Chapter Text
‘And when he shall die, / take him and cut him out in little stars, / and he will make the face of heaven so fine, / that all the world will be in love with night’
It was seemingly, strangely, unusually cold for an October night. A few weeks before Halloween, and already there was a chill in the air. The night sky like a drop of ink on the frozen paleness of the back garden.
The air seemed to freeze around everything. Blades of grass stood upright like green soldiers; the paving slabs glistened a little with thawing ice- not quite cold enough to form crystals. In the centre of the lawn the telescope stood, its legs sinking lopsidedly into the cold mud. Condensation had begun to form on its smooth and jet-black surface, making out just the faintest shape of a handprint on its side.
The night was as silent as it was cold- without a whisper of wind. Suddenly, ice-shatteringly, the thump and slam of the backdoor seemed to break the spell. Its own frosted glass seemed shocked into melt as it shuddered on its hinges, a fog of condensation quickly settling on the window. The grass crunched underfoot like broken glass, trodden and wet by the makeshift observatory consisting of a battered deckchair, a woven blanket and the telescope. Its cap came off with a pop, and the figure sighed into the night as its lens shone clear in the near blackness.
The young man ruffled his free hand through his mess of dark curls, a sleepless evening already wearing under his eyes. It was late, and his wristwatch ticked soundly like a promise. His little black book had said: midnight. He peeked through the eyepiece, frowning, and began to shift its legs until he seemed satisfied at the patch of sky it glared at. He had to bend awkwardly because he was so tall, winking each eye in turn to focus at the nearby star, occasionally pulling out a worn handbook from his too small coat and compared it to the sky. Sighing, and his breath fluttered into tiny clouds, he sat tiredly into the chair. It sagged under weight and its own age.
He wasn’t particularly hopeful. Brightest over western United States, poor weather, fog- all things the article in the paper had outlined. Brighter than the moon, maybe, but not in this hemisphere. But still, the image that came with it! The silver pale tail curling around a rising sun- as bright as the twilight- and Brian had clutched that image to his heart as he focused on the telescope. Eight times brighter than Venus, on a sun-grazing path that flirted with Earth’s own gravity- how couldn’t he? It could be a little naïve, he admitted to himself as he checked his watch again. Astronomically speaking, it was unlikely. A waste of sleep- the porch light reminded him as an invitation to a warm bed.
Brian yawned, hugging his arms around himself as the wind whipped up and pushed the clouds along the sky. The lens foggy with condensation, making him scrunch up his sleeves and wipe it away. A glint of light refracted through the telescope, and he blinked sleepily as he knelt to look into it.
The sun’s languid glow seemed to fuzz and blur against the skyline, a faint brightness compared to the sweeping tail of the comet that seemed to emerge from between the clouds. Like a searchlight beam; the brilliant, twisted tail of ice and rock winked in the moonlight. And he couldn’t seem to breathe. Shooting stars, weren’t they called once? And his heart seemed to burst with recollection of those fairy tales when he was just a kid- tracing constellations in his dad’s book under stolen flashlight and bedcovers. It seemed to appear from nowhere, now arching gracefully in its sun-bound orbit into his view. His fingers shivered but not from the cold, as he tried the best he could to write without tearing his gaze away from the eyepiece. The notes would probably be illegible, a forgotten part of his brain said as he stared transfixed. This was worth not sleeping, not breathing for- he knew it had to be true. This was worth-
And in an instant, it was gone.
The light flickered from the telescope’s view, and Brian almost toppled back and rubbed his eyes to see the sky. It was not there anymore. The light- the silver-shine tail had vanished. In its stead, as his sleep-reddened eyes adjusted to; three silver pieces seemed to shatter and trail off into the sky in orbit. It was like a silent explosion, as each piece seemed to trail its own blazing tail, as the comet had broken apart.
He flipped through his book, tearing a little at the page, and yes! It said there, how sun grazing comets fragmented and split every five to eight hundred years. Past comets being the remnants of what once must had been great balls of ice and stardust, now fragments. And he had seen one! How often could that be? His heart seemed to flutter as he scribbled the moment- a quick sketch. More like chicken scratch but it would do for now. And before he forgot, the date: October 1965, Comet Unnamed.
He lay back in the chair, lazily gazing at the comet’s crawl through space. For a moment, as Brian gazed, it had seemed like it had collided with something before breaking. The fragments almost bouncing off one of the pinpricks of starlight. Like a pinball machine they had scattered apart. But, and he smiled a little, he knew that was impossible. There weren’t any shooting stars, he sighed, sleep cradling his head.
And somewhere, up there in the sky, the stars answered.
~
‘…comets are characterised as flying icebergs mixed with small amounts of rock debris, dust, and organic matter. They are believed to be aggregates of tiny mineral fragments coated with organic compounds and ices enriched in the volatile elements-‘
“Brian!” A yell came from somewhere in the apartment, quickly followed by thumping footsteps.
