself if I screwed it up."
"You do everything right." Is it not obvious? "Just listen to me for a moment. I feel like I don't compliment you enough."
Harry blinks sluggishly and works his way down the bed until they're both lying down, facing each other nearby. "I'm all ears. If I fall asleep, it's only because your voice is like a lullaby."
Sawyer feels her fatigue wash over like an ocean tide under the moonlight. "You are so beautiful," she tells him, the dim glow from her lava lamp making his facial features appear softer. "I love how your lips are the same color as the bubblegum you always chew. They taste like it too." She inhales and shifts her head on the pillow to get a better look at her boyfriend. "I also love your eyes. The crinkles around them when you're happy make me swoon. And don't even get me started on your dimples."
"Stop, baby." Harry buries his face in her pillow and lets out an embarrassed whine.
"And I love your nose so much. Did you know it moves when you talk? Isn't that something?"
"Hate you right now," he grumbles.
"Look at me." She pushes his head until it tilts back. "What I love most is your heart. I'd live there if I could."
"You already do. Moved in the summer of '87."
Sawyer giggles for some reason or another. It's probably giddiness; she's too sleepy to make sense of anything. Harry tries to stifle his laughter, but it comes out in infectious bursts. Breathy and raspy, the sound could undoubtedly open the gates of heaven.
There's a stretch of comfortable silence before his eyebrows dip in thought. "Hey, would you ever want to live with me? Like, actually?"
"Would I—" She briefly pauses, air leaving her lungs in an astounded exhale. "Would I ever live with you? Of course. Yes, absolutely."
Sawyer had fantasized about it even before Cupid struck her with his gold-tipped arrow. Visions of waking up slowly beside Harry in a much bigger bed to sprawl out on, sunrise snuggles and klutzy kisses passing the time before rumbling stomachs disrupt their bliss. Admiring him from her place on the kitchen countertop, watching him flip pancakes while he's shirtless and humming along to the radio. Staying up until midnight creeps around, consuming outlandish game shows on the television and throwing popcorn into each other's mouths. Lying on the backyard hammock in the summer, sticky popsicle lips cooling sweaty skin. Dancing in the driveway during a rainstorm, feeling like the only two people who exist solely for each other.
Soulmate. That's the word.
Harry rubs at his eyes with a shy smile, seemingly having drifted off into a reverie about it too. "Okay. Can we do that soon? I mean, whenever you're ready. But soon, please. I want permanent sleepovers." He's quiet for a few seconds before languidly adding, "I love the smell of your house. If I could bottle it as a cologne, I'd wear it 24/7."
Sawyer scratches his scalp. "You need to sleep. You're so jet-lagged right now."
"Sleep is for the bleak," he mumbles, his lips barely moving from being smushed against the pillow. "Wait... that's not right. Is it weak?" He pokes her side like a needy child. "Sawyer, how does that phrase go again?"
"Put your beams away, sunray. Let the moon have her moment."
He shakes his head stubbornly. "Tell me about your day. What's the scoop? Where did you go? Who did you talk to?"
"Shush, your voice needs rest," she says gently, pulling some of his hair up in a ponytail. "It sounds like you ate a bowl of gravel."
Making a displeased noise of protest, he further insists, "But I wanna talk to you."
Every delayed movement and drawled speech of his is becoming more prominent. Maybe talking to him is the most efficient way to get him to doze off. Plus, it's tough to say no when he's in a state of such endearing drowsiness.
"Fine. You get one question to ask me."
Harry's lips slowly tug up in a smile. "Oh, are you an oracle now?" he teases, accidentally knocking his bony knee against her shin when he shifts his legs. "Oopsie. Sorry."
Sawyer whimpers from the fleeting pain before pulling the blanket over both of their bodies. "Is that your question?"
"No, gimme a second to think of a good one," he replies with a pout. After a moment of serious pondering, he asks, "When did you first realize you were in love with me?"
It's an unexpectedly profound question that comes from somewhere deep and locked away in his heart. Sawyer was ready to receive an odd question about conspiracy theories or the existence of aliens, not one that elicits an answer she couldn't possibly form into a coherent sentence.
"I'm not sure if there was a specific moment," Sawyer says, tracing Harry's cheekbone with her thumb. "It happened gradually, I think. I obviously thought you were attractive from the get-go, but I fell in love with your personality once I got to know it better. You're one hell of a charmer."
Harry's eyes close, yet he still has enough energy to confess, "I fell for you so fast. Did you know that? God, I was crazy about you. Still am, but all those years of being too cowardly to admit my feelings were like a volcano waiting to erupt. Then that perfect night in September" — he makes an explosion noise with his mouth — "made my heart overflow with red-hot love lava. Hey, just like your lava lamp. If it wasn't pink, that is."
This is what happens when he's on the verge of sleep. He talks and talks until his sentences jumble together, and bizarre similes are somewhere mixed in between. She's concerned he won't have a working voice in the morning.
"Sunray."
"Hmm?"
Sawyer takes off his glasses and folds them before setting them on her nightstand. "Let's go on a date tomorrow where we can talk about it all we want. The sooner we go to sleep, the faster we can wake up."
Harry tangles his legs with hers, tucking her into his warm body. "Yay," he whispers excitedly. "Can we go to Tinker Field and make out under the bleachers? Or in the dugout? Whichever you prefer, I don't mind."
"At least take me out to dinner first," she quips.
The joke flies right over his head as he slips further into unconsciousness. "Sure, we can do that. There's that new Mexican restaurant on Orange Avenue. I want to try their queso fritos. Maybe we can make some for breakfast instead and have a cooking day or something."
She desperately wishes she could continue the conversation, but the heat radiating from his body is putting her under a sleep spell. "Mm-hmm. Goodnight."
Harry inhales deeply with a stretch, then wraps her tightly in his arms. "Sweet dreams, Valentine."
A kiss from the sun seals onto her skin, promising lasting love for as long as she lets him.
Infinity is what she chooses.
——