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Chapter Text

With her senior year midterms looming over her, she had actually forgotten her birthday. And since she had forgotten, Steven had forgotten too- running on the Gem's clock tends to skew a person's sense of time, after all. It was already December by the time everyone had caught on to what they'd missed way too many months after the fact, and one collective shrug later, the Christmas party at her house is doubling as her birthday party.

A joint Christmas party, no less, the first of its kind in the Maheswaran house. Her parents had went and made friends with the Barrigas when she wasn't looking, and of course Greg is there too. The adult gathering is practically My Child Goes On Space Adventures Anonymous.

Well, 'adult'. She can't really say that anymore, can she? She's adults now. It was her eighteenth birthday, after all. And Lars is back in town for once, nonchalantly sipping at a feni watered down with an excessive amount of Sprite like he hasn't been showing up hungover to work since he was 15. Next to him is Steven, trying with limited success to coach Lars in accessing the pocket space in his pale hair.

Her dad had gotten her a formidable self defense set- if pepper spray won't do the trick, brass knuckles and knives are the next best thing. Mom had rolled her eyes, asking if Dad wanted his daughter to be some sort of back alley criminal, but had eyed the blade appreciatively. In return, he gets his work flashlight, painted brightly with colorful elephants so he won't have to lose it in the dark again.

Then Mom turned around and got her an even more formidable first aid kit fit to arm a back alley doctor. And a limited edition Under The Knife sweater. The exaggerated look of This Object Defies My Very Being is betrayed by the smile that soon follows. And Connie gives her a small collection of novelty pins to wear on her long coat, "for the littler patients".

Mr. Greg had mixed up an Orange Magic Orchestra playlist. "For Japanese practice," he joked with a wink to her parents. She promptly shut him up with the complete, illustrated Passions of Xanxor trilogy. The stammer as he hurries to get it out of the sight of her parents is well worth the embarrassment she lived through to buy the thing.

Lars had brought back a kattari-esque blade made from some alien, dappled metal, and she had quietly slipped him a full barber's kit, for which he was silently grateful. Haircuts are a luxury in space, after all.

Steven had went and gotten her seemingly every Japanese candy she had ever so much as glanced longingly at during their anime stints. There was a lot of konpeito involved. Even the seasonal flavors. Oh, the unsung virtues of teleportation, to be able to buy anything directly from the source. He got to marvel, in turn, at a puffy pair of Cookie Cat shoes that seemed to have hopped straight out of the nineties.

Speaking of, the man himself was gravitating back towards her, the littlest bit rosy from the cold, and maybe a little from the mulled wine the Barrigas have been slipping him over the course of the party. Connie narrows her eyes, tone coy.

"Oh? Are you approaching me?"

"I can't cherish the shit out of you without getting closer."

"Then come as close as you like."

It's less approaching and more gently crashing into her, just in time for one of the many decorations floating around in Steven's bubbles to coincidentally drift closer, and for said bubble to coincidentally contain a sprig of mistletoe. She raises a falsely unimpressed eyebrow.

"Whoops," he apologizes unconvincingly. As if she can't break him into a stuttering mess with a well timed kiss. Which she does. And it's just as rewarding to watch unfold as all the other times.

It takes him a whole two minutes (yes, she timed it) to find words again. "So," he sputters, "college! How's the, uh, applications?"

"Well, I got into Columbia and NYU. Being a valedictorian hopeful probably helped with that."

"New York. That's pretty far out. Guess that's how it is with all the big shot universities, huh?" There's a sad edge to his smile, now. "You'll get out there and leave them in the dust. New York doesn't stand a chance."

"It's only 2 hours by train- and 2 seconds by Lion taxi." 

"You're right," he laughs. "Stars, I'm- I'm just being sappy, I guess. You've always been just a drive away."

"Hey. You know you'll always be welcome at my dinky college apartment." She not-punches at his shoulder. "And I'm coming back every break."

"I know," he whispers, and this time it sounds like he believes it while he holds her close. "My big dumb heart just hates to see you go."

It's almost a dance, the slight embrace, not quite standing still, utterly content to idly sway in time to his father's vintage music playlist. Which is exactly how it all goes to hell.

She had meant to say it at some other time, when one of them wasn't so tipsy and she could use her notes and Google Drive slideshow and maybe a few choice quotes from their favorite books. But that moment, a private quiet in their impossible lives- it had been so real, so very them, that the thought escaped her.

"We should get married."

He stills in her arms, face frozen, as her words spill out of her like uncaged birds.

"FAFSA usually calculates the joint income of the parents, and with Mom and Dad's income, y'know, doctor and private security guard together make alot of bank, I'd probably never get a scholarship. It wouldn't matter if they were paying for me or not, which is stupid and sucks and it's a really a big flaw in the system and anyway! I know you've got money from Mr. Greg's music stuff and space taxes but you don't have a taxable income and FAFSA calculates income through taxes so if we got married right now we'd register as a low joint income and I could probably get a full ride scholarship and avoid the whole "live off of ramen" thing that I keep hearing about. So we should totally get married. For the tax benefits. Also I love you." 

As she loses her momentum, frowning, she takes in that he's still barely moved. "Steven, your silence is deafening."

He doesn't quite respond, his eyes wider than she'd ever seen them, pink aura streaking across his cheeks.

"Steven, are you even hearing me?"

"Yeah..." he whispers distantly, "just gimme a sec..."

He takes one step back, flickering the lights with his shaking laugh, before his knees give out and he drops.

"Steven! Good gracious, are you alright?" Mom props him back up a little, and sighs with relief. "He's only fainted." She takes in the slightly literal drunken glow on his face with a stern frown. "For goodness sake, Dante, how much did you have this boy drink?"

"He's bigger than me, Priyanka, I didn't think he was going to be a lightweight!"

"There's no way it's just the drink." Lars barks out a short laugh. "Connie, girl, what did you do to him?"

"Umm...." Stares. Stares everywhere. "I, uhh... plead the fifth?"

Oh, I'm dead.

Chapter Text

Greg brought Steven back home last night to "sleep off" whatever he was drinking at that Christmas party, and warned that he might be feeling "hung-over". Which sounds like that time she tried to shape shift into a shirt to prank Pearl but ended up in the washing machine and hung out to dry. Bubbles coming out of her mouth for days. Ech.

That is, apparently, not what hung-over is. Just something boring like feeling trashy and crashy and hating lights and noises. Which sucks because lights and noises is like, 90% of all Gems and Gem stuff, ever. She hopes the 'might' is a little more 'might not'. He's sleeping way later than he usually does, after all.

A little too late, if anyone asked her.

She clunks up the stairs jangling the most sacred instrument of all- the triangle. "Yo, Ste-bone! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" She looks back down at the plate in the spontaneous second arm pair she had to make to walk like this. "Well, wakey wakey french toastey. THE BACON IS MADE OF LIES!!!"

Steven curls up with a rattling hiss. Oh shit, yeah. The loud noise thing. Whatever. The food should cancel it out. And maybe it does, because after mechanically scarfing the stuff in his mouth Steven looks just a little less primed to hate Amethyst with the strength of imprisoned gods.

"So now that you ain't so hangry, wanna tell me how the 'hang-over' thing's working out for you?"

"M not hungover." Which doesn't sound like a lie. Which leaves Steven looking depressed, dazed, and just a little sick for other reasons.

She goes back down the stairs- not all the way, just enough that she can see her arms stretching back to the sink with it's plate. Just near enough to the top to hover by the threshold of the room, just far enough not to breach it. "Knock, knock." You want to talk about it?

A dry, sharp laugh. "At least ring the doorbell first." Okay.

So she clicks out a quick doorbell sound in gemsong, crossing up the stairs, slumping over into the shape of a cat at the foot of the bed. "So why y'all sadsack up in this beach house? Give your secrets to Doc Amethyst, daddio."

"Connie proposed to me last night."

She doesn't have any water in her mouth to spit out, leaving her choking on nothing- which in her current shape, rather looks like a cat about to puke, to the point that it summons Cat Steven's sympathetic eye. "She wants to get married? Like Garnet-married?"

"No! ....yes???" He buries his face. "I don't know!"

"Gotta say, I'm a little hoping no. Stevonnie's cool and all, but I like Steven and Connie a little more, ya feel me?"

"Yeah, I feel you." But there's a considering look on his face, now. "If she asked... I probably wouldn't mind being Stevonnie, for a little while. We've been them for days before." She must have had a little panic on her face, to make him verbally backspace right afterwards. "I don't think that's what she wants, though. At least, not right now? I mean, she's going to college." He trails off with a nervous giggle. "Can't exactly do that as Stevonnie."

"Stars, could you imagine? How tall are they now, 7 foot 9? All 7 foot 9 of Stevonnie just making their way down campus. Those kids would die of a heart attack."

They both spiral into another fit of laughter, tangling themselves in the blankets of the bed with nervous joy.

"Soooo," she tries to insert as casually as possible, "when's the wedding."

There it is. The old reliable panic. Steven smothers himself with a pillow with a mortified mumble.

"Ease it up on the mufflers, Dondai."

"I didn't say yes."

"Aw, what!" Her arms shake him like a wiggly snake. "Why! You're my favorite couple! " she wails.

"I fainted after she asked." he whispers despairingly. "I old-timey fainting couch fainted. I would have poofed if I could."

"Well you're not fainty now! Go say yes. Do it!" she barks. "Do it, do it, doitdoitdoit!"

"I can't!"

"Why not? You wuv her, don't you!"

"I know, I d- I just-" His hand clamps over his mouth. "I can't- I need-"

The way his hands throttle his mouth would almost be worrying if he wasn't a Gem. The pink flush seeping under his skin, dusting his face and coloring his eyes, however, totally is.

"Steven, you're-"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, I just-" He bolts out of the bed, stumbling down the stairs. There's a light shining from the temple door. "I need a little space, is all. I just need... I just need to think."

Steven staggers inside the temple, it's door closing like a rose behind him.

Chapter Text

"You have reached the Hyperuranion Empyrean of the Obsidian Temple. I am SHELL, your guide and caretaker for the duration of your stay. The time in Little Homeworld is currently 8: 15 AM. Good morning, Steven." She pauses, taking in Steven's tense, shallow breaths, the pink cloaked around him as a second skin. "You appear to be in distress. Do you require outside assistance?"

"No, SHELL. Thank you." Little by little, the pink fades away. "I just needed a moment."

"As you wish. Please select settings at your leisure."

He lets the soft, demure gemsong wash over him and finally stands, composing himself. His own song rings with an ease he has yet to feel. "Begin settings. Environment- hollow. Palette- aura. Lighting- foxfire."

The clouds condense, forming a small, enclosed hollow rendered in soft, almost chalkish pastels. Carved rocks with old snips of gemglyph, tall delicate flowers, a ground blanketed with pillow moss. No light but the scattered freckles of bio-luminescence about the rocks, the floor. A tree, white, twisting, wide, with a small dug-out space underneath. A hollow within a hollow.

"Set table for two."

A low table appears, dark and lacquered, laid with mother-of-pearl, with two plush pillows on either side. Steven passes it by without a glance, climbing down into the hollow underneath the wide white tree, closing his eyes.

"Run isolation program. End settings."

Tall grass and fern grows around and blankets him. His gem begins to glow. There is a flash of pink. 

Sitting at the table, they are Sten and Vendan.

"I am sorry," wavers the song of Sten. "But it would have been in poor taste to be talking to ourselves out there."

"Or worse, unfuse," Vendan concedes.

(Steven still persists, lying under the tree. But the reality of the Empyrean room is whatever its master wishes, and if that wish is for two halves of a whole to sit across from eachother while still remaining whole, then so it shall be.)