‘-unlike the misnomer, a shooting star is another name for a meteoroid that burns up as it passes through the Earth’s atmosphere. So a shooting star isn’t a star at all, rather a celestial body striking the atmosphere at-“
The door banged against its hinges as it slammed open, and Brian winced as the noise would probably get a complaint from downstairs.
“Why the fuck-“ and Brian sighed, putting his textbook down “- isn’t the kettle working?”
Roger puffed in the doorway; his blond hair fallen dishevelled around him. He was wrapped up in Brian’s dressing-gown (which swamped him but Brian didn’t mind with the way Roger looked so small in it), and his bed head cuteness was only offset by his furious face.
“What are you talking about?”
Brian pushed the book off his chest, and rolled off the bed into the slight chill of the morning air.
“The kettle Bri!” Roger whined, a small smile growing on his face by the second as Brian got up. Brian felt a warm fondness in his chest for him, knowing that Roger had probably been waiting for him to get up.
Brian wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and Roger keened into his touch like he was starved for it. He chatted as they walked arm in arm to the part kitchen part living room. Roger was bundled up yet still snuggled in, perpetually cold. He himself had only been awake for twenty minutes or so, his exams weighing too heavy on his mind to slumber. Roger was probably still sore about that too. He had been unceremoniously thrown out of Brian’s bed because he had to study, and Roger Meddows Taylor had had very different ideas about how the night should go.
“-anyways it was cold last night without you, still no heating huh?” Roger nudged his side, partly teasing. Money was tight, and sometimes hot cups of tea was all they could subside themselves with in terms of heat.
“And Fred’s coming around soon! He says if his apartment’s as cold as ours then he thinks sharing body heat is better than freezing to death.”
“He sounds about right.” Brian chuckled, extracting himself from the blond’s grip as he picked up the teakettle. It was cold to the touch, and as Brian turned it on at the switch only the puny orange light at its base flickered, the thing remaining stubbornly broken.
“What did you do Rog?” he groaned, trying again with more irritation as the light just flickered at him, the machine puttering out mechanical sighs.
“Nothing! I swear Bri-“Roger pulled him down to face level, looking at him earnestly “nothing!”
He chuckled, placing a kiss on Rog’s nose to reassure him: “Alright, alright. But it’s still broken.”
“I know…” Roger whined, stuffing his hands into the dressing gown. Pouting a little as Brian turned the thing upside down in some vague attempt to fix it.
“And it’s still freezing! Look, the milk in my tea has frozen solid Bri!” he gestured at the half-made cup, smiling brightly despite the chill up at him.
“Guess we’re going to have to get this fixed then.” He sighed, unplugging and picking up the stupid thing. It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this but, he reluctantly remembered with a shiver, it was also too cold to go without.
“You’re my hero.” Roger smiled sweetly, making him scoff. It would probably be easiest to just carry the thing to the marketplace; he could get a deal there with Freddie’s and Roger’s stall to repair it cheaper. No use buying a new one- not that they could afford it even if they wanted to.
“Hey Rog-“ Brian spoke as he shuffled to put on his shoes, shrugging on his coat “any luck with the new guy?”
“the new- oh!” and Roger’s face flashed in recognition turned quickly to an uncompromising frown.
“Not a thing Bri. He knows nothing, can’t remember a tune either. What’s the bloody point being a bass player if you can’t keep time?”
Roger waved an arm in his direction, chewing on a jam sandwich as he peered into the cupboards.
“Honestly, I might as well take it up- can’t be too different from your guitar?” Roger snorted, smiling back at Brian, “I’d be the singing, drumming bass player-“ he giggled at his own thoughts, a little smudge of red jam on his lip that Brian had the delicious urge to taste. The kettle glared at him as a reminder, and he scowled back.
Bundling the stupid thing under his arm, and leaving Roger with a blooming pink love bite on his neck, Brian remembered his plan: Fix the kettle. Get home as soon as possible. Screw Roger into the mattress before Fred gets here. Perfect.
Everything, Brian thought as he clung to his coat against the winter gale, was not perfect.
Four stalls. Four different electrical stalls that couldn’t fix the fucking kettle. Two didn’t even bother to look, just pointing at their ones for sale despite Brian telling them he couldn’t afford it. One scoffed at him from between his scarf and told him to piss off and throw it away- which he was damn close to doing because his arm ached from carrying it. He hadn’t even considered the shiny electrical store on the corner, with its windows full of polished and glowing televisions, radios and microwaves. It screamed money, money they didn’t have.
So now what? He grumpily hummed to himself, trudging through the rain-slicked streets. It was a little thing, but to be without their routine hot drinks would seriously freeze the apartment- and not just physically. Roger almost bled caffeine- persuaded into his morning classes by Brian and a cup of tea. Maybe they’d ask to borrow Fred’s, or- or-
As he stepped down from the pavement, his grip slipped, and the kettle dropped from his arms onto the blunt road beneath with a thud. He winced. He held his breath as he lifted it up by the handle, his face falling as a serious dent was hammered into the spout.
“-fuck? Really?” he sighed, more in resignation than in anger.
