Saturday's sunlight spilled lazily into the Kent family living room.
Clark and Sarafiel were sprawled on the couch like two cats melted by the sun, completely without a care for appearances.
The TV blared a melodramatic Peninsula soap opera, with the heroine sobbing her eyes out and the hero yelling at the ocean.
"You two."
Locke stood at the door, hoe slung over his shoulder, eyeing the brothers engrossed in the over-the-top drama. He sighed helplessly. "Weren't you supposed to watch some big game today? How'd you get sucked into this again?"
"Huh?!"
Clark snapped out of it, smacking his forehead and nearly launching off the couch. "Oh no! The Monarchs' baseball game! I forgot!"
He scrambled for the remote, frantically switching channels.
Sarafiel pouted unhappily but scooted over to make room for the game.
Locke shook his head, chuckling. "You're on your own for lunch. Harvest Festival's coming up, and the town's swamped with work. Jonathan and I are helping out, and Martha's volunteering at the community center today."
"So…" He pointed toward the kitchen. "There's leftovers in the fridge. Heat 'em up, and don't forget—"
His words were cut off.
The TV erupted with a roaring crowd and a commentator's voice cracking with excitement: "Home run! An earth-shattering home run!"
"My God! Number 12 at bat! This guy's practically an alien! That ball's soaring high and far!!"
Clark and Sarafiel shot up from the couch, hands raised, cheering wildly. "Yeah!"
Sarafiel accidentally socked Clark in the face with a flailing fist.
Locke shook his head with a grin and headed out, his long shadow trailing behind him as he disappeared down the farm path.
Time slipped by amid the game's intense plays.
As the whistle blew for the end of the ninth inning's top half, the game hit a break, and commercials rolled in.
Clark stretched, ready to raid the kitchen for some of Dio's snacks, but…
The TV screen switched, catching his eye.
"Summer Memories! A Classic Returns! Cantaloupe Sundae, Limited-Time Sweet Bliss!"
Cantaloupe sundae?
He blinked.
On the screen, a scoop of vibrant green ice cream, looking like fresh melon flesh, was elegantly drizzled with glistening golden honey, topped with crunchy nut crumbles, and crowned with a plump, juicy cherry that looked ready to burst.
So cool and tempting~
But…
Clark couldn't help but laugh, turning to his brother with a jab. "Who sells sundaes in the fall? Right, Sarafiel?"
His voice stopped short.
Sarafiel was practically glued to the TV, his little nose almost touching the screen.
His eyes were wide as saucers, locked on the green sundae, his mouth slightly open, a silvery thread of drool slipping uncontrollably from the corner.
"Sarafiel?"
Clark waved a hand in front of his face, trying to snap the dessert-obsessed kid out of it. "Hey! Buddy! Snap out of it!"
"Clark, bro!"
Sarafiel whipped around, his small hands clamping onto Clark's shirt like a vice, his dark eyes blazing with desperate longing. "The town! Is that shop in town?! The one with the big sign!"
Clark scratched his head, looking uneasy. "Yeah, there's a place like that… but…"
His eyes flicked to the fine print at the bottom of the ad—
Special Price: $78 per serving
The number made him suck in a breath. "That's almost half a month's allowance! So we—"
Stare—
Sarafiel tilted his little face up, his big, wet eyes sparkling like stars.
Clark felt a wave of dizziness, like he'd been hit by a mental attack.
He swallowed hard, trying to hold his ground. "No… no way, Sarafiel, it's too expensive! If we get that, next week I—"
"Clark."
A sharp voice cut him off from the stairs.
Dio stood at the landing, his golden hair a mess, clearly just woken up.
"D-Dio?"
Clark gave a sheepish grin, feeling a bit guilty. "You're up? Did I wake you?"
Dio snorted, arms crossed, looking down at him with open disdain. "You're really getting worse with age."
"No savings at all, huh?"
With that, he casually pulled a crisp green bill from his robe pocket, not even glancing at Clark. With a flick of his wrist—
A hundred-dollar bill arced gracefully through the air, smacking Clark square in the face.
"A Franklin?!"
Clark's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Dio, how—"
"Take our idiot brother to get his idiot sundae," Dio cut him off, sounding beyond annoyed, like every second was torture. He turned back toward his room. "And don't bother me with your noise again."
"Uh… okay… sure…"
Clark nodded dumbly, the hundred-dollar bill feeling like a thousand-pound weight in his hand.
"Woohoo! Dio's the best!"
Sarafiel bounced in place, his little face glowing with a brilliant smile.
On the TV, the commentator's excited voice chimed in, as if echoing the dramatic moment: "Wow! Look at that pitch! Number 17's value just skyrocketed with that perfect throw!"
Watching Sarafiel gleefully run off to grab his shoes, Clark glanced at the crisp Franklin in his hand.
This world felt a little unreal.
Dio…
Was he possessed or something?!
---
Noon sunlight poured through the large windows, bathing the wooden tables and chairs in a warm golden glow.
Clark propped his chin on one hand, half-amused, half-exasperated, watching Sarafiel fidget across from him.
The kid's eyes were glued to the kitchen curtain, like he could will the cantaloupe sundae into existence with his stare.
"Sarafiel," Clark chuckled. "Staring like that won't make the ice cream appear any—"
"Clark? Sarafiel?"
A clear, cheerful voice, tinged with surprise, came from behind.
Buzz—!
The cantaloupe sundae was here?
No… something even stranger.
Clark stiffened, that familiar wave of weakness flooding his limbs.
He turned slowly and saw her—a familiar girl holding a tray, her chestnut hair tied back in a neat ponytail, her white uniform making her skin look like snow.
It was her.
---
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