Grown in the Light of a Dying Star

[Katpride]

Curie couldn’t hold her gaze; they looked away, leading her along in another turn of the waltz with quiet, desperately awkward contrition written so clearly across their features it might as well have been stamped there in permanent ink. The silence dragged on, and they cast their gaze about, finally taking in the landscape they’d been so eager to explore.

The garden really was beautiful. They’d been right about that, at least. It was open to the sky, the barely-there shimmer of the atmospheric dome high above all that sat between them and the twinkling stars. Many-petaled flowers in shades of white and gold grew along tall, pale-leafed hedges, swirling in patterns that looked both carefully planned and naturally meandering. There were statues and pillars and hanging planters, each embellishment lit by carefully arranged lanterns so that everywhere they turned, they spotted a new line in the silent testimony to the wealth of the gala’s hosts that was this grand, austere garden, all of it bathed in soft, warm light that left precious little room for secrets.

They directed their gaze down further, noting the smooth, uninterrupted expanse of pale grass that stretched between the hedges and the stone path, growing in neat lines between the gray only where it would add to the picturesque beauty of the scene, all of it measured and cut to monotonous, curated perfection.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. It might as well have been locked behind three inches of plex and a velvet rope, for how wrong they felt for having stepped within its domain. Every detail was like a tiny thorn, catching in their thoughts and reminding them anew that they didn’t belong here. That none of this was meant for them.

But they couldn’t look away. Now that they’d noticed it, they couldn’t stop noticing things like the gold leaf brushed over the extrusions on the pillars, or the delicate, branching metalwork on the lanterns, each one a miniature sculpture in its own right. Engineered perfection like this took time and patience and money. Stars, so much money. So much gold. What a waste.

They’d stopped dancing, they realized with a sudden jolt, abruptly aware of the heavy weight of multiple pairs of eyes boring into them through the large windows to the reception hall. How long had they had an audience?

Curie didn’t dare to turn, only staring up at Jupiter with a horrible, inevitable, slowly-building realization sparking somewhere in their wide, dark eyes as she curved gently towards them, all of her lovely and sincere and just as stark against the backdrop as they were, except that for her it was a statement, a rebellion, intentional and bold and so wonderfully, terribly Jupiter that their heart clenched, a painful, paradoxical spasm that set off a wave of stinging prickles behind their eyes. Because she did belong to this world, or at least her family did. She could have any part of it that she wanted. And if that was true, then why would she ever want them? They weren’t even a proper engineer. They were a nobody, and always would be. They felt almost sick, waves of ice and fire racing up their spine and down their arms, and in another jolt of terrible clarity they quickly tore their hands out of hers before their freshly-placed circuits could misfire and shock her.

“I…” Their voice shook, but held, words stuttering out through glitter-covered lips even as they stumbled back, tucking their softly sparking hands into their elbows and hunching their shoulders against the too-cool breeze. “I have to… go. I have to go. I’m sorry. So, so sorry. Goodbye.”

They finally tore their gaze away from hers, head snapping to the side in one sharp jerk before the rest of them followed, a neat 180 turn shuddering into one step, then another, then many more as they pulled together the tattered ends of their composure and walked quickly away, leaving their friend, the garden, and the shattered remains of two broken hearts far behind.

 

[Yuyo]

She couldn’t name the feeling, only that it hollowed her out. Devastation. Heartbreak. Misery. Words felt too small, too clean to express the sensation in a precise way.

Her fiery curls fell like a curtain as her head lowered, inch by inch, until the only thing she could see was the cracked ground beneath her.

Then came the droplets, soft, unceremoniously staining the ground like quiet rain. Her eyes burned, probably from the mascara, though that discomfort barely registered compared to the pain leaving her breathless.

Jupiter didn’t just feel rejected. She felt exposed. Humiliated. For once, she couldn’t tune out the curious stares that watched from afar. She didn’t care what they thought, not really. What consumed her was the aching certainty that she was unlovable. That Curie had fled, left her standing there with parted lips and outstretched hands, the memory of their touch now a cold sting on her skin. Her heart still ached for them, without anger, without blame. Just longing.