His fingers felt frozen as he inspected it, another thing to add to how today really wasn’t going well. Not even in the slightest. The thought of Roger made him shudder for a second, having to explain this. As he tucked the thing under his arm, a small blinking light caught his attention.
It was a small neon sign, green and hanging over a doorframe to the shop opposite the road- on it was spelled:
REPAIR. Except for the fact that the A kept blinking, like the light was on the brink of failing- silently shouting for attention.
He paused for a moment, curious that he had never noticed this small shop before; crowded under worn awnings and crushed between other stores. It was a little out of his path, he only noticed it because of the light’s attention compared to the other stores that seemed a little dimmer.
As he walked a little closer, Brian noticed a small sign under the neon- in neat short lettering: for all your electrical needs, contact us on – then a number, which was scribbled out, followed by: just come inside. The lights seemed warm, and Brian found himself wondering if it was worth a try. It didn’t seem that this place was going to try to upsell him- the windows filled with plastic covered lamps, a few kitchen appliances plastered in for sale stickers, and boxes of coloured wires and fuses. It was worth a go.
The door shuddered open against the breeze, a tiny bell ringing faintly throughout the shop. It was quite small, only two rows of miscellaneous electrics and a back wall of products, but it was sparkling. Above his head, tangles of lights twinkled- bare bulbs and dusty chandeliers and everything in between caught the fleeting sun and shone. It was a little intoxicating, the heady smell of copper and metal compared to the icy smog of London. Brian came up to the front desk- a small table covered in what seemed to be a disassembled lightbulb with a dusty cash register pushed to the very corner. If it weren’t for the lights, he would have thought the place empty- hand hovering over the small bell on the counter. Before he could press it, a figure appeared from the doorway behind it, carrying a box so large it obscured most of his face.
“Hello?” Brian spoke out, and the man seemed to almost jump- hastily putting the box down on the counter’s edge.
“Oh- hello! Sorry I didn’t hear the-“ the box began to topple with a metal sounding slide of whatever was inside, and the man rushed to grab it at the same time Brian did. He grabbed it a little faster, grey-green eyes wide in surprise as Brian helped him push it back onto the desk.
“Sorry,” he muttered, “sometimes I forget-“ and the man brushed his hands off on his jeans, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off the faint dusting of freckles on his arms.
“My name is John, how can I help?”
“Uh- well I have this… this is broken.” Brian admitted sheepishly, holding out the offending kettle at arm’s length. John’s face creased in confusion, and he nodded to Brian to put it down.
“So, how did this happen-“ he asked, puzzled. Prodding the dent in its spout.
“Brian.” He smiled up at him, and he felt a trickle of warmth at how John smiled back.
“Are you here about this?” he gestured vaguely, “the dent?”
“No, no! It was broken before that, wouldn’t heat anything. That kind of happened after.” And john laughed, in a shy almost silent way.
“Anything else?” he met Brian’s gaze for a little before glancing back down.
“Uh, the light worked but nothing else did? I’m sorry it’s a little early for me.” He chuckled awkwardly, pushing back a stray curl of hair.
“That’s okay! I can take a look at this and try to fix it within the hour- if you want. Kettles like these usually have a broken thermostat or knocked wire, it’s kind of funny ‘cause-“ he stopped, like he had suddenly heard a deafening silence, “if you want of course Brian.”
John was tapping his hands just slightly under the rim of the table, a steady pattern of rhythm that Brian could almost follow. He seemed too shy under his gaze, so Brian nodded enthusiastically.
“Thank you, that would be perfect!” he felt a little proud at John’s returned smile, this time wide enough to see the gap between his teeth.
“No problem, see you in an hour then.” He nodded, picking up the kettle to inspect it. He then appeared with a small screwdriver and began to twist at the many screws lining it’s base.
“How much will it be, do you think?” Brian asked, a cold twist in his gut at the thought.
“Oh um, let me look…” John hummed, and the kettle base came off with a click, and John tilted his head to look at the exposed wiring and heating coils of the kettle.
It was honestly rather mesmerising watching him work. Every movement seemed so smooth- like he was doing it in his sleep, not clumsy startled man earlier. He frowned and cocked his head as he prodded at the ring of heaters. With this, his hair fell from where it had been pushed behind his ear- probably hastily- and brushed over his shoulder and lay there. Soft, auburn, and with a small wave in it that John unconsciously seemed to blow away from his face, Brian felt his eyes linger on the man more than he should have. His hair had a kink in it, a natural curve from where he’d put it up; but instead it curled around his face and brushed his collarbone naturally. Not like Roger’s wild locks that seemed to fall in all directions messily, or how Fred’s was sleek and dark in a way that had Brian braiding it whenever he stayed the night. John barely seemed to notice his stare, tugging back a wire and fascinated by what he found.
“Don’t worry Brian, it’s not too much. The thermostat’s toast, I’ve already got a part to fix it.” He spoke softly, without even looking up at him. Brian shivered.
“Okay well, an hour then.” He smiled as he made his way to the door, knowing the John was smiling too without even looking.