Chapter Text
Steven doesn't question the situation he wakes up in.
Flopped on the couch, still wearing his graduation regalia with that silly cap over his face. It was a long day, he probably fell asleep without realizing. Yawning quietly, he pushed his cap aside and sat up, stretching briefly.
Everything was as he'd left it, but he was still alarmed by the stole on his wall. He smiled at it, his chest swelling a bit with pride. Then he seemed to deflate, remembering the sole thing that had been missing from his ceremony.
It was stupid to have held out so much hope that his mother would be there, but it still got to him every time. Maybe this day had just seemed so special that in his mind he saw no reason why she wouldn't break the pattern just this once and drop by for a spell. He sternly reminded himself that he was not special. She was probably busy with all the...things. That she did. Those things. Yeah.
Standing up, Steven wandered to the bathroom and changed into some comfier clothes, feeling worse every minute.
"It's not that she doesn't care, you're just making a big deal out of nothing. All they did was hand you a piece of paper." He told himself. For some reason that only made it worse.
By the time he'd finished changng, he was feeling so lousy that he considered just going straight to bed and trying to forget the whole day had even happened.
But he had made a promise to himself, of what to do whenever he felt like this. It seemed a little counter intuitive right now, but he was going to read the letters his mother always sent him. Heck, he had some free time, maybe he'd finally hang them up on Gus' tank like he'd been meaning to do.
He crossed over to his desk and lazily flipped through the stack of postcards, glancing over words he'd read a hundred times, stories and poems he'd memorized by heart, that slightly sloppy cursive he immediately recognized as his mother's. Stacking them all neatly, he grabbed a tin of thumb tacks from his desk and wandered over to Gus' tank to put them up.
"Mum's been sending them ever since I moved out here." He murmured to the little fish. "So I have her here even when she doesn't ever visit." His tone had soured at the end, and he frowned to himself. Truer words had never been said, but it stung to think of his mother that way. Sure she couldn't stop by, but that was the whole purpose of the postcards. Giving a quiet sigh, Steven set the cards on a nearby chair and began pinning them up, one by one. He wondered sometimes if his mother had really visited all the places pictured in glossy HD on the back of each card. Greenland, Paris, The Swiss Alps. He'd always wanted to see the alps. Maybe she'd take him one day.
He was putting up a card with a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge, when the next one in the stack caught his eye. He'd never seen it before. It pictured beautiful moonlit dunes beneath a starry sky. Steven was immediately enamored. He often dreamed of what the sky was like in Egypt all those thousands of years ago. But where did this card come from? Had it gone unnoticed in yesterday's mail? Picking up the card, he distractedly felt for a chair behind himself, pricking one of his fingers on a tack. He ignored the sharp pinch and swept the open box to the floor, sitting and eagerly turning the card over. The sound of tacks clattering on wood couldn't even get his attention as he anxiously pored over the smudged text.
"You graduated! I knew all along that this day would come! I'm so, so proud of everything you've done. All that work that led up to this moment, you better frame that diploma and laminate it with gold. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, but I hope that doesn't undermine the pride you must be feeling in this moment. That's what I want you to remember looking back on this. You did something amazing, all on your own, even when i couldn't support you. Steven, you are so, so special. Everywhere you go, you leave behind a trace of wonder. You have so much passion and love for what you do, and every day when I listen to your voicemails, I'm inspired in ways I never thought possible. They say to shoot for the moon, but you have always been there, beaming down on me. Ma'at will guide you forward. Don't let my absence weigh on you. There will be sweeter summers. I love you, my moon.
Tears began to dot the card as Steven read the last line. He didn't know it, but the tears weren't all his own. Suddenly the letter in his hand seemed as fragile as gold leaf, he pressed it protectively to his chest, and just... sat there. His eyes squeezed shut, and he imagined himself back at the ceremony, but this time the blurry silhouette of his mother stood before him, smiling, speaking the words she'd written to him here. He could feel his cheeks grow wet with tears, but he pretended they were tears of joy, spilling from his eyes as his mother wrapped him in a tight hug. A large part of him hoped her words were true. One day, he wanted to stand before the person who wrote him all these letters, and be able to tell them just how much it meant. He dearly hoped that there would, in fact, be sweeter summers.