“Please, you know how I feel about surprises,” Darling pleaded. “I have a weak constitution. I simply can't handle it!”

Kian's grin grew wider as he whisked her up the green hillside. “Trust me, Darling. It'll be worth it. You'll see.”

She shook her white-blonde curls, but couldn't help smiling as well.

The two neared the top of the slope, and Kian stopped abruptly. He bowed low, then took her hand and kissed it.

“Goodness, what is all of this showboating about, love?” Darling laughed softly.

“As soon as we reach the top, you'll know.” He squeezed her hands. His cheeks crinkled as his eyes danced. She almost wanted to skip about—she felt positively giddy.

Kian escorted her up the last couple of yards, positioning himself to obscure the view. He inhaled, trying to calm himself. Clearly he was just as excited as she was.

“Darling, I want to ask you something. It's very, very important,” Kian grew serious. He leaned toward her. “Very.”

She tipped her head. “Of course, love. I'm listening.”

He lead her forward a little further, his face earnest.

Darling inhaled, then paused. “Why, Kian, have you...” She sniffed again. “Have you baked a cake?”

Her quizzical stare dissolved as he stepped aside to present a picnic. It was set very carefully on a soft yellow quilt, complete with a pound cake, a small tray of scones, and a pot of what she assumed to be hot chocolate. A bouquet of wildflowers sat atop a lidded basket in the middle.

Darling clasped her hands.

“Oh, Kian!” She exclaimed breathlessly. “Did you make all of this?”

He nodded sheepishly, guiding her to take a seat on the blanket. “Well, everything except the basket,” He said as he patted the smooth flip top of the picnic basket. “That's a piece of your marvelous handiwork.” Darling set a hand on the basket wonderingly.

“I know how much you like my cakes. I tried my very hardest on this one. It has lemon in it,” He added pointedly. She laughed with delight, clapping.

“But...why?” She asked, looking over the food. “Of course I'm grateful, but why?”

Kian smiled, turning his gaze down. “It all has to do with my question, my dear.”

Her eyes met his, a question forming behind them. He took a deep breath, then stuck his hand into his pocket.

“Darling, my dear, dear Darling...” He paused, taking in the scent of the grass, the flowers, and the sweets all about them. Soaking in the warmth. Admiring her glow.

“I would like to ask for your hand.” Kian dropped to his knees, withdrawing a small box from the pocket. He held it towards her, his other hand trembling too much to open it.

The flash of Darling's eyes told him she knew without seeing its contents.

Her body shook as she leaned forward, opening the box herself. She blinked hard, mouth gaping.

“My Darling, would you do me the honor of marrying me?” Kian extended the box farther towards her. He pondered if he should have phrased it differently. Should he ask a third time?

Darling quickly seized the small silver ring from the box and shoved it onto her finger. Tears streamed down her soft face.

“My Kian, I would do you the honor every day.” She offered him the ringed hand. He took it, exhaling. His face felt as though it might combust. It was the best feeling in the world.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Lamplighter groaned as he glanced over his shoulder. The last three lamps had already extinguished themselves.

“Is there no way to keep them alight?” He lamented. The boy hovered to one of the lanterns.

“See, they're rather low on oil. And I could help you more if I had something to light them with—and they'd stay going better if they had little doors...” He pointed to the hole on one side of the lantern. “Three sided lamps don't keep out the rain so well, you can imagine.” The boy's round face was full of mirth.

The Lamplighter plodded onward. “I don't have time to refill them tonight, so we'll make do. There's another rod at my house. You may go and grab it so you can help more.”

The boy zoomed to The Lamplighter's side. “Big assumption there, sir. I don't know where you live, and who says I know how to use one of these?” He tapped the rod in the old man's grasp.

The gnarled hands clenched. “Yer making a big assumption that it's hard to use.” His eyes drifted to the clock tower once again. He had already lost so much time.

“Fine. Let's try this. I'll give ye this lighting stick, and you're going to make sure the lanterns we've already visited stay lighted. I'll go get the other rod. Agreed, boy?” He held the rod out.

The boy trained his eyes on the stick, nearly boring a hole in it with his gaze alone.

“You're breaking the deal,” He said softly.

The Lamplighter inhaled sharply. The cold air nearly made him cough.

“Br-breaking the deal?” The man swallowed, trying his best to not wheeze. “What d'ye mean?”

The boy's brown eyes slowly trailed from the rod to the man. “You know you are.”

The Lamplighter's grip loosened. He knew. He knew all too well.

He tossed the rod down, face twisted.

“I don't know yer name, boy! How could I?” He fumed, beginning to pace. The boy was melancholy.

“You agreed to the terms though. Why would you agree if you knew you couldn't uphold them?” His voice was nearly monotone.

The Lamplighter exhaled in a puff of white. He bent over to grab the rod, his shoulder's drooping.

“I agreed because you're my last chance, boy. You offered yer terms knowing that.”

The boy's feet set on the ground for the first time since he met The Lamplighter. His hands clasped behind his straight back. “I think we need a moment of honesty here.”

The Lamplighter stood, narrowing his eyes.

“I offered my terms knowing you couldn't truthfully accept them. I know Darling's name, yes, but I don't know yours. There are many things I don't know. And why I was the only one near when you needed help...I don't know that, either.” The boy's voice held an air of something far beyond his age.