Vendan wonders, barely above a whisper. "I don't understand. Why would she..."

"She loves us. Isn't that reason enough? "

"She is very young."

"So are we. That does not make it less."

"It feels... early."

"It's been nearly seven years, now. Long enough, perhaps, to decide if this will be the rest of our life. "

"The rest of her life."

Sten's responding glance is sharp, chastising even, though it quickly withers. The diamond of Vendan's eyes (their eyes), is blurred with tears.

"She will leave us," Vendan wails. "We're going to lose her. What are we going to do when she disappears? What are we going to do when she..."  When she dies.

His gemsong breaks into despaired, keening cries.

It's an old, sad reprise- the two of them, in a quiet room, arms around each other as they weep.

"Maybe she will leave us," Sten murmurs. "but she's here now. Isn't that worth holding on to? "

"If we hold onto her," Vendan clutches at the back of his other's shirt, strong and desperate. "How will we let her go?"

"We'll have to learn how."

"We won't be ready. No matter how much time we have, we'll never be ready."

"I know."

Neither one lets go.

The diamonds in both their eyes are still wide with unfallen tears.

Weighted silence blankets them.

After a short eternity, Sten finally breaks it with wavering song.

"I could never be, I could never be, I could never be ready, for this."

He rocks them back and forth, just a little.

"I could never be, I could never be, I could never be ready. Things start, and things end-"

"-and isn't it lovely, in theory but I could never be-"

"I could never be."

"I could never be ready."

There are no more tears in their eyes. Vendan's song is small as it has never been. "Do you love her?"

"Always." Sten's song, in turn, is clear, just this once. "And you? "

"Always."

"Together? "

"Together."

Chapter Text

"You proposed to him?"

"Yeah?? And?? We're both adults!"

Mom's face grows pinched. "You just turned eighteen last month. That's barely adult."

"It's adult enough for the law." She looks away, cheeks puffed out. "Besides, I've known Steven for what- seven years now? This isn't some kind of shotgun wedding, am'mā."

"Oh, so there's going to be a wedding? You're not going to just elope like last time?"

"Last time I was panicking and twelve! "

"We just want you to be sure that you've thought all this through, Connie," Dad gently interrupts. "You're one semester away from being a full-time university student in another state. You'd spend the first few years of this marriage hardly seeing eachother."

"We already hardly see eachother, appā."

"And you're really okay with that?"

"Steven's an intergalactic tetrarch. If long distance was going to be a problem, it would have already come up by now. Besides, between Lion and the internet, we can see each other anytime we want."

Mom gives off a long, appraising hum. "It's still rather early, by modern standards."

"Connie," Dad continues to nudge, "I- we aren't.. judging you, per se. It's just very sudden. You always said you wouldn't marry until after college. What changed?"

"..." Well now that she has to say it to them, it's going to sound stupid. "...FAFSA tax calculations?"

"Connie my dear sweet lovely and sole cherished child you did not just try to marry alien royalty for government loopholes."

"We don't tell lies in this house, am'mā."

Mom just gives a disbelieving cringe while Dad quips, "I don't know if I'm horrified or impressed."

Not a no, per se, which Connie chooses to see as an absolute win.

A neutral, slightly awkward silence follows. There is a rather large pitcher of chai on the couch table, slowly filling their mugs, and as she sips the hearty, spiced tea, she really, really hopes that this conversation is over.

"But did you really have to spring it on him like that?" Mom broke out. "The poor boy up and fainted."

"I didn't mean to! It just- happened!" she sputters. "Besides, it's not my fault Dante got him so drunk. Aiyo, he probably doesn't even remember it-"

Her phone buzzes.

Biscuit

Hey.

Sorry about last night. That was really weird.

I guess I got drunk?

But it looks like I don't get hangovers, so small mercies I guess.

Are you free today?

Tomorrow?

Hopefully today?

I need to see you.

Connie can feel the matching, smug, eyebrow rasing, I Told You So smiles on both their faces.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

The Obsidian Temple looked a lot nicer these days.

Polished down to a smooth, darker tone, its cracks gilded with burning veins of gold and orange like the lava in its crystal heart. Its arms are restored with new, graceful hands, old former wreckage left along the beach like a morbid chrysalis, as though it had used the great stone sword resting sideways on the shore as a crude hacksaw upon the moss-ridden, unsalvagable parts of itself. Where the old temple had once seemed always ready to disappear into the cliffside, this new, fully restored one rested at attention- like at any moment it could simply awaken and break free of the mountain it slept in, picking up its sword to vanish into myth forever.

For now though, it seemed content to rest on its laurels, a well tended garden of flowers nested along the curling slope of its hair despite the winter, looming an eternal, watchful shadow to the house of a Diamond.

The angular, ever changing wooden house sits in its hands like a child's toy. The dichotomy is almost cute.

Steven drifts down to her like a falling leaf. He barely lands beside her for a brief moment, long enough to snake an arm around her shoulder as he takes her hands. They sail back into the sky in a swooping, lazy arc, giddy laughter ringing as petals trail behind them, landing on one of the highest hands. He leans back into the crook of the stone palm, peering through the tall fingers onto the distant tide below.

"Sorry again, about last night," he embarrassedly mumbles against the rock. "Didn't realize alcohol was, uh... like that. Caught me off guard."

"What did we say about extraneous apologies?" she scolds.

"To not bother," he recites diligently. "I stand by this one, though. I went overboard and that's kind of on me."

"Eh, I blame Mr. Barriga. Wait, we're adults now. I blame Dante."

Steven puffs up to imitate Dante Barriga's blustering voice. "Yeah, come on! Just try it! You're a big lad, you'll be fine!  Oh, stars. Lesson learned, I guess."

"You know," she muses, "alcohol is a toxin. You could just heal it out of your body and never get drunk again. Win the contest of drinking forever." She watches the short laugh that escapes him, and calls it victory. "Do you, uh... remember much of last night?" Wow, smooth.

"Oh. Right." His laugh freezes. "Yeah. We should- we should talk about that, shouldn't we."

He winds away from the large pillared fingers, curling up to rest his head sideways on his knees.

"Well. I..." she blunders. "I meant what I said. Tax benefits are cool, and I'm down to game the system any day of the week, but that's not why I asked you. I love you, you know?"

"I love you, too," Steven replies easily. "I just- We-" he almost moves to strangle his voice in his hands, the way he always did, before she gently stops him.

"Hey. Don't censor yourself. This is a big thing for us. It's okay if your a little split about it, you know?"

"I just- I love you, I do. We love you. I just worry. Sometimes it feels like I love you too much. And- and I do want this, I really do, but it feels like if we did this, we might never be able to let you go." His voice drops away, something small and sad. "I don't want to suffocate you."

"You stop that now." She squishes his face, his gemsong cutting off with a surprised chirp. "I won't lie, it does get scary sometimes, the way you love. But that's just who you are. I'm not going to ask you to love any less, to be any less. And, well- let's be fair. I can get scary too. I was literally training to die for you at one point."

"Okay, fair. That was really scary."

"It was. But we talked it out, and then it wasn't so scary anymore. That's how it is. I'm not saying you're never going to get scary, I'm not saying I expect you to never get scary. But I'm promising that I'll tell you if are, and that I trust you to listen to me when I do. And you're going to tell me when I'm being scary, because I know I will be."

"Always."

"Good. Because I've thought about this for... a while, really. I know you have, too. And I want this." She takes his hands, always so paradoxically soft against her harshly calloused fingers. "I want to be part of your universe, for as long as you're in it."

"That's a really long time. Longer than any human life."

"I wouldn't be alone. I'd have the Gems. I'd have you."

"You might get tired of it."

"That doesn't mean I'd regret it."

"You're being unreasonably reasonable," Steven huffs through puffed cheeks.

"I'm not hearing a no."

"Hmm."

"Steven."

"Mmmmmmm."

"Steven. Steve-a-ron-i. Ste-bone. Starboy. Esteban Universidad. Jam bud. Preserves partner. My biscuit. The steadfast Archimicarus to my anarchist Lisa. My sweet strawberry ice cream cookie cat love of my life. My Liege."

His composure cracks with every epithet until he finally breaks into bubbling peals of laughter. "Stop. You- you cheater. I yield."

"Ha! Checkmate!"

"And so the knight takes the king," he languishes dramatically. "The absolute cad. How will I ever escape?"

"Never! I shall become a great dragon, stealing you away as the crown jewel of my hoard!"

"You better keep me nice and shiny then."

"Is that a yes I hear?"

"Yes, you horrid dragon. Steal me away."

Chapter Text

"Jeff! Hey!"

"Oh, hey Connie."

It was kind of bizarre to be friends with Connie, the local Mystery Girl on campus. She broke his arm in the hallway once when they were in middle school, and now they're friends. At least, he thinks they are. They hang out for lunch, they talk when they have classes together, that kind of stuff.

And now she's kind of vibrating with excitement in a way that usually heralded a long, long, unstoppable infodump. Maybe more about the many uses of bamboo, that was a pretty interesting talk-

"Jeff you are invited to my wedding."

What. "What."

=<>=

Steven slaps five volumes of wedding planner books on the table. "Okay, it's a good thing I'm already ordained, that means we got a lot of things to choose from in my wedding books-"

"We aren't re-enacting the Spirit Morph Saga wedding."

Steven blankly pushes two of the planning books off the table.

=<>=

"Okay but why are we inviting Jamie?"

"He's the producer for The Little Diamond Theatre Company. He's my theatre buddy."

"Yeah but he might make a surprise melodramatic musical number in honor of the wedding."

"Ah, you're right, he would-"

=<>=

"So we've got the Pizzas and Frymans... and Ronaldo and Jane." Connie does a double take. "Wait, Ronaldo has a girlfriend?"

"Yep. She's the manager at that movie theatre."

"Ronaldo. Who lives in a lighthouse with his conspiracy board of crazy. That Ronaldo."

"Such is the mystery of love."

=<>=

Connie tents her hands in front of her face with a slight hiss. "Ok, pros and cons."

Steven nods. "Pros and cons."

"Pros, uh... Jasper's your queerplatonic BDSM girlfriend."

"My what now?" Connie whispers the meaning to him, and he frowns. "If you call it that again I'm divorcing you."

"Joke's on you, you have to marry me first."

"You got me there." He lets out a droning hum. "More pros... Jasper needs to get out more and this would be a nice controlled environment for it. No one's going to start a fight at my wedding."

"Uh, cons. Lapis will also be there."

"Mmmm, true. Bad to look at."

"Bad to look at."

=<>=

"I've got great-grandpa Mordecai in the Keys, Andy's parents, great-aunt Deb and her plus one..." he frowns a little. "Do you have any other human family coming?"

"Well I've got my aunt on my dad's side... I don't actually know if anyone from my mom's side can come, I'll ask."

=<>=

"Steven, we can't invite the Diamonds to our wedding."

"It's my first Diamond Jubilee! I can't not invite them! "

"No, I mean- how will they fit? Blue and Yellow are literally bigger than your house."

"Oh. Oh."

=<>=

"I forgot to invite my son."

"You already put Lion in."

"No, no, my other son."

"What other son?"

"Casimir, remember? Two years old, made out of a cactus-" He freezes. One second. Two seconds. "I forgot to tell you about my son, didn't I."

"You had a kid? "

"I thought I told you!"

"Two years, Steven! "

"I'm sORRY-"

Chapter Text

Deb DeMayo, to Greg at least, still looks about the same as she did the last time he saw her. A bit weathered and freckly, but mostly the same. She always had the formidable, unshakable energy of an old stout tree. Maybe a bit literally. Her hair was dyed a vibrant red, ruddied up to her brown roots like leaves in fall.