The soldier in her tried to rationalize it. Maybe she’d hoped too much. Maybe she’d misread everything. Why would they want her? The question hung in the air, unanswered, unanswerable.


She walked further into the grass, each step silently begging she'd not be followed. No voices. No whispers. No reminders. Just the fragile hope that Curiosity might return.


But they didn’t.


-


Jupiter's eyelids fluttered open and back closed a few times, feeling heat rise of her pale features as she realized where she was, and what was happening in front of her, her lips had a now recent ghost, not from that night but from the very moment she was living, she reached out to touch them with the tip of her fingers. Her expression was conflicted, strained almost. She wanted this, she had begged the stars to align and accomplish her wish, yet that never happened, and now, as their world collapsed... It felt like some sort of cruel joke, even more so as she looked into Curie's eyes.

Deja Vu.

Her chest did its best effort to rise properly as she breathed in what little air she was able to get.


She was ready to say something, she was ready to complain, to ask why she'd left that night, why she never said anything or called or even messaged her, but it was impossible for her to do any of that, after all, it wasn't as if she had tried to get close again after that, she also ran, as much as it hurt her to admit so. A crackle of the metal bending around the halls brought he back to reality, their time was short, her questions could be answered later, and so, rather than pushing away Curiosity, she extended a firm hand, something akin to sadness in her eyes despite her best attempts at hiding it.

"Let's go." Her tone, a weak attempt at seeming flat, came out shaky, just like her breath. It didn't take a genius to see through Jupe's facade and find someone who was just as scared and worried as Curie, and yet there she was, trying to push through,

 

[Katpride]

Curie’s gaze darted between the offered hand and her friend’s face at least twice before she swallowed, summoned an equally shaky smile, and took it. Her grip was almost too tight, crushing the woman’s fingers in her own before she finally took a breath and, with a glance at their hands and a little apologetic, “oh! sorry,” loosened her grip.

“Okay,” she said, sounding somewhat steadier than she truly felt. She couldn’t seem to find anything to look at that didn’t make her nervous, but her eyes met Jupiter’s for a long moment, and she raised her other hand to rest it very gently on her friend’s jaw, fondness and regret warring against her need to just fix things, to put them right once and for all while she still had the time. (Because she came back, even after all the hurt and all the time that had passed. She had returned to Curie’s world just when she needed her to, like a guardian angel she didn’t deserve, and it wasn’t fair that doing such a good thing was putting her in danger, too. It just wasn’t.)

She settled for tucking a lock of hair behind Jupiter’s ear, one side of her smile dimpling as she bit the inside of her lip. She couldn’t tell if her resolve was firming or crumbling, but she tore her eyes away regardless, leaning over to snag a holo-tablet from between two computers and tugging until the charging chord popped off and retracted back into the port. Pulling the two solid edges of the screen together made it condense into a much more easily-transportable cylinder, and she tucked the device into a pocket on her overalls, flicking her eyes up just once more before turning to the twisted doors that led out into the hallway. “Okay,” she said again. “Let’s go.”

She let Jupiter lead the way through the increasingly beaten-up hallways, hands still locked firmly together except for when she needed both of them to clear an obstruction. Eventually, they found the hangar where Jupiter had left her ship, and Curie hurried over to the beautiful, functional machine in question, throwing her arms around one of the wheel struts just in time to catch herself as the station bucked violently beneath her feet.

The suddenness of the jolt made her shriek in surprise, but she quickly subsided into relieved laughter as she patted the cool metal that had caught her, nuzzling the support with open fondness and lowering her voice to a murmur as she touched the circuits in her fingertips to the painted metal, establishing a very tenuous connection to the machine. “Well, hello beautiful. What a big, brave ship you are. Ready for one more adventure?”