Episode 10( season 1 finale): Fireflies and futures.

The field of dandelions stretched out like a silver sea under the late spring sky, its fluff glowing faintly in the moonlight. Anne stood at its edge, her boots sinking into the soft earth, her breath catching as she tilted her head back to adore the night. Stars spilled across the heavens, a reckless scatter of light that seemed to pulse with secrets, and the air hummed with the quiet song of crickets. She'd slipped away from the apartment after a long day, drawn to this place where the Star Catcher Festival had left its mark months ago—a place that felt like theirs now, hers and Deon's.Fireflies began to flicker around her, tiny embers dancing in the dark, their glow weaving patterns that felt alive. She reached out, letting one land on her finger, its light pulsing like a heartbeat. The beauty of it—of this night, this moment—tightened her chest, a swell of something vast and unspoken. She didn't hear Deon approach until his voice broke the stillness, soft as the breeze."Thought I'd find you here."She turned, and there he was—his green jacket catching the moonlight, his brown hair tousled, his sky-blue eyes reflecting the stars. He carried a blanket under one arm, a quiet smile playing on his lips. The sight of him stirred that familiar ache, the one that had grown since the festival, since his promise and hers."Couldn't sleep," she said, her voice low. "Needed this."He nodded, stepping closer. "Me too."He spread the blanket over the dandelions, flattening a small patch, and they sat, the fireflies swirling around them like a living constellation. Anne leaned back on her hands, the cool earth grounding her, while Deon sat cross-legged, his knee brushing hers. The silence between them was thick with possibility, a thread pulled taut."Look at them," she murmured, watching the fireflies. "Like little stars we can touch."Deon followed her gaze, his smile softening. "Yeah. Makes you feel like anything's possible, doesn't it?"She glanced at him, catching the weight in his tone. "What's on your mind?"He didn't answer right away. Instead, he shifted closer, the space between them shrinking until she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of pine and ink that clung to his skin. The fireflies danced higher, their light painting his face in fleeting gold, and her pulse quickened, sensing something coming."Anne," he said finally, his voice a whisper against the night, "you're the reason I'm here. Not just here, in this field, but… everywhere. You pulled me out of nothing, gave me a shape, a story. I've been chasing that ever since—trying to be something worth keeping."Her breath hitched, his words sinking into her like roots. "Deon…"He reached for her hand, his fingers threading through hers, rough and real. "You're the star I caught," he went on, his gaze locking with hers, "the one I didn't know I was wishing for. Every step I take, every word I write—it's all because of you, because you're the light I can't let go of."She froze, the words trembling between confession and poetry, cloaked just enough to let her breathe. He stood, pulling her up with him, and before she could speak, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight against his chest. The fireflies spun around them, a halo of light, and his voice brushed her ear, soft and sure."You're my home, Anne," he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. "The place I've been running toward all along. Don't ever stop being that, okay?"Her arms tightened around him, her face pressed to his shoulder, and she felt the truth of it—the love he didn't name but painted in every phrase. It wasn't a question, not yet, but a promise wrapped in starlight, and her heart answered before her voice could. "I won't," she whispered, her words muffled against him. "I'm here, Deon. Always."He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes searching, and for a moment, she thought he'd say it outright—those three words hovering unspoken. But he didn't. He smiled instead, a quiet, radiant thing, and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering. The fireflies flared brighter, as if they knew, and the night folded around them, romantic and infinite.They stood there, locked in that embrace, the dandelions whispering beneath them, the stars bearing witness. Anne didn't need the words—not tonight. She felt them in the way he held her, in the glow that surrounded them, in the promise they'd already made. He loved her, and she—well, she was falling too, slow and steady, into something she'd never dared imagine.Five Months LaterThe late summer sun dipped low, casting golden streaks through the windows of The Dandelion Pour, Anne's new bar. The grand opening was in full swing, the small space alive with chatter and clinking glasses. Exposed brick walls glowed under string lights, wooden tables gleamed with fresh polish, and a chalkboard menu boasted cocktails named after her life—The Sleepless Night, The Star Catcher, Deon's Ink. She stood behind the bar, pouring a draft for Nina, her apron smudged with lime juice, her smile weary but bright."Place looks amazing, girl," Nina said, leaning on the counter. "You're a natural.""Thanks," Anne replied, sliding the glass over. "Feels good to build something."Matt and Jacks waved from a corner table, their hands wrapped around matching drinks, while Kim Blair—Deon's friend from the Chronicle—chatted with a group of reporters nearby. The crowd was a mix of friends, locals, and curious newcomers, all drawn by the buzz of Anne's venture—and the name on everyone's lips: Deon Travers.He stood near the door, fielding questions from a cluster of admirers, his notebook tucked under his arm. Five months had transformed him—his articles for the Chronicle had caught fire, a series on the city's hidden lives that went viral, landing him bylines in bigger papers and a book deal in the works. He was famous now, a journalist with a voice that resonated, but to Anne, he was still Deon—her Deon—grinning at her across the room with that same sky-blue warmth.She'd left editing behind, trading manuscripts for mixology, a leap sparked by the night in the dandelions. That moment—the fireflies, his cloaked confession—had settled something in her, a clarity that pushed her to chase her own dream. The bar was hers, a piece of the magic they'd found together, and tonight marked its birth.Deon broke away from the crowd, weaving through the room to join her behind the bar. "Busy night," he said, his voice cutting through the din. "You holding up?""Barely," she laughed, wiping her hands on a towel. "You?""Same," he said, but his grin was wide, unguarded. "Wouldn't miss this for anything."She poured him a glass of The Star Catcher—gin, elderflower, a twist of lemon—and he took it, his fingers brushing hers. The touch sparked a memory of that night, the fireflies and promises, and she felt it again—the love he'd woven into words, the love she'd carried ever since."You're a hit out there," she said, nodding toward the crowd. "Famous journalist now."He shrugged, leaning closer. "Only matters if you're proud of me.""Always," she said, her voice softening. "You know that."He smiled, a quiet echo of that field, and for a moment, the bar faded—the noise, the people, the chaos—leaving just them, tethered as ever. He didn't say it again, didn't need to; it lived in the space between them, a truth they both knew.The night wore on, laughter and music spilling into the street, and as the last guests trickled out, Anne locked the door, the bar quiet at last. Deon stayed, helping her stack chairs, his presence a steady hum. They stepped outside, the summer air warm and heavy, and stood under the sign—The Dandelion Pour—its letters glowing softly."End of one story," Deon said, his hand finding hers."And the start of another," she replied, squeezing it.They walked home through the city, the stars above a faint echo of that night five months ago. Anne Baker had wanted sleep, and she'd gotten it—but she'd found so much more: a love born from shadows, a life remade in light. Deon was hers, and she was his, and whatever came next, they'd face it together.The dandelions waited, somewhere beyond the concrete, ready to catch their next wish.