She heralds herself with her violently pink-blue-white RV, slapped with stickers and covered in so many vintage mods it could pass for a caravan wagon.

"OI, GREGO, MIA POLPETTO! YA FUCK OFF FOR THIRTY YEARS AND NOW YER SENDIN' ME WEDDING INVITES THROUGH ANDY-MAIL?"

Not that she needed any heralding. She could do it plenty herself.

He can feel his old man bones pop with the crushing force of her hug. Zelle waves languidly from the passenger seat of the RV.

"Hello to you too, Aunt Deb. You know the wedding's not until like, June, right?"

"I have an RV, I do what I want!" she barks. "Besides, who says I'm here for the wedding? I wanna see the aliens in yer backyard."

"Well you see-"

The sound of air crackling in on itself heralds the other person in his life who can crush his bones with a hug.

"Hey, dad," Steven calls out from Lion's back, "what's with the wagon-y looking RV out-" He freezes at the sight of the new strangers. "-side."

"Holy shit, you're that Diamond guy," Zelle exclaims. "So the 4chan neckbeards were right. You are a hybrid."

Greg can see it out of the corner of his eye- the way his son's smile suddenly freezes in place, eyes twitching back and forth, hands curling on Lion's mane.

"Hey, kiddo. This here's my aunt Deb and her partner Zelle. We invited them to the wedding, remember?" He walks over to Steven, locking hands with him. "Deb, Zelle, this is Steven. He's my... son."

Zelle, entirely unapologetic, gives another lazy wave, and maybe Deb softens, just a little. "Come on down off that ride of yours, let me see you."

Steven obliges, just barely- dismounting but keeping himself half-buried under pink fur. (In a town where life is the same twenty people every day, it's easy to forget how stilted his boy could sometimes get around the new ones.)

Deb gives an appraising hum. "Took after your dad, it looks. Let's hope ya don't age as bad as he did, eh?" she laughs with a slap on his back. "Look at you, you're prettier than both my daughters."

That, at least, forces a surprised, blushing laugh out of him. "You're taking this whole surprise nephew thing better than uncle Andy did."

"Feh. Andy's always been a bit of a dingus. Besides, can't be mad to have more DeMayos runnin' around."

"A DeMayo? You're not... you don't see me like-" he cuts off, looking away with a ruddied expression on his face.

"Like what, sweetie?"

"I-" he trips on his own voice, unsure. "Aliens!" he finally hisses, gemsong ringing and crackling with stress. "Like I'm aliens!"

"Pssh. Nah. Yer as Earthling as any of the rest of us, aren't ya? And this 'invasion'  of yours? Honestly, it's been more help than hurtin'. Yer leavin' this world better than you found it, and people can see it. Those traditionalist whiners don't got a leg to stand on, ya hear me? Kids your age can hardly manage themselves, much less entire galaxies! They don't even realize, do you even realize- how extraordinary that is! I..."

Steven's a large young man- taller and broader than the tiny powerhouse of a pushing seventy great-aunt that he's never met once in his life. But right now, standing on the leftovers of snow in a soft old sweater, tears hanging off his eyes as he clings to his own hands, he looks very, very small.

"Oh." There's a familiar, breaking look on Deb's face. "Oh, mimmo."

(Greg remembers that kind of look. It's that look Deb gave him when he was a chubby little kid, shuffling on his feet asking shyly if he can stay, just for a few hours, because Mom and Dad "accidentally" locked him out of the house again.)

"I'm sorry," Steven wavers past his bleary eyes, "I'm not- I don't know why I'm..."

"I'm sorry, mimmo. I guess I spoke ahead of myself. Life ain't been so kind to you, has it?"

Greg sees his son laugh at the thought, the short dying gasp of a wound broken too soon, the seraphic tilt of his smile as he vaguely answers, "Not always."

"Well..." Deb pulls him down just enough to wrap her arms around him. "Maybe it doesn't mean much, seein' as I'm a stranger to you. But you're doin' a damn good job."

And maybe a tear falls, but at least it's with a smile. "It means a lot." Steven's arms stop hovering, resting around her. "Grazie, zia."

They stand there like that for a moment. It's nice.

"Glad to see someone's keeping the bonecrushing tradition strong," Deb slyly remarks. "You hug your dad like that?"

"Don't give him ideas!"

"No, I could never," sings the suddenly squinting, cat-like edge of Steven's smile. "I could never do such a thing to my dear darling dad's poor, fragile bones."

"You haven't even been here for an hour and already my boy betrays me. Deb, how could you-"

Chapter Text

"Your dad's really serious about this Real Life Prep, huh?"

"Yeah," she can't help but laugh as she pushes the cart through the aisles. "You'd think these training chores would be more of my mom's kind of thing, huh?"

Connie leaving for college is a distant idea slowly growing more and more real in everyone's mind. Mom dealt with it by tallying everything she could need living on her own and helping her buy it so it didn't chip at her orphan budget when the semester started. Dad on the other hand, was making sure she knew what to shop and how to shop for it- hence her and Steven wandering around a grocery store doing this week's Maheswaran family shopping.

"Woah!" Steven weightlessly gallops to the edge of a candy aisle. "What's all this?"

The aisle is, predictably, a sea of reds, purples, and pinks, drowning in sickly sweet hearts and teddy bears. Ew.

"Ugh," she can't help herself from cringing at the commercialist display. "Valentine's Day."

"What's a valentine?"

"It's not a what, it's a who." She pushes forth to the fruit aisle, inspecting papayas and determinedly ignoring the extra ten dollars that Dad had snuck her back home with a wink-nudge in Steven's direction. "Valentine is the Christian saint of bees, epilepsy, and the plague." She takes a moment to cherish the horrified look on his face before continuing. "He's also the saint of love and happy marriages. So his saint day is used as a kind of... romantic holiday. It's already been over since yesterday, so the store's trying to get rid of all the candy for cheap."

Steven's eyes are... a bit shiny, after her spiel.

"Steven, are you crying?"

"I missed all our Valentine's anniversaries," his gemsong wavers mournfully. "How could I be so neglectful..."

"Oh, biscuit, no. You didn't know. Besides, it's not that important of a holiday."

They both awkwardly eye the very full holiday candy aisle for a moment.

"Not that important to me," she clarifies. "Valentine's is kind of wasted on commercial institutions trying to get people to spend more in the false hope that sinking material cost into a gift will prove they love their partners more."

"Wow. You really don't like holiday themed stuff, huh."

"Well. It's not so bad. I just think it's a bit over-rated. The day after Valentine's is better."

"That's today," Steven whispers wonderingly.

"Yep. And today it's-" She hops up the lower rails of her shopping cart. "-cheap candy day!"

"Yeah-ha! Cheap candy day!"

They skate the shopping cart down the aisle, impulsively grabbing the schmaltzy-est looking boxes of chocolate, laughing like kids they never quite were.

Chapter Text

Lapis' art studio looks as eclectic as ever, especially with her new assistant. Pyrite Inclusion Lapis Lazuli Facet-3TW5 Teardrop-4CK was still a little, well, flighty around him, no matter how many times he said that it was fine, that many Gems had greeted him aggressively in the past. Even after almost three years, she still near drops her paints at the sight of him, fluttering away nervously, her wrap skirt trailing with the momentum.

"Is that a new skirt, Lapis?"

"Oh, um, yes." She holds it aloft, white trims and golden shells playing at the light. "I also put a bit of... the court colors on it." Sure enough, some of the littler shells are pink, and her dark blue blush magnifies her pyrite freckles as she turns away from his scrutiny. It is a small pledge, but just enough that it sings on the edge of his mind, my court, my child, mine, and he can't quite stop the thread of a smile creeping on his face.

"I told you he would like it," drawls a tired, familiar song.

"Lapis. There you are."

She's harshly cleaning off a large stretch of a whale's jaw- he remembers her mentioning finding the thing a month or so back. There's large, experimental sketches on sandwich paper, and long reams of tracing paper set aside for the eventual task of carving it. "Hey Steven. What brings you around?"

Oh, right. He slaps a curled fist against his other open palm. "I'm reminding you lot about the Diamond Jubilee coming up in June. Also-" it's a simple, yet still strangely novel task to pull things from his gem as he does with the small envelope now in his hands. "Lapis. For you."

His old friend looks at the invitation with a considering hum. "Who else is invited?"

"Well there's you, obviously-"

"Obviously," she snorts.

"-the rest of the Crystal Gems, some of our human friends and family-"

Lapis' needled claws nearly break the paper. "Will she be there?" her song rings angrily.

Ah. "Lapis."

4CK re-emerges from behind the tools locker. "My Diamond?"

"Take a break. Go outside for a little while."

"Yes, My Diamond."

"No one is in trouble. We just need to talk privately."

4CK's shy expression relaxes a little, at least. "Yes, My Diamond." As she flies out, he lets out a long, sharp chuff of air.

Lapis, his Lapis, her shoulders still tense with old bitterness, unsummons her wings with an ease at odds with the high hum of irritation radiating out of her gem. "Steven..." her song drags flatly.

"Lapis."

A high, droning sigh as she hides her face in her hand. "Why? Why did you invite her ?"

"I-" She's my friend, she's important to me, we're important to eachother, she's my Jasper- "She's... it's not like it was before, Lapis."

"She was terrible, Steven! We were both so terrible- terrible to ourselves, to eachother, to everyone!"

"You were terrible. But you changed. She changed, too." Her frown twists unpleasantly as he continues on. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I can't just hang around her like nothing happened between us."

"Neither can she." He barely nudges a knuckle across her cheek as he draws closer, and it's weird that it hits him over the head, here of all times, that he's taller than her now. "I'm not asking you to be friends with her, or forgive her. I'm not even asking you to talk to her. That's not what this is about. I'm just... asking you both to share the floor, just for a day. For me?"

"Okay." A heavy sigh. "I'll go. Should be fun."

"I'm glad you can come. It means a lot to me."

"If she starts anything, I'm punting her into the sky."

"I suppose I'll have to live with that."

Chapter Text

She hears it. A rushing, warped sound, the preemptive rustle of the forest parting at the whims of an unstoppable object. She's just enough time to drop whatever she's holding before the incoming impact.

"Jasper!" yells a breakneck flying kick. "You're invited to my marriage!"

She grabs her Diamond's leg, tossing him onto his back. "I hate polished up parties!"

"I know!" answers his tackle.

"Then why," roars her headbutt, "did you invite me to the cracked thing?"

"Because it's a very important day for me and I want you to be there!" he sings just out of her reach.

She hisses, long and slow. "Fine," she clicks in time with the ring of his shield under her hands. "Do I have to conjure up a damned dress or something?"

"Just something nice looking," answers his right hook. "Bismuth wore armor to Garnet's wedding."

A long suffering hum. "How many Gems will be there?" How loud is this going to get?

"Still finalizing the guest list," he body slams her. "But it'll be pretty tame."

"You mean your Crystal Gems are gonna get sappy and cry about it," she swipes with her claws.

"Probably," he boxes her.

Another thought, one that gives her enough pause to let a hit slip through. "Will the Lazuli be there?"

"Yeah," he pauses. "Is that going to be a problem?"

(I'm done being everyone's prisoner. Now you're my prisoner, and I'm never letting you go!)

(I liked taking everything out on you. I needed to- I hated you!)

(I've changed! You've changed me!)

"Jasper?"

"Whatever," her song hisses, high and clicking. "I'm not showing up for her. I've got better reasons than that."

"Like what?"

"You know," she bites. "You."

His song gets all gentle and sweet. "I love you too," he trills tenderly.

She roars indignantly, punting him into the sky only to watch him float back down like a leaf.

