love is the perfect word, actually
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We bickered back and forth. Up until I said, "Sweet dreams, Rock."
You paused for a bit, then chittered curiously, "No understand word."
I had begun drifting off already, but that kept me awake for a bit longer. "Dreams? Hm…"
It only occurred to me then that I never told you just how much of a human's brain stayed active while they slept. The concept of memory consolidation and emotional processing during rest must be foreign to Eridians. I could've gone on a tangent about that alone. I could've told you about the parasympathetic nervous system and all the biological process that happen during REM sleep. I could've told you about the inner workings of my body, in a bid to get you to do the same.
But, with fatigue eating away at my cognitive functions and lowering my inhibitions, I bared my heart to you instead.
"It's like… another life that you live where crazy stuff happens, but it all makes sense." I muttered, raw and vulnerable. "Kinda like today."
I likened meeting you to a dream, and my only consolation is that I don't think you understood the significance of that.
Or: Grace struggles to put a name to his feelings for Rocky.
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- Part 1 of love is the perfect word, actually
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Softly, you admitted, "It reminds me of us, a little. Sometimes I wonder if our meeting was fate. If it was written in red, somewhere in the stars."
"Red," I repeated. "Like astrophage."
If our meeting was truly written in the red of astrophage, then it would mean that the stars started dying for us—that the entire galaxy mourned for them by singing a dirge, and it was loud enough to be heard in the vast silence of the Big Nothing.
Perhaps the universe was torn in two a long time ago and is trying to pull the broken halves back together. For everything comes from stardust, from planets and moons to humans and Eridians. For across trillions of miles' worth of space and billions of years' worth of time, we existed at just the right parameters to have met each other. Then, perhaps the universe made me to love you, and perhaps the universe made you to be loved.
Perhaps that is what you call fate.
Or: Grace confesses his love. Rocky struggles to do the same, though not for the reasons you might think.
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- Part 2 of love is the perfect word, actually