Lucian woke to the sound of someone hammering at his window. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't a hammer—it was Rohan's knuckles.
"Up, sunshine," the man said, leaning in with his usual smirk. "We're going out."
Lucian groaned, burying his face into the pillow. "Out? Where?"
Rohan's grin widened. "To see the real 1985. You didn't travel decades just to hide in my dusty house, did you?"
Five minutes later, Lucian was reluctantly following him down a winding dirt road that led toward the town. The morning air smelled faintly of iron and grass. Crows cawed from telephone wires, and the horizon shimmered under the summer sun.
The town came into view soon after—a stretch of cobblestone street lined with pastel-painted buildings, their windows framed by lace curtains and flower boxes. A red-and-white diner blinked its neon sign even in daylight. A Volkswagen Beetle sputtered by, followed by a boxy Ford sedan.
"Welcome to your history lesson," Rohan said grandly, spreading his arms.
Music drifted faintly from a record shop nearby—Tears for Fears, Everybody Wants to Rule the World. The song mingled with the scent of coffee and fresh bread. Lucian slowed his steps, his eyes wide as though he'd stepped into a film set.
He caught sight of a toy store window—rows of Rubik's Cubes, tin robots, and Game & Watch consoles lined neatly on display. "People actually played with those?" he muttered.
Rohan snorted. "What, don't you have it in your time?"
They walked further, past a newspaper stand plastered with TIME and LIFE magazines. Headlines about the Cold War and music icons filled the racks. A teenage boy on a bike zipped by with a cassette player slung over his shoulder, music leaking faintly from the headphones.
Rohan stopped at a small corner shop with a striped awning and waved at the man behind the counter.
"Morning, Uncle Lin!"
The shopkeeper—a balding man with thick glasses—looked up from stacking soda bottles. "Ah, Rohan! Haven't seen you since you nearly broke my scale last month."
Rohan grinned. "That wasn't me. That was your outdated equipment."
"Outdated, my foot," the man said, then noticed Lucian hovering behind him. "And who's this fine young man? He looks like someone I've seen before."
Rohan laughed too quickly. "A relative visiting from another town. You know how family reunions go—awkward and expensive."
Uncle Lin chuckled, clearly uninterested in prying. He handed Rohan a paper bag. "Here, for old times' sake. Still owe you for helping me fix the light."
Lucian peeked inside—sugar candies, neatly wrapped. His stomach twisted with nostalgia. For a fleeting second, he thought of his mother, the way she used to slip candies into his pockets before school.
They spent the next hour wandering—Rohan chatting idly with townsfolk who greeted him warmly, Lucian quietly taking in everything: the telephone booths, the way kids ran barefoot on the sidewalk, the creak of wooden store signs. There was a certain warmth here, a sense of simplicity that made his chest ache.
By late afternoon, they headed back toward the manor. The cicadas buzzed louder now, the air thicker and heavy with heat. Lucian wiped sweat from his brow and murmured, "It's strange. Everything feels so alive here."
Rohan gave him a sidelong look. "Makes you wonder what we lost along the way, huh?"
But as they turned the final corner, the pleasant air shattered.
Voices echoed from the gates of the Lowell manor—sharp, angry. Lance's father stood by the entrance, his voice booming in fury. Ellis was sitting on the ground, dirt clinging to his knees, his head bowed.
Rohan's expression changed instantly. "What the—"
He ran forward. Lucian followed, heart thudding.
"Ellis!" Rohan crouched beside him. "What happened?"
Ellis didn't answer. He brushed off Rohan's hand, his expression pale and tight, and stood without a word. Then he turned, walking away down the road. His steps were uneven, but he didn't look back.
Lance's father turned, scoffing. "Tell your little friend to stay away from my son." His voice was sharp, cold—nothing like the gentle man Lucian knew.
Before Rohan could retort, the gardener rushed forward, wringing his hands. "Sir Wynn, please… leave for now. The master's temper hasn't cooled yet."
Rohan's jaw tightened. "What happened?"
The gardener hesitated, glancing nervously toward the manor. "The young Master Ellis came to visit… He wanted to see Master Lance and help with his bruises. But when the master saw him, he threw him out. Said there are doctors for that. And then he…"
The old man stopped, lowering his voice. "He said Ellis is a bad influence… That he's been teaching Master Lance about… wrong temptations."
Rohan froze. His eyes narrowed. Lucian blinked, confused. "Wrong temptations?"
The gardener looked between them, uneasy. "I shouldn't say more. Please, just go. Before someone sees you here."
Rohan grabbed Lucian's wrist and pulled him away before he could ask more. They walked in tense silence back to Rohan's small house. The air felt heavier now.
When they entered, Rohan dropped onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. "Of course," he muttered bitterly. "Of course it's that."
Lucian stood there, hesitant. "What did he mean?"
Rohan sighed, looking up at him. "He means your grandfather thinks Ellis is—well—interested in men. And he hates that Ellis is close to Lance."
Lucian blinked, stunned. "That's… ridiculous. Grandpa—he's not—"
"He's not like that now," Rohan said softly. "But back then… people thought differently. And your grandfather? He's one of the worst about it."
Lucian's throat felt tight. He sat down slowly, the wooden chair creaking under him. The image of his grandfather from his childhood flashed in his mind—a kind man, warm eyes, smiling as he handed him a plate of pastries. Kindness is a man's strength, he used to say.
But now, all Lucian could see was the man at the gate—cold, furious, cruel.
Rohan glanced at him, noticed the distant look, and sighed. "Sorry you had to see that. I know it's hard. But you have to accept that this is who he was. If Ellis or Lance ever say bad things about him, don't hate them for it. They're talking about this version of him—the one before he changed."
Lucian looked up. Rohan's smile was tired, almost bitter, as though he was forcing light into a room that refused to brighten.
"Time's a cruel thing," Rohan murmured. "It shows us people before they became the ones we love."
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of the ceiling fan.
Finally, Rohan straightened, forcing a grin. "Anyway. Enough gloom. Tomorrow, we'll find something better to look at."
Lucian managed a small smile, but his thoughts were far away—stuck between the past and the future, between the man he remembered and the man he had just seen.