“I know this much, though,” The boy continued. “You need me. But I do not need you. And yet...” He tapped his chin.

The Lamplighter swallowed hard.

“And yet...here I am.” The boy lowered his arm, meeting The Lamplighter's eyes. “And here I'll be, I suppose. By your side. At least until your task is done.”

A tender hand was extended. “I will help you. And I will tell you my name when it's done, if you'll tell me yours.”

The Lamplighter took the hand.

“And I will gladly take the help, my boy.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The Lamplighter hastened towards his dark home, pushing his worn body faster, faster, faster.

He drew a ring full of keys from his pocket, searching.

Panic nipped at his throat as he couldn't find it. Too much wasted time already. Where could that key be? Where could—

He gritted his teeth as he whipped the key to his front door out from the set. He jammed it into the lock and rattled it.

Of course, tonight, of all nights, the lock fought against him. Perhaps the cold had turned the mist to ice inside the mechanisms. The Lamplighter wrenched the key to the side, then kicked the door. It popped open.

He grumbled absently as he strode inside, eyes roving about. A couple of moments passed before he caught sight of what he was after; his backup lighting stick.

He dashed to the corner it was propped in and took hold of it. He grimaced as spiders scattered, leaving their thick webs mostly empty. He pulled quickly, ripping the rod free of the arachnid lodgings. Dust billowed about the room.

The Lamplighter held his tool close as he spun on a heel, headed back out the door. He pulled the door behind him, but didn't care enough to actually latch it closed.

“No time, no time!” He cried, heading off to light more lamps.

The Lamplighter headed to the opposite side of the town as the boy. He wanted to kick himself for not discussing any plans. He could only hope that the boy knew the town well and didn't miss a single lantern. No pressure on either end.

He set to lighting one of the dozen or so lamps along the street outside his home. He paused to study his surroundings, taking heed of the unusual lack of any living creature. He pursed his lips, then continued on his way. There were bigger things to worry about. But still...

The Lamplighter glanced over his shoulder once more. The street was deserted. The wind was but a breath in the air, leaving the flames burning. For that, he was grateful.

Onward he went, lighting lantern after lantern. He dared not look at the clock tower.

The Lamplighter worked as fast as he could, completing row after row of lamps. He prayed they would stay lit.

At first he had been lighting entire streets in a matter of minutes, but he felt his muscles stiffening. This wasn't a good night for his old body. Too cold. Too damp. He pushed himself regardless, tromping down the next avenue with resolve.

His knee buckled under him. Grabbing hold of the lamppost he was below, he barely saved himself a rather painful fall.

The Lamplighter leaned on the post for a moment, trying to steady his breathing as he stared over the wide garden to his right. The only thing separating the avenue from the estate grounds was an elegant, but short, wrought iron fence. He ran a hand over the frigid metal. It felt much the same as the lampposts he tended every night. It sent his mind running.

His eyes flew open. His fatigue was getting the better of him, and here he stood, daydreaming precious seconds away!

The Lamplighter turned away from the fence and the expansive property, heading back on his way, when something caught his eye. He turned back to gaze at the mansion situated in the very middle of the garden. A light had appeared in a second floor window, and a silhouette stood watching. He knew in his aching bones it was The Stranger.

The Lamplighter rushed on, desperation growing. He ran over the town map in his mind. There should only be a few more streets left on this side of town...

He rounded a corner to see the boy floating beside a lamp, a fire already glowing within it. The entire road was already lit.

The boy looked up, and the two blinked at each other momentarily. The youth slowly hovered towards the elderly.

“There's only one more street to light. We've almost done it.” The boy's eyes caught the amber hues, but though his gaze was warm, there was a mournful undertone. The Lamplighter tipped his head slightly, giving an imploring stare. The boy returned it with a dimpled smile.

“As soon as this town wakes up, I'll be gone,” He said quietly.

The Lamplighter bit back a choke.

“You what, lad?” He squawked.

“You know what I mean.” Soft hands quickly swiped glistening eyes. A tear escaped down his cheek anyway.

The two locked sight. A nod was shared. And with that, they headed to the next street together.

“Fly up and check the other lamps, will ye?” The Lamplighter asked, jabbing a thumb towards the black sky above. The boy's curly brown hair bobbed wildly in a nod as he zipped upwards. A few moments later he came back down.

“I can't explain it, but it doesn't look like any have gone out. I don't know how that could be, especially with how the weather was when we started...” The boy shook his head. “Doesn't make sense.”

The Lamplighter gave a smile. “Ah, but it does. I suppose it's part o'the rules.”

The comment was greeted with a skeptical look.

The Lamplighter's face softened as he inhaled the air. It felt fresher, somehow. Like it was on the verge of dawn.

They each took a side of the street—the boy on the left, The Lamplighter on the right. The lanterns gradually began illuminating the street once again.

The boy stopped short.

“Oh, no,” He whispered.

“What is it?” The Lamplighter inquired, drawing to a stop as well.

“Look!”

The Lamplighter's eyes followed the boy's finger.

The clock was less than a minute from six--the morning chimes.

The boy leaped forward, shoving his lighting stick into the next lantern. He only had two more. The Lamplighter had three.

The old man silently pleaded for the wick to take.

Two.

He forced himself onward. So close. So, so close.

One.

The Lamplighter's was a matter of steps away from being able to reach the last lantern. His knee buckled.

The clock tower began tolling.