The Wish

Back at the lantern station, Beth hunched over her paper lantern, using her body to shield what she was writing from me.

"No peeking," she said when I leaned closer. "It won't come true if you see it."

"That's birthday wishes."

"Same rules apply." She folded the paper carefully, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. "Okay, done. You?"

I'd written something generic about good grades. Seemed safer than writing what I actually wanted.

We walked to the designated release area by the lake's edge. Other couples and families were already letting their lanterns go, the sky filling with floating lights. Beth held hers with both hands, closed her eyes, and whispered something I couldn't hear.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready."

"One, two—"

We released them together. Mine sailed up immediately, joining the constellation above. Beth's made it about ten feet before a gust of wind knocked it sideways into a cherry tree. It stuck there, tangled in the lower branches, its candlelight flickering pathetically.

"No!" Beth's distress was genuine. She grabbed my arm. "No no no, that's—it has to fly or the wish doesn't..." She trailed off, looking genuinely upset. "My mom always said if your lantern doesn't make it to the sky, it means the wish wasn't meant to be."

"That's just superstition."

"I know, but—" She was staring at her trapped lantern, arms crossed tight around herself despite my jacket. "It was important."

I looked at the tree. The branch wasn't that high.

"I can get it."

"What? No, you don't have to—"

But I was already pulling myself up. The tree was old, with good footholds, and I'd climbed plenty of trees back home. Beth made worried noises below as I shimmed along the branch.

"Please don't fall and die," she called up. "I don't know how I'd explain this to your parents."

I reached for the lantern, carefully untangling the wire frame from the twigs. Oh god it was so hard to climb with my swolen penis insight. It moved and freed itself out of the tucked position so that it pointed again at the bottom like usually. Its frame was now fully visible. It was no raging hard on it was just semi stiff but huge enough to see it. Ok I have to ignore that for now. As I pulled it free, the angle of light made her wish visible through the thin paper. The words were written in careful, clear strokes:

"I wish he knew he doesn't have to be perfect to kiss me."

I froze, hanging onto the branch, staring at those words. Below, Beth had gone quiet.

I climbed down much less gracefully than I'd gone up, nearly dropping the lantern twice. Maybe she will not see it, after all it is really dark out here. When my feet hit the ground, Beth was standing very still, her face unreadable in the shifting light.

She stares directly to my pants. Oh now I am fucked! But she blinked and looked me again in the eyes. "Did you..." She swallowed. "Did you read it?"

There was no point lying. "Yeah."

"Oh." Her voice was very small. "And?"

I set the lantern carefully on the ground. My hands were shaking, and there was dirt under my fingernails from the tree bark. I probably had leaves in my hair. This wasn't how I'd pictured it—not perfect at all.

"Beth—"

"Because I meant it," she said in a rush. "I don't need some movie moment. I just need you to stop overthinking every—"

I cupped her face with both hands, dirt and all, and kissed her.

It was absolutely not perfect. I came in too fast and our noses bumped. She made a surprised squeaking sound. She was on her tiptoes and I was bending too far and the angle was all wrong. My thumb smudged dirt on her cheek.

But then she made this tiny sighing sound and melted against me, her cold hands fisting in my shirt, and suddenly it didn't matter that it wasn't perfect. Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of yakitori sauce. When she tilted her head to fix the angle, everything clicked into place. Yes everythink. My cock was now semi errect against her thin legs. It was like a 5th leg between us. But she doesn't seem to care.

We broke apart because she started giggling. She looked down at my pans than up to my hair.

"Sorry," she gasped, pressing her forehead against my chest. "I'm not laughing at—that was—I just—" She looked up, grinning so wide it must have hurt. "You have a leaf in your hair."

"I have several leaves in my hair."

"You do." She reached up to pick one out, then left her hand there, fingers curling into my hair. "That was terrible."

"The worst."

"We're really bad at this."

"The absolute worst."

She was still grinning. "Want to try again?"

"Yeah."

She laughed, bright and real. "Good. But first—" She grabbed her lantern from the ground. "Help me throw it higher this time? I think the wish already came true, but just in case."

We stood side by side, her hand over mine on the lantern frame.

"One, two, three—"

We launched it together, with more **** this time. It sailed up, wobbling slightly, then caught a proper air current and drifted up to join the others.

Beth stayed pressed against my side, my jacket drowning her small frame, watching her wish float away. "My mom's going to freak out when I tell her about this," she said quietly. "In a good way. She's been worried about me making friends here."

"Is that what I am? A friend?"

She elbowed me. "Shut up." Then, softer: "Hey. Come here."

She turned to face me, reaching up to frame my face with her cold hands. "Let's try again. Properly this time."

This kiss was better. Still not perfect—she had to stay on her tiptoes and my back was going to ache from bending down—but her mouth was warm and sure against mine, and when she hummed happily, I felt it everywhere.

"There," she said when we parted, satisfied. "Much better. Though you still have leaves in your hair."

"You have dirt on your cheek."

"Whose fault is that?" But she was smiling, tucked against me as we watched lanterns drift past like falling stars in reverse. "This is good though. This is really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She squeezed my hand. "Worth freezing my ass off for."

Above us, her lantern had become indistinguishable from all the others, carrying its no-longer-needed wish up into the dark October sky.

What now? Was that the end of our date? I think not.