The insufferably soft smile is still on his face. Jasper's mouth twitches.

Chapter Text

"Patricia, there's mail for you!"

"Oh, did the application come back?"

It wasn't an application.

"Maan, I just got invited to a WEDDING-"

=<>=

"No."

"But mom-"

"I ain't buyin' you no suit!"

"It's an alien wedding, Mom, they won't even notice what I wear. I could literally wear my Sunday clothes." His eyes light up with inspiration. "I could wear a tuxedo shirt and hi tops."

"Imma stop you right there, Daniel-"

Gregory DeMayo

P.O. Box 1730, Beach City, DV

Eustace and Veranda DeMayo

7933 Chickadee Hill, Showne, WK

Your grandson's name is Steven Universe. You would know that if you read even a single one of my letters. And I know you haven't. Because my wife was dead and YOUR GRANDSON WAS LIVING IN A VAN

He's getting married in June. Her name is Connie and I couldn't ask for a better daughter-in-law. If that matters to you, you can write back. Or not. I don't care what you think anymore.

This is the last letter I will ever send you.

Goodbye.

-Mr. Universe

Chapter Text

He touches down from the galaxy warp, riding on Lion's back along the roadways.

Homeworld is bright, vibrant stone. It is life, sprung forth, wild and perfect in its chaos from every surface. It is the sprawl of geometric spires, it is the eternal twilight of familiar, friendly skies.

He is seen, on his way to the palace, by countless Gems. He sees stray Diamond salutes, he sees the distant waves of Aquamarines and Lapis Lazulis up above, he sees the scurry of Pebbles and Geodes underfoot.

He does not see her. He only hears a distant rise of squeaky boot noises getting louder and faster by the millisecond until a bright blur of pink knocks him off his steed. There's a violent kiss on his cheek that screams a loud code of confetti and fireworks behind his eyeballs.

"Steven!" squeals a song above him. "Welcome back!"

"Hello, Spinel," he can only wheeze from the ground.

"Steven," she whines dramatically, unraveling her body like a string doll against him, her arm folding over her face with all the sensible proportion of a snake, "it's been so long."

"It's only been four months, Spinel."

"So long..." she languishes, dragging along the floor as he walks toward the palace. "So, so long that I, too, have surrendered to the ravages of time."

She slithers back into her usual shape like a snap of rubber, and it turns out she's right. She has changed. Her pigtails are smaller, neat and pointed like rose buds. Her pants are puffier, with lacier leg cuffs. Her shoes have little floating pom-poms. Her eyelines no longer look like tears.

She no longer looks like a lost, tattered doll. She looks charming. She looks new.

She looks loved.

"Like the new threads?" she teases. She laughs at his worn expression. "Aw, I'm just jossin' with ya. What can I say? Yer whole new look thing ya got goin' got me inspired. And I ain't the only one!"

"What are you on about, Spinel?"

"Come on! You'll love it!" She drags him by his hand to the palace- they both stumble a bit at the staggering momentum his larger size adds, but soon she takes it in stride, reveling in the galloping rhythm it gives them.

She takes him past the old throne room. She takes him past Yellow's room. Blue's room. White's room.

"Where are we going? "

"Your room, silly!" Her song laughs with a secret, some joke he hasn't been let in on. "They have a surprise for you!"

"Surprise? Spinel, what are you talking..."

The door to his palace room opens.

"...about."

And the Diamonds are in his room. Of course they are- Spinel just said they would be. They're-

smaller.

White Diamond, she- he comes up to her waist.

(She's Pink Diamond's size, now. He tries not to dwell on that.)

Blue and Yellow, just as they did before, reach up to her shoulders.

"I- what- why-"

"Well," White Diamond starts off, "when you came back to us from your... sabbatical, changed as you were, it started a thought..."

"...about you, and other Gems, you see," Blue continued. "Our Gems are so at ease around you, and we realized something."

"It was because," Yellow matter-of-factly states, finger in the air, "in part, because you were 'at their level'. Approachable. You were able to empathize with them, and they were able to empathize with you."

"You're able to kneel down and be with them," Blue stressed. "Able to hold them in your arms, like a fellow Gem."

"And I suppose," White conceded, "that being at such a large size does... distance us, from the concerns of the laygem. Which is no longer acceptable."

"With my new power to alter other Gem's forms, the transition was rather easy." Yellow looks at the other Diamonds nervously. "It will be... an adjustment, to be certain. But Era 3 is an era of change. For the sake of our fellow Gem, this is a change we are willing to make."

"We must admit, however, this not an entirely selfless decision." White almost looks nervous.

"It's okay to have personal reasons for doing things, y'know," Steven points out.

"It's mostly one reason, really."

Yellow Diamond moves towards him, seriously as always...

...and pulls him towards her chest in an embrace.

Blue joins soon. And, with a bit of hesitance, White does too, a long graceful hand upon his head. He feels, idly, that her black claws are less sharp than they once were.

"There. Now we're all the right size."

Oh.

And he realizes, bit by bit, he doesn't mind this at all.

A tenseness he didn't realize he had leaves his body.

Spinel snakes in unceremoniously to wrap them all in her own rubbery, ribbony hug.

And it's okay.

He barely laughs. "You'd fit in my house, now. Now there's no excuse for you not to show up at the wedding."

"What's a wedding?" blurts Spinel.

A silence.

"Wait, did I forget to invite you to the wedding-"

Chapter Text

Alo, Am'mā.

 

...

 

Onnum illai. Nalamaa?

 

...

 

Yes, Connie's doing very well. She's gotten into NYU.

 

...

 

Of course that's what you care about. Yes, it is prestigious, it's a 15% admission rate.

 

...

 

Oh, please. As if I'd ever turn to you for help.

 

...

 

You don't get to say that to me! You left me, destitute, in a foreign country, because YOU DIDN'T LIKE MY BOYFRIEND!

 

...

 

No! I'm not going to argue this again! Varna is an outdated concept with no rational basis and no bearing in modern society except with people like you!

 

You know what? I'm not going to talk about this anymore-

 

...

 

Illai! We're done! I didn't call to waste my time on everything you refuse to change about yourself.

 

I called because your granddaughter is getting married. Connie and her fiancé wanted to visit the family and invite you to the wedding.

 

...

 

He's a very lovely person, and if you manage to swallow your brahmin pride for five minutes you might be able to see it.

 

...

 

Yes, we will be staying with Aadish. I know better than to try and stay in your house. We'll see you in April. Piriyāviṭai.

 

---

 

Chapter Text

Aadish Maheswaran's niece is getting married, and Priyanka had said to keep an open mind, as the Americans would put it.

She'd sounded awfully nervous. He can understand that- am'mā never was the kindest person about new things or new people. Even still, against all prior logic, she adored her granddaughter to the highest heavens, even if the girl's father was avarna.

So Aadish was determined to make a good impression to the new couple. Let them know at least someone in the family was on their side, just in case everything blew it all up in their faces. (He didn't want to lose his sister all over again, God damn it.)

His phone rings.

"Taṅkai, is that you?"

"Hello, Aadish," Priyanka's voice crackles from the phone. "You told us to call when we landed."

"Oh, I'll pick you up from the airport-"

"No need to do that." There's a rumbling noise in the background. "Do you still live at your old address?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Look outside in about ten seconds."

And the air cracks and breaks as a lion fit to tower over an ox steps out onto his driveway.

What. "WHAT!"

"Hey, uncle Aadish!" his niece calls from on top of the thing's back. Priyanka holds out her phone and hangs up smugly.

Which is, of course, the perfect time for his own kids to burst out of the door against all good sense.

"Kahaani! "

"Hi Kahaani!"

"American Kahaani!"

Aadvay, Nadir, Acharya- his boy demons in human form. Of course. Of course crowd the weary travelers. Of course poke and proud at the magic, reality tearing creature. What could possibly go wrong?

Nadir screams.

The lion's mane glows, and a man's head comes out.

"Is this the right place?" calls a melodic voice.

Priyanka nods. "You can take the luggage out now, Steven."

The man disappears back into the mane, but quickly returns, the lion bowing its head as he steps out.

He is tall, in the human sense (though miraculously Kahaani is even taller), but the broad set of his form in certainly not. Tall and broad as tigers are, with white claws and far too many broad fangs in his easy smile. His skin is strange, off tone, freckled in subtle purples, pinks, and browns, and his his hair is curled like the crown of a rose.

And there's a jewel, right at the center of his belly.

And Aadish's breath escapes him as the whisper of, "Rakshesha."

But not quiet enough.

"Rakshesha?" Aadvay parrots.

Three identical faces turn back to the large, soft looking man.

"Rakshasa! "

"Rakshasi! "

"Rakshesha! "

Before he can warn his children to maybe not accost the rakshesha, the idiot boys are already crawling all over the creature. The tigerish fellow mercifully doesn't seem to mind all that much, carrying Kahaani and Priyanka's luggage like there wasn't three squirming weights clinging to his(her? its?) sturdy legs.

"I am so sorry for my children."

"It's alright," sings the other man's friendly, though slightly harried, smile. "I'm used to it."

"At least let me help with the luggage." As Aadish takes Priyanka's case, he frowns. "There's only two cases."

"I don't need suitcases," the rakshesha answers cryptically.

The lion creature, no longer content to simply laze on the house front, pads over to nuzzle its head under its master's hand.

"Will your..."

"Lion."

"...lion... be needing a place to stay?"

The man pats the lion's head while Aadish's children fruitlessly attempt to climb on its back. "Lion can take care of himself, and he doesn't really need to eat. But if you let him inside, he'll appreciate it."

"I suppose that should be alright, then."

At that, the lion actually perks up, quickly marching through the door, tailed by Aadvay, Nadir, and Acharya's rapid-fire stomps clashing on the tile floor, a disastrous cacophony that threatens to raid the house cupboard for a stolen treat to offer to new curiosities.

A slightly unreasonable stretch of time later, the two of them idle in front of Priyanka's room, having finally weaved through the constant obstacle of over-curious children to deposit all the luggage.

Kahaani is humming to herself in the kitchen while she cuts some fruit.

The rakshesha shuffles on his feet.

"Okay, I've had quite enough of this," Aadish finally blurts.

"Eh?"

"I- I need something to call you. I know your kind doesn't really do names, but I can't just keep calling you hey you guy or rakshesha in my head. It feels rude."

The man (is he even a man? Aadish never asked) blinks slowly. Aadish also realizes, just this moment, that rakshesha apparently don't need to blink, because that was actually the first blink he saw this whole time-

And the rakshesha laughs, or something like it. A humming, stuttering, ringing sound escaping the closed cage of his smile.

"Stars," he stutters past his snickering," I nearly forgot about that part. But I guess we're family now, so might as well. You can call me Steven."

Steven. It's... an oddly human name.

"Well. Steven. The name suits you." He sticks out his hand. "Call me Aadish."

Steven's handshake is gentle, like he isn't quite sure what to do with the gesture, but it seems to carry across well enough.

"Are you done threatening him with your awkwardness?" Priyanka calls from the kitchen.

Steven's smile gains a bashful tilt. "Trying not to, Am'māheswaran."

"Not you, Steven."

Aadish lets out a long suffering sigh. "Glad to see my dear darling young sister is as loving as always."

"If you don't make your way to the table, your dear darling young sister is going to eat your share."

"Why are you even making food? It's 4 in the afternoon!"

"It's breakfast time for me," Priyanka deapans. "I will have my breakfast."

"It is 6 in the morning your American time, that is too early-"

Chapter Text

Baba said not to bother the guests, because they came from very far away and that tends to make people tired. Which doesn't quite make sense, since Kahaani said the pink lion could take people anywhere right away. How can a person be tired if they barely traveled for a second? Baba said something about "time zones" and "sleep cycles", but no one bothered to pay attention to that.

Because sleeping in their house is a rakshesha. A real live rakshesha.

The teachers had talked about rakshesha once. Immortal shapeshifters that came out of the sky with bodies of maya, the stones on their bodies the only truth of their forms.

And there's one in their house.

Alone, of course. Kahaani and attai were out at the moment, but the rakshesha was still asleep in Kahaani's room when they checked.

"You do it."

"No, you do it."

"I wanna do it!"

It's Aadvay that pushes past and actually gets up close, nudging at the rakshesha's wide hands. Its broad claws push forward like knives, and it's almost funny, the way they can command its claws like the switch of baba's favorite knife they aren't supposed to touch.

Nadir nudges closer. "Does it have a heartbeat?"

Aadvay moves his hands to the rakshesha's wrist. "It feels like nothing. Just very buzzy."

The rakshesha's whole self seemed kind of buzzy. A vague, low hum rumbling from its throat and through its body like a cat.

"It's kind of like our other attai's motorcycle, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Or the old stupid air conditioner at school."

There's a little chorus of giggles at that.

"Does it breathe?"

"It doesn't beat its heart, why would it breathe?"

"I don't know. Maybe it would."

Acharya slaps his hand over its face with a hearty whack, prompting a harsh, chuffing puff of air. "Huh. I suppose it does."

But the sharp sound rolls on like a rumbling growl of song when Acharya doesn't lift his hand in time, and the three of them are suddenly aware of a large, dark pair of eyes blearily boring through them. Clearly there is only one obvious solution.

Run out of the room screaming at the top of their lungs.

=<>=

"IT'S ALIVE!"

"THE DEMON HAS RETURNED FROM DEATH!"

"IT'S GOING TO EAT US FOR OUR SINS!"

"What are you blathering on about, you little demons?" Aadish questions. He meets the weary eyes of the rakshesha, a broad, pawing arm clawing lightly at the doorframe as he chases some semblance of wakefulness. He frowns. "Didn't I tell you to keep our guests away from your cattle prodding?" He swipes around him with his papers, scattering the children like moths. "Get out, you lot! Go find a stray dog to bother!"

As the laughter gets farther away, he sighs, pinching his brow.

"Once again, I am sorry for my children."

"Once again," the rakshesha (Steven, he called himself Steven) gently insists, "I'm used to it."

"What kind of household are you living in to be used to that? "

"Oh, it's nothing on my house. I'm just used to being poked by little guys, is all."

Aadish sets some chai between them on the table. "I wouldn't think your kind would have much to do with children."

"True," Steven admits, taking a cup into his hands, "but you don't need to be a child to be childish. Some Gems are plenty proof of that."

"You have a point there."

Steven lets out a content hum, sipping at his drink. "Besides, all Gems are like my children, in a way."

Wait. "Wait." Aadish has a stray, alarming thought, but that can't be right.

"Yes?"

"You know..." Don't be nervous, don't make it awkward. "...I... what is your Gem type, if it's not rude to ask?"

"Diamond." Steven looks off to the side, taking another sip of chai. "Asteria Diamond."

"Huh."

This is fine. Probably. Maybe. Ok, maybe not fine.

Dear gods above, Kahaani went and seduced an alien warlord.

"You know what?" Aadish looks down at his cup. "I need something stronger than this."

"At 11 in the morning."

"Who will stop me? God?"

"You know what, that's fair."

Chapter Text

He's not wearing his usual clothes, this trip. Just a white buttoned shirt and pyrope red pants. He's even wearing sandals, like he used to.

Years of political bureaucracy and (formerly) suppressing all negative emotions at the drop of a hat have- in a way that shouldn't be surprising but somehow always is- given him one hell of a poker face. A smiling, disturbingly tranquil poker face, but a poker face nonetheless.

Except with her.

Maybe it's a little bit because they literally grew up together, and that's always going to give her an advantage over everyone else, knowing the exact twitch in his eyes that betrays him.

And there will always be some selfish, prideful, pettier part of her that also knows that he has never had to learn to hide himself from her.

So when he sees her in Kaia's lehenga choli that her cousin absolutely insisted she should wear for the day because it just looks so much better on you, Kahaani, you have the height and the curves for it, his face is an amusingly open book.

The abrupt look of his diamond eyes shuttering wide like camera lenses, the rolling flex of his claws. The shy, hesitant tilt of his smile like he's almost ashamed to admit he likes what he sees, his eyes transfixed like he can't quite look away, and it's in this last facet of his expression that she properly realizes that she's wearing pink.

It wasn't quite common knowledge that Gems could get... fixated with court colors, but it wasn't unknown, either.

Which might have explained the very sly look Kaia had given when she'd passed the clothes along to Connie.

Very funny, Kaia. Look at what you've done. You broke him. You broke my fiancé.

So she makes her way towards him with a very particular tease in her smile that she's definitely going to deny later. She doesn't smother her laugh, seeing the I-Am-Very-Much-Pretending-Not-To-Look look on his face as he runs out of places to avert his eyes to.

"Steven."

His only response is a wavering, drawn hum.

"Steven."

"Mmmmmm…."

She draws her dupatta across his shoulders, trapping him closer. "Ste-ven. Dearest straw-berry boi. Tell me I'm pretty."

"Hey. I thought you were supposed to be strawberry."

"That was before you got all big, pink, and freckly." Connie smushes his face. "Strawberry boy."

"No..." he despairs.

"Sweet boy. Freckly boy."

"If I'm the strawberry," he manages to mumble past her hands, "you have to live with being the biscuit."

"I'll take it. I am now... Millionaire Biscuit." 

"Isn't it called millionaire shortbread-"

"Millionaire Biscuit." She gently jostles his head. "Don't avoid the real questions here, strawberry."

"I don't wanna be weird..."

"I tried to swordfight gods at 13, we're 5 years past weird. Now tell me I look pretty in pink, we're both thinking it."

"Okay," he finally caves. "You do look nice in pink. You look great, and frankly it should be illegal, and frankly I shouldn't like it as much as I do. Cheater."

"It's not my fault your gem brain is such a blushing bride for pink."

"Still a cheater." He presses an idle kiss to her hand. "What brought this on, anyway?"

"Can't a girl just let a pretty boy tell her she looks nice?"

"Not when she looks so sad," and it's not fair, the soft trill that creeps into his voice as he reaches up to take her hands with his own. "Come on. Talk to me." 

Cheater.

"It's just-" A short, puffing sigh. "There's a reason we never visit here that often."

"Airplanes are expensive?"

"Not just that. It's just- Am'mā's side of the family can be... difficult. Guess I kind of forgot how. It's nothing that bad, I just... wasn't ready."

"Something happened."

"It doesn't matter, it wasn't anything big, really-"

"It hurt you." And it's not fair, the sorrowed note of his eyes. "It matters to me."

"...It's stupid."

"Not to me. Not if it's you."

"Okay, Pylades." It takes a short while for the laughter to go down, and maybe she needed that. "But it really is kind of stupid. Some of my cousins pulled me over for a makeover- that's how I got the dress. And then they all talked about how nice it looked on me, and Lakshimi-" She looks off to the side. "-she said I'd be pretty if I wasn't so dark."

"...What?"

"Ugh, it's just-" she flaps her hands. "It's this stupid human thing. Some people think darker skin is... uglier."

"I don't understand."

"Honestly, good. It's stupid, and honestly, it's good you don't get it. There's nothing to get. It's just this stupid fucking... tradition bullshit."

"She... called you ugly." He frowns. "I thought you said your family liked you."

"They do, it's just- that love comes with a lot of extra... ech."

"We don't have to invite them, you know. We can just drop it, if you want."

"No. They aren't bad people, they fucking just... they're filtered through the shitty cultural lenses they grew up with. They're better than they used to be, but there's still... leftovers."

A sharp, chuffing laugh. "How very Diamond of them."

"Honestly, fucking yeah."

He tilts his head strangely at her. "I haven't seen you this keyed up and swear-y since that time you forced yourself to watch the Spirit Morph Saga OVA."

"I know, I hate it."

"Anything I can do?"

She harshly grabs at the pink paisley of her dupatta, the one he's foolishly forgotten to take off his shoulders, and pulls him toward a not-so-gentle kiss, savoring the surprised trill that hums into her throat, the crackle of phosphene rattling behind her eyes, the echoing shocked tide of song flailing in her mind like an ocean current. She pulls away to the flare of his diamond eyes, scattered with pink, the wide open daze she paints across his face with her indignant passion.

"Just burn it out of my brain," she almost growls.

"Okay..." is all the dizzy, half-drunk reply he gets before she pulls him down again.

Chapter Text

Hirwa Maheswaran is as tall as her granddaughter, though perhaps not quite as willowy, with a face just as hauntingly stern as her daughter's.

Aadithya Maheswaran is just as tall, thin and hard like old iron cables, a born gray in his bangs inherited from five generations of wayward sons and passed down to a single daughter. 

Priyanka Maheswaran sits beside them at an old table. And old table, worn and carved and painted, so low one had to sit on the ground to meet it, this table was the constant of her entire childhood.

She has not sat at this table in over twenty years. If it had been up to her, she would have lived and breathed and died having never sat at this table again. But it's not up to her.

It's not about her.

Connie is sitting at a swinging bench with Aadish's oldest, Adya. When they were young, the two girls could have been twins. But now, less so. Connie is tall and strong and sharp faced, a wide hooked nose, the half lidded slant of dark eyes falsely relaxed and every last iota alert. Adya is shorter, softer, her long loose braid and round large glasses and echo of a Connie that could have been, had she never read a book on a beach one fateful day out of countless others.

(Priyanka does not comment on the memory of Adya's shy confessions- that her fledgling but stable music career has become more important than the psychology degree someone else has chosen for her, that Connie's brave life has, perhaps, inspired her to try and find a bravery of her own, even if it is not one of sword, but of song.)

Adya shows Connie her phone, and Priyanka pretends not to know that the seemingly innocuous picture of a skinny Ocean Jasper also happens to be the girl's clandestine music teacher.

Am'mā's voice cuts through her mind, as it always has. "She's done well enough for herself," her rough, low voice concedes. "Though she could have done better," she adds with a pointed look in Steven's direction.

He's out in the courtyard with the children, hiding one hand behind the other. He slowly reveals the hidden hand, finger by finger, unveiling the little living cat face at the end of each digit. The kids squeal at the teasing wiggle of happily meowing fingers, grabbing for his hand that he perpetually dances just out of reach.

"He's an immortal king, Am'mā. I'm not sure how much better anyone can get."

Baba's grey thin brows hang heavy over his exasperated expression. "She could have married a human man, instead of a... rakshesha warlord! "

The children grow tired of Steven's tyranny, unionizing to tackle him to the ground. His deep singing laughter echoes in her mind, and with a shift of light he is a large wolf, waving fur gleaming blush and creamrose as he gracefully bounds around them, rocking his head like some playful imitation of a bucking bull.

Am'mā's glare is disappointment and distaste all in one. "All the good she'd done to push past her father's blood, and to waste it on a demon-"

"Don't you dare."

And her mother's face is indignant with rage, because how dare she be interrupted. It's almost funny. A sixteen-year old Priyanka would have laughed.

But this isn't about her.

"Don't you dare," and Doug would be proud, to hear the vindication in her voice, "say a word about him. That demon," she harshly gestures at the courtyard, at Steven, at the delighted gaggle of children, "saved my daughter's life."

"And what, she owes it to him now?"

"He saved Connie by making her happy! Happy in all the ways I never could. In loving her, for herself and only herself, in all the ways I failed to love her until it was too late."

There are no tears in her eyes. She has not cried to her mother since she was 5, and she's not about to break that record. The shake in her voice is as close as it will get.

"So don't you dare throw your pedigree and pride and outdated standards into this. Don't you dare say he's wrong, or unnatural, or not good enough for her. Those two are the best things that have ever happened to eachother! Look at them! "

At some point, Steven had turned into a mirror image of the roller bird that had gotten into Aadish's house earlier that morning, and happily perched on Connie's shoulder. She laughs and trails her hand outwards as he hops along the length of her arm, leaping away just in time to come back to himself, tracing her cruelly calloused fingers with his white clawed hands.

"I suppose... he really is quite taken with her."

"I-" Priyanka breaks her own words with a weary sigh. "I don't care about our past. I've had nearly thirty years to get over it. I'm not asking you to say sorry, or to be okay with what's happened between us- what's still happening between us. I'm just asking you to at least keep it to yourself, for just a day. Just one day where you don't judge what's happening around you."

Her voice is almost pleading, now.

"They're happy. Connie is happy. For once in your life, can't that just be enough for you?"

At the end of her words, at the end of her rope, she finally stands and walks away. She does not wait for their response, she does not look back, and for as long as she lives, she never sits at that table again.

Chapter Text

He hadn't really looked at himself in a mirror for nearly 30 years, before moving to the temple. He always told himself it was because living in a van doesn't really lend one to keeping good glass around.

He pretends it's not because of the way his mom would forcibly do his hair in front of the mirror every day.

He pretends it's not because he would look at Rose, ever timeless, and forget he could ever change as well.

He pretends it's not the fear of what he's become, now that she's gone.

Every piece that every day falls away, another piece of the Greg Universe that Rose had loved gone forever.

He runs his hand through his hair, cut thirty years too short, and he mourns a little all over again.

At this point, he's running out of excuses. He lives in a house, now, and has for years. His son is getting married. There's no good reason to go forgetting what he looks like, even if it hurts to look.

He looks in the mirror.

...

"Steven? "

"Yeah?"

"Why is my hair all grown back?"

"...What are you talking about?"

"You heard me. Get over here."

His son ducks into the bathroom and freezes. Greg's hair is not grown back quite to its glory day state, but it is grown. A touch more of a red (dare he say pink) shine than he remembers, darker than the sun had last left it. Scattered at the top of his head, some stray strands are white, even, though it is a white that scatters oddly pink in the bathroom light.

It is not the hair of a Greg Universe of thirty years ago, but it is most definitely not the aging recession he had been growing into when he last checked.

And all Steven can say to that is a little "Oh."

"Son, did you do something?"

At that, Steven's easy smile morphs into a strained, neutral squint, mouth thin as he looks anywhere but Greg.

"Steven." And Steven flinches, just a little, shrinking in on himself, holding his hands together while he looks at the floor. "Steven, I'm not mad or upset or anything. I just wanna know what happened."

"I didn't mean to. I just-" His uncertain stutter is punctuated by the rolling flex of his claws. "I wasn't trying to... change you, or like, turn back the clock, or something, I-" and his hand raises like he almost wanted to reach out to Greg, but drops before it can make up its mind. "You lost a lot, being my dad. I know it was hard. I just wanted to give some of it back."

And suddenly the mysterious, meticulous lift of every little pain he'd collected over the last twenty years hits him over the head with a big wow, this suddenly makes a lot more sense and all the good grace of a semi.

Oh, Steven.

"Hey. Hey." And he reaches out for that hand that never quite made its way to him, and Steven finally manages to lift his head and look at him. "You know you don't owe me anything, right? I'm your dad. That's my job. You don't ever have to... make it up to me that you exist. Whatever I had to lose-" and maybe it's not the best time to be stifling a laugh under his breath, but let it never be said he was the master of appropriate timing, "-whatever I gave up, that's on me. That's what I signed on for. Y'know?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Boy, I literally just went off about how you shouldn't be sorry for me."

"Sorry-" But this time Steven catches himself with a self-deprecating laugh. "Jeez. There it is again."

"You're too polite for your own good, son."

"Perhaps," he cryptically concedes. "Still, I- sorry for doing something like this without at least telling you first."

"Just promise me you'll tell me next time?" He runs a nervous hand through his hair. "Besides, I'm not exactly complaining here. It's nice to have my hair back, even if it isn't the heartbreak hair of the good old days."

A graceless chuff of laughter. "Bold of you to assume you've stopped breaking hearts."

"Wow, okay, let's not bring up my literal zoo of exes."

"Greg Universe, heartbreaker," Steven jokingly rhapsodizes. "May you sing songs and break hearts for as long as you live."

"Who taught you to be so rude, kiddo? I'm not mad, I just want to talk."

"Bold of you to assume I didn't get it from you, Mr. Greg "He's Dead To Me" Universe."

"Wow, okay, be like that-"

Chapter Text

He's barely been on Earth for an hour and he's already thinking about when he'll leave.

Five months out of town in the out-of-townest way possible. Must be a record.

He hasn't visited his parents yet. Maybe he should. They miss him, he knows. Even if he can't quite muster the same sentiment. Even if he can see the age on their faces just a little more, every year.

His crew is making the most of their vacation already. The Rutiles carried Padparadscha off to Spacetries (he should check on Blue Lace sometime- maybe later) and Flourite even defused for the occasion. Her components are back at the landing pad, christening it with artful vandalism while Rhodonite looks on nervously.

(It's connected to a house on the edge of Little Homeworld. It's big enough to house everybody, even if they all unfused. He wonders if it's bad that he's almost afraid to step inside.)

There's no one in the beach house, a fact he isn't sure he's grateful for or not, but he puts his hand on the temple's door anyway. He barely touches his fingers on the door before it opens to him, a blooming swirl of light soon overshadowed by the gigantic shape that practically leaps out of it.

Steven Universe is dark tunneled eyes and the smile of orchestral song that disbelievingly whispers his name. He is the large, strong, freckled arms that embrace Lars like an old friend, the white clawed hand against his hair and the enveloped scent of ozone and petrichor.

God, how long has it been since anyone had just held him like this?

"Okay, buddy," he sarcastically pats against Steven's back. "Don't crush the merchandise."

Steven pulls back, hands still lingering at his shoulders, as always looking far happier to see him than Lars probably deserves. "You're like a month early, Stars. What brought you down to earth so soon?"

"Eh, y'know. Checkin' on Spacetries, visiting the folks. Touring that house you made us." He meaningfully adjusts his very full shoulder bag. "Thought I might pop in, see if you're good to hang."

"Always."

=<>=

"What did'ya say this place was called 'gain?"

"The, uuuuhhhhhh…" Steven pauses from his drink. "....sssssssssssssssssstrawberry battle. Field."

"Golly fucking gosh." Lars looks out at the actual field of horrifyingly proportioned strawberries. "Wonder why."

Which must be the best comedy Steven's ever heard in his life right now, the way he crashes laughing into the crook of Lars' neck, the arm slung heavy around his shoulders, a bottle hanging loosely from his hand.

Lars goes for the bottle. "Gimme that."

"You have your own drinks," Steven barely protests, hand giving way the moment Lars grabs at the neck of the bottle of- what did they call this blended ichor stuff, ambrosia? Ambrosia.

"You know damn well this Gem god-blood bullshit's the one thing in the universe that can get me drunk anymore."

"Tell that to the Asgardian mead."

"I told you that in confidence."

"Serves you right for trusting me."

"Traitor." He takes a sharp swig, savoring the sharp, electric haze that chases after him. "You got your own ichor in this too, right?"

"Well, yeah. That's the only reason you can get anything out of it, ya meatwalker."

"Meatwalker? That's a new one," he snorts. "I'm just saying. If your own ichor is in this, and you drink it, isn't it like. Cannibalism or something?"

"What? No, I-"

But Steven's song stops in its tracks, his face blankly frozen with thought.

Hah. Got 'em.

"Oh my god, you're a cannibal."

"This feels incorrect, somehow."

"No, you can't take this from me. You're like a- a- a- a vampire."

"No!" And it's funny, the weird little squint, the unblinking, drunken distress on Steven's face. "Don't- don't call me- don't- don't vampires, like, die in the sun? I eat the sun..."

"Cannibal space vampire..." Lars warbles dramatically, waggling his fingers.

"No, you..." Steven trails off, a large hand idly reaching towards his face. "...you have a beard. When did you start having a beard?"

"Eh." Lars scratches at the white hair. It's a crisp, shortly cropped frame that doesn't quite soften the harsh, squared angles of his face. "I just, uh. Wanted to look..." Older. "...I don't know. Also shaving's a bitch."

Steven's purring hum echoes down through his hands and right into Lars' head. "Looks kinda weird."

"Aw jeez, really?" Wait, is he seriously considering shaving off three months of work because Steven thought it looked weird? "I guess the white on pink frames my face a little funny-"

"Not a bad weird. Just makes you look different," Steven refutes easily, half tugging at Lars' long braid. "Really commits the space crime aesthetic you've got going, Stars. It suits you."

"Finally, I am crime boy. The manliest crime boy and the manliest crime beard."

Steven pokes at the white hair, activating the portal with his fingertips.

"Stop poking my crime beard."

"Haha. Portal beard goes brrrr," Steven eloquently replies.

"My masculinity is being assaulted by a space vampire," Lars cries flatly. "Somebody help."

"Not a vampire, it's- it's not cannibalism if it's blood-"

"Not helping your case here, m'Diamond-"

"Ichor's not- not even blood? I-" Steven fumbles for his phone. "Hol' up, Stars, we need like, a third party or somethin'."

One ring. Two rings.

"Steven? Why are you calling at 2 AM?"

"Oh, right, forgot about time zones. Why are you up at 2 AM, Connie?" He squints worriedly at the screen. "Have you been sleeping ok?"

"Just binging. What's up?"

"Uhhhhhhhh…"

"Connie, give us your blood!" Lars half yells into the phone. "It's for science!"

"Lars? What are you doing back on Earth, the wedding isn't even- you know what? I'm not gonna even ask. Call me when you guys aren't drunk."

Without fanfare or preamble, the call ends. 

The dial tone echoes into the battlefield.

"You killed our phone call."

"Yeah. And???"

Steven glares flatly at him, and he looks so much like an upset show cat that Lars can't cage the literal booming laugh that flies out of him like dragon's fire, shaking the bushes around them.

And Steven's glare breaks just long enough for his own mirthful song to join him, and the combined force of their slightly too sonic joy weighs them down like the pair of alien drunkards they are, right into the dirt.

"Cerise skies, I missed you," whispers an old friend's breathless song.

Steven Universe is a month from married, drunk on ambrosia halfway across the world from home, and he's Lars' first real friend, maybe his best, even now.

He is breathless laughter just a touch too echoed in the mind, and the tunneled diamond eyes that meet the dark resurrected amaranthine of his own.

"I'm glad to see you again, Stars."

There's a scattered pink there, in the darkness of his eyes, and for the first time since he's landed on Earth, Lars isn't thinking about when he's going to leave again.

"I'm glad to be back."

Chapter Text

"Oh hey, Connie."

"Hey, Bismuth." She easily crosses the threshold of the forge, sword slung across her back. "You free for now?"

"Anything for the blushing bride." Bismuth gently hammers one last rivet into shape, tossing it in with all the other ones in a big ol' jar. "What can I do ya for today?"

Connie unsheathes her sword, passing it along to Bismuth's expectant hand. "I was wondering if you could give it a touch up for the wedding."

"Mm." Bismuth runs her hand along the sword, savoring the edge of it's blade. "I can do that, but... actually, I was thinkin' of givin' you a new one entirely."

"I dunno, I'm pretty happy with this one. It still works just as fine as always."

"Damn right it does, I made it." Sword still in hand, she leans back against her anvil. "But you've been needin' a new fittin' for nearin' a year, now. You've outgrown this one. I was actually kinda waitin' on you swingin' by for an adjustment, at least."

"Oh." In retrospect, that does make a lot of sense. A sword made for her at 13 couldn't stay with her forever. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"Eh, it's more on me for makin' assumptions on what you knew. But since you're here anyways, I might as well give it to you now. Better late than never, right?"

A stately zweihänder, bearing the same rosy metal and blue rainguard as the one she wielded now. The handle is purple, just as before- but where there was a simple hilt on her old shortsword, this one is a swirling, gilded basket hilt that curled in on itself like the weave of thorns.

A sword worthy of a legends.

A sword worthy of an interstellar knight.

"Well don't look so struck," Bismuth teases. "Try it in your hands." (A perfect fit.) "Huh, I actually nailed it. I was worried I'd gotten your hand size too small."

"This is… I don't even know what to say. It's perfect, it's-"

"-my finest piece of work." There must've been something mildly terrified in the look on Connie's face, to make Bismuth laugh so loudly, slapping her fist heartily against her anvil. "Geez, girl. I ain't layin' you on my anvil. It's no chips of my Gem. Consider it a wedding gift- for the greatest student of the finest swordsman I know."

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll never use another sword again." She looks back to her more teen sized sword. "Do you want this one back?"

"Nah. Keep it. It's yours. And when you find your own student, you bring that thing right back here and I'll make a worthier sword out of it yet."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Then I look forward to be doin' bismuth with you." She steps away from her anvil. "Now get over here. I need to check the measurements for your armor."

Chapter Text

"...and then you'll exchange your vows. Have your vows written."

"Yepperoni."

"Yes, ma'am."

"So you'll say your vows, we'll start the final I do's- try not to cry, Steven-"

"What do you take me for, Garnet?"

"Someone who's going to cry."

"Mm, ya got me there."

"Also, both of you. Remember to eat breakfast or you will faint. You think you can power through but you really can't. Connie, you'll feel too nervous to eat, but do it anyway. Steven, don't choose your own food, you'll make a choice you'll regret."

"I should be insulted, but you know what? That's fair. My culinary crimes are too vast to name."

"Okay, but I'm probably going to eat something bland and boring so I don't like. Throw up from stress."

Steven looks back to Connie, shocked. "Wait, that's real?"

Connie looks back to Steven with a dry look. "Please tell me you're not only just now finding out puking is real."

"No, no. The stress puke thing."

"Haha yeah, people's bodies can get all... weird when there's a stressor. You know how it is."

"And here I thought that stuff was dramatic exaggeration."

"God, I fucking wish."

"I hope you're using the family friendly version of your notes, Connie," Garnet (almost) jokingly warns.

"The swears I wrote are just there for catharsis, I wouldn't actually say them, what you take me for?"

"Someone who'll accidentally swear in front of Casimir if you keep rehearsing from your 'annotated' version."

"...Okay fair, I'll switch over."

"Good choice," Garnet praises only half sarcastically. "So after we initiate the I do's, I will say I now pronounce you Stevonnie, and then you'll fuse."

"Oh." The neutral smile doesn't quite leave Steven's face, but something stills in his expression. "...Fusing. Right."

Garnet, at least, picks up on the slight discord in his song. "It's your wedding. You don't have to fuse if you don't want to."

"You... you don't want to be Stevonnie?"

"I do, I just-" his song breaks with hesitation as he looks back to her. "We haven't been Stevonnie since. Well..."

Oh.

He holds his hands together. "It's been almost three years, now."

"Steven. It's not like I didn't want to be Stevonnie ever again. Just not forever."

"I know, I just... I wasn't gonna push it."

"Hey. I want this." She trails a hand along his face. "I want you."

He leans into the touch. "I want this too. There just never seemed to be a right time."

"There's never going to be a right time unless we make one. So why not make it now?"

"...Okay. Yeah. I'll do it. We'll do it."

"Well thank the stars for that," Garnet boulders past the moment. "I did not know what I was gonna put for the alt lines if you didn't."

"Thanks, O fearless and prepared wedding planner."

"I just really wanted to see Stevonnie again. I just think they're neat." Garnet adjusts her glasses. "Anyway, I was re-adjusting the honor guard..."

Chapter Text

Vendan.

Hey. Vendan.

No.

You don't even know what I was going to say.

We haven't slept in four days. Go to sleep.

You say that like we even need sleep anymore.

An hour a day is still an hour you need.

Say that to the four days we haven't slept.

Yes, and here we are, with our accumulated four hour sleep debt. What could it possibly mean.

Go to sleep.

We could go harder. We could go the full week. I think it would really make that last day humanly attainable.

Are you.

Seriously skipping sleep just to achieve human aesthetic for one day.

We can play humans and really feel those eight hours.

Yes, but have you considered- no.

I can understand for work, but there's no pressing engagements that require our current, constant attention.

Dull.

I will pretend that this is the sleep deprivation talking, and I will allow us to forget it.

Oh hush. Don't be so dramatic.

...If you're going to keep us up, we may as well be productive.

Steven opens his eyes. "SHELL, open the garden."

The Hyperuranion Empyrean shifts as he moves to stand, bedroom sinking out of existence. Clouds fall away to a garden expanse- trees, blossoms, vegetables, all manner of herbs.

The Idunn tree is getting unruly.

They score the infant tangle of its branches with their claws.

So. We're marrying Connie.

Have been for over five months now. Do keep up, brother.

I mean. We're marrying Connie.

Well, yes.

Does that mean we're sort of marrying eachother?

We're marrying Connie, that doesn't mean we're marrying eachother.

Do you think we should?

...I think I will blame this particular line of questioning on the sleep deprivation.

I mean, not Connie married, obviously-

Obviously-

It's just, well. We've been together all our lives.

It's not like we had a choice.

What if I want it to be our choice?

Their hands stop their meticulous unbranching. They pause, leaning back against the tree, sinking to sit on the ground.

What brought this on, Sten?

...I've been getting stronger, ever since we balanced. Ever since our power settled, I've started to become more the way Lion is, or Lars. I mean, we've both noticed. We don't need to sleep or eat as much as we used to.

With the integration, we've been able to rely on light energy absorbed from our Gem. This isn't an unexpected turn.

It's not just that and you know it. We've changed. I've changed.

What are you driving at?

There may come a day that Steven stops having a time limit when we unfuse.

Their face stills.

Are- are you certain of this?

It's no longer an impossibility, brother.

I see.

Is that... is that what you want?

No.

Then why? Why would you-

Why...

...

Brother, please.

Do you remember the rejuvenator?

...I don't like this.

It was the first time I'd really had to be on my own, other than. You know, the first time.

It was death itself, being apart from you. It wasn't just the fact that I was dying. Being alone like that...

Their claws dig tighter at the stray silvery branch still in their hands. Honey gold sap languidly bleeds down their fingers.

There are tears on their face as Sten's song breaks in their mind.

It was so quiet...

There is no sound in the garden but the stilted song of their ichored tears, and the flowers that grow with new and greater vengeance around them.

I remember.

I wish you didn't.

I know.

I don't want any part of it. I don't ever be apart from you, ever again.

Neither do I. But you can't promise that.

There's a difference between seperate and apart. I know we can't stop what might happen. But no matter what happens, no matter if we seperate, I don't ever want us to be apart.

Brother...

Vendan, please.

Wherever we go, we go together. Now and forever. I so swear.

No matter what happens, we will always find eachother. Now and forever. I so swear.

...Even if the day comes when you'll no longer need me?

Even when I won't need you, I'll always need you.

What about you? You've never needed me.

I have always needed you, brother.

...Is it cruel that I'm happy to hear it?

Only if it's cruel that I'm happy to hear it as well.

I cannot imagine myself without you.

Neither can I.

I can only imagine the empty silence. I don't know if I could survive it.

Then we fight the silence together.

Together.

Forever.

They fall asleep in the garden there, under the trees, head on their knees, a stray silver branch still in their hands as it blooms with flowers.

Chapter Text

"Peridot, you can't just wear the same outfit as me."

"Why not?" Peridot pouts. She's wearing a green tailcoat suit and a yellow cummerbund. "All you guys are wearing the same thing!"

"She's got a point, Pierogi."

"Just because we all have cummerbunds does not mean we're all wearing the same thing." Pearl puts a flower to the pink ribbon of her top hat, indignantly adjusting her powder blue tailcoat. "Amethyst!" she gasps indignantly. "Are you seriously wearing a cummerbund with a dress? "

Amethyst looks down at herself. The ensemble is just short of a hanbok, the gray collaring of her white short jacket opened loosely to flaunt her gem. The bright purple of her sash highlights the dark night of her chima skirt, rimmed with lazy white and golden stars. "Yeah?"

Pearl gestures to her own golden sash. "They're supposed to be part of a suit! Why on earth would you do..." She gestures vaguely at the other Gem's clothes. "...that?"

Amethyst lazily angles a long hairpin into her bun as hair falls in front of her eyes all over again. "Because this look absolutely slaps, next question."

Pearl's voice strains with a stressed trill. "We were supposed to coordinate."

"I'll coordinate with you!" Peridot chirps.

"Ugh, fine." Pearl brings a hand to her chin. "Do you have a tie?"

Peridot brings a well loved, salmon pink bowtie. "Does this count?"

Pearl adjusts her own bowtie to match. "It'll do."

=<>=

"Garnet, isn't that the suit you wore for that theatre production?"

"It's a good suit."

"Well, yes. But do you have to wear the feathers?"

"Yes."

"...Why."

"I am the god of this wedding."

=<>=

"Haha, look at Pearl."

She has her hat tucked to her chest, a shocked look on her face.

Bismuth's black suit is opened and folded up to her sleeves, shirt buttoned down just enough to flaunt her gem and the gold chain around her neck. Her wine red sash circles the high, sturdy waist of her pants.

"Pearl," she waveringly laughs as she loosely half ties her hair, "why you gotta be lookin' like that? Fit to make me blush."

=<>=

"Do you think this is too lazy?"

The sleeves and halter neck of Lapis' white sundress are sheer and lacy, and like all her other clothes, it opens at her back to frame her gem. The shells on her straw hat jangle as she adjusts it, gold bracelets gleaming. Her sash is the same rich blue as her hair.

"I think it suits you," Peridot reassures.

=<>=

"How many bow ties to you want, Casimir?"

"All the bowties! "

"That's so valid and I love you. Now pick some colors, sweetie."

=<>=

"JANE! HAVE YOU SEEN MY KILT?"

"...I thought you were joking when you said you wanted to wear your kilt, so I forgot to take it out."

"Jane!" Ronaldo despairs, twisting his ring anxiously. "You know I never joke about aesthetics!"

She laughs consolingly. "Come on, I'll help you look."

=<>=

Yellow adjusts the shoulder of her sharp looking blazer. "I hope we won't be overdressed."

Blue runs a comb through her hair, letting it fall down the back of her toga dress. She pats Yellow's white middle-finger gloves with her matching own. "Well I think you look very dashing, at least."

Spinel bounces around the room, her puffy sleeved shirt and flaring poodle skirt bouncing along with her.

White enters the room. 

She's taken the sleeves off her dress, and her cape now rests around her arms as a shawl.

"It's not too much, is it?"

"Not at all," Yellow reassures.

"The shawl is a nice touch," Blue adds.

=<>=

Jasper slowly marches to Amethyst and kneels down, putting her hand's on the smaller Gem's shoulders. There's an overwhelmed look in her eyes.

"Help."

Amethyst slowly pops a piece of gum, sweeping her tongue over herself when it pops in her face. "K."

=<>=

It's strange, how fragile a person's appearance is. How little things can make a person unrecognizable.

Greg Universe stands in front of her, and although she has watched day by day as his hairline grew back, the subtle darkening of his hair, the gradual fade of the flashburn on his skin (she may have suffered the aftermath of Rose's death but he was there and he had paid for it in more ways than one), it is still shocking to see him like this.

He stands in front of her in his white suit, and though not a single line has lifted from his face, though he has not lost one bit of his scruff- he seems almost twenty years younger, and she can see in him the only man Rose Quartz ever truly loved.

"Could you help me with my tie?" he asks shyly. "My hands are shaking too hard."

Pearl smiles. "Of course."

Chapter Text

She wakes up at precisely 5:15, a whole clear hour before her alarm was set.

She takes a long bath, full stops. Scrubs, bath bombs, all the fun times. Not a shower. Showers are loud water running seamlessly over her head and it feels like drowning-

-and she gingerly washes away Pearl and Am'mā's handiwork.

=<>=

"Oh dear." Pearl frowns. "Are you sure? My involvement wouldn't exactly be... traditional."

"We're a bit too late for tradition, Pearl. You've got a steady, artistic hand, and besides, you're my teacher. You're part of why I'm here today. I want you to be part of this."

With a wavering, tearful smile, Pearl nods at Connie, and takes the brush from Priyanka's waiting hand.

=<>=

Waking up at 4 AM is barely a memory of a memory. He doesn't remember what Dad insisted he at least eat a little of before getting swept up in the final sea of preparations.

Pearl has to be physically barred by Amethyst from fussing over Steven's clothes for the billionth time in a row.

=<>=

Her mother's fingers only shake a little bit as she ties back Connie's hair.

For once in her life, Priyanka Maheswaran doesn't have a single word. She only puts her hand on her daughter's face, and in that single touch the thousand things she cannot say.

=<>=

"You're nervous," Garnet observes. (It is not a question. Garnet doesn't ever ask questions.)

Connie folds her arms behind her and desperately wishes she could hold the sword on her back without looking like she wants to murder someone.

"I'm fucking terrified. Let's do this."

=<>=

The Crystal Gems march the aisle and as they protectively encircle the altar they meet her eyes and she sees nothing but fierce pride in every single set.

Three Rose Quartzes skip along the aisle barefooted as they joyfully scatter the path (and really, all the audience) in a slow rain of petals.

And then Mr. Greg's guitar starts to play.

=<>=

And she sees him.

=<>=

And when he looks back on this day, he will say that he hardly remembered it. He will know that time has always moved strangely for him, and that today of all days the world was a flurry of hours that moved faster than sound.

This is what he will remember.

That when he stepped outside and he saw her there, time stands still.

He will remember the light of the sun on her armor, every shifting shine as she moved. The polished, gilded carve of the rosette on her chestplate. The dull gleam of her gloves. Her boots scraped against the sand.

He will remember the patterned swirl of thorn on the scabbard of her sword, the rippling glow of silvery mail. He will remember the red and white roses tied in her hair. The golden hairpin with the face of a dragon. The nath that hooked her nose, and its chain that trailed back to the piercing on her ear. The vibrant patterned pink of the dupatta draped across her shoulder.

He will remember the drift of flowers that cast dappled shadows across her face as he walks toward her, and reaches out his hands.

=<>=

He puts his gloved hands on the railing and stops.

She sees the silvery twine of branches and bluebells in his hair, the ivory white earrings shaped like hibiscus flowers.

She sees the white dress. The layered skirt embroidered with little leafy flowers in diamond's colors. The four petaled pattern that opened at his gem as it almost glowed in the light of the sun.

The freckles along his face, his arms, and what a time it is, to realize the purples, pinks, browns and whites they came in.

The petals that scatter and fall just a little too slow as he walks by, and she idly wonders how many of them are from the ceremony, and how many have only come into existence here and now, the trail he has left in his wake.

The subtle glow creeping behind his dark diamond eyes, scattered with all the colors of the sky.

The shy, rising creep of song as she turns to meet him and takes his hands.

The curl of the matching smiles on their faces as they cross the threshold of the altar, a sprawling circle of stones painted by every witness there.

=<>=

Dearly beloved.

Comrades. Soldiers. Pirates. Unbroken. Cherished friends. Dear children. Family old and new, from near and far of all corners of the universe.

Onion.

We gather here today to celebrate Steven and Connie. We who have been so gifted as to have these remarkable people in our lives- to have watched them grow, to change, to love.

They have loved us as we have loved them, and now here, at the very place they first met- the place where they fell in love a hundred times over- we celebrate the union of that love.

=<>=

I spent all my life reading stories of impossible, far off things, trying to escape the lonely world I believed myself to live in. I would read, a little girl alone on the beach, and dream of a day when I was taken to another world.

When you came into my life, you made me realize that my world was the impossible, beautiful thing that I had always tried to find. You made yourself a part of my universe and showed me it was one worth living in. 

Worth protecting.

Worth loving.

So by my sword, I vow. To love. To protect. To always defend and nurture and cherish this world we have created together.

I vow to always be a part of your universe.

=<>=

I have lived my life in service of the stories of others. I have lived a life learning, listening, understanding, changing the story of people's lives.

But you- you were the first person to ask for my story.

You asked me what was my story. What I wanted that story to be. And when you knew my story, you made yourself a part of it and you helped me change that story.

You were the one who helped me realize that my story was worth writing, too.

Worth being told.

Worth understanding.

So by my song, I vow. To always learn. To listen. To understand.

I vow to tell and always be part of your story.

=<>=

Connie Maheswaran.

I ask if you take this Gem to have and to hold, in peace and in war, on this and every world under the skies.

=<>=

Until the final death of the stars, I so swear.

=<>=

Steven Universe.

I ask if you take this human to have and to hold, in peace and in war, on this and every world under the skies.

=<>=

Until all worlds die to the cerise sky, I so swear.

=<>=

Then by the power you have vested in me, with your dearly beloved and the eternal sky as our witness...

I now pronounce you Stevonnie.

=<>=

And a kiss becomes an embrace that becomes a dance of light that rises, and out of the altar steps a tearfully joyous song of laughter that has not heard itself in years.

Stevonnie steps out into the sun like the image of myth made real, and raises their head triumphant.

"I'm here."

Chapter Text

And for those in the audience who may have wondered what happened to the rings, it will all make sense shortly.

In the end, the newlyweds decided against having rings altogether.

Being so action oriented as they were, they came to the decision that since they were not Gems (or in one case, the kind of Gem who could simply mold clothes to one's own body), it was not particularly practical to have some kind of precious metal on their hands that was bound to lose or damage itself over the course of their type of work day.

They decided to do something else.

From Connie's side of the family there is the particular cultural tradition of mehndi, a sort of temporary body art made with a paint made from the henna plant. Henna is an interesting substance in that it dyes the skin. After leaving the paint on the body for some hours, it is washed off, but the mark remains, growing more dark and defined as the hours go on before it actually begins to fade after a few days.

But when one half of a marriage has biokinetic powers, time limits are more guidelines than anything.

Which might sound like cheating. Because it is.

They had, of course, by reception time, changed their clothes to match the vaguely smart casual aesthetic of their guests.

Connie had changed to a burgundy sort of halter neck dress with a modestly slit skirt. Very classy. She was not, however wearing heels- because honestly? Fuck heels. She will probably never wear heels, ever. She would sooner stab her feet with a rusty spoon than wear heels, because as far as she's concerned, there is no real difference.

Steven, for his part, was wearing a sheer collared button shirt, folded up at the sleeves the way most of his shirts were. He's wearing grey dress pants and oxford shoes. It's a little boring, but then again, this is a 6 foot something man who is freckled and pink. Sometimes boring is better.

At least they kept the flowers in their hair. And their respective piercings.

Besides, the highlight of this set up isn't the clothes.

Rendered wine red on each of Steven's hands, there is a large, geometric linework of a four petaled flower on the back of his hands, offset by four leaves. A sweeping line cuffs like a bracelet and opens to a small diamond on each side of his wrists. (Resting under his collarbone is a small, five petaled flower framed by two leaves. This facet of their promise is entirely his own.)

Connie's left arm is a storm of swirling black. Right on the center of her shoulder is a flaring, familiar star, and it's radiating aura curls down her arm to become an ancient, battle-torn flag sweeping with thorns that frame a rose. Right down her inner arm is the sharp, deadly figure of her sword.

On his index fingers, and her ring fingers, there is the matching symbol of a diamond underscored by a small dot.

So yes, in the end, they decided not to have rings.

They went for a far more permanent form of promise instead.

=<>=

Clink clinkety clink. We chill, brah? M'kay.

We pourin' out a glass to the two coolest cucumbers I know, who combine to make my other, most favoritest melon in town.

My stars, Amethyst, are those even words coming out of your mouth?

Ugh, don't ride my gem over it, Pearl!

Anyways, y'all look great together and this probably the most galaxy brained thing you've ever done. Keep on it, my guys.

=<>=

I have no idea what I just witnessed, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask. But this is the happiest I've ever seen you, so I'll be happy for ya, even if I don't understand it.

Thanks, Uncle Andy.

=<>=

STEVEN! I AM NOW ENGAGING IN THE HUMAN TRADITIONAL BEST FRIEND SPEECH!

THE SPEECH IS YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN THERE FOR ME AND EVERYBODY AND YOU ALWAYS CARE ABOUT PEOPLE BEING HAPPY! 

BUT THIS RIGHT HERE? THIS IS YOU CARING ABOUT YOUR HAPPINESS FOR ONCE! IT'S A GOOD LOOK! YOU DESERVE IT YOU- GREAT PERSON!

=<>=

Connie. I will never be able to thank you enough for what you have done for my son. I'm glad I got to know you, and watch you two grow up together. Whatever happens after this, I'm absolutely proud to call you my daughter.

=<>=

The both o' y'all got that fire. The spirit of the Crystal Gem lives in you. You get out there into the world and you raise that flag higher!

=<>=

I'm fucking jazzed for the both of ya, you're both the best thing to happen to eachother. But I swear to fuck if you get all dumbass and divorce over some petty shit I am banning you from Spacetries for like. A literal thousand years.

Wow Lars, tell us how you really feel.

Don't fucking test me. Y'all better live your best lives or else I'mma have to intervene.

What are you gonna do?

Intervene.

=<>=

Priyanka and I have basically been calling you our son in our heads for like 6 years now, so I for one am just glad I can say it out loud now without being weird.

Doug, why.

I'm calling it like it is, honey.

=<>=

There was and is no future where you are not a part of eachother. May you live out your days together forever, in whatever form that happens to take.

...

Don't cry, Steven.

I'm not crying... you are...

Damn. You got me there.

Chapter Text

"HEY YO LIL' HOMEWORLD!"

It's a screech of song that echoes through the city and then some. Spinel squeaks a bit at the eyes that suddenly turn to her and shrinks away her hand horn, awkwardly clearing her throat as she points back to Stevonnie.

Stevonnie saunters out to the center of the crowd, snatching a surprised Gem's bottle of ambrosia. Without preamble, they throw their head back and meticulously downs the whole. Damn. Bottle.

The crowd is completely transfixed.

Stevonnie eyes the crowd as they finish, and promptly smashes the bottle on the ground.

"Welcome to the Diamond Jubilee, rocks."

=<>=

"Should he really be drinking that?" Kiki nervously asks while morbidly fascinated Gems hand Onion salt shot glasses of ambrosia. "He's like thirteen."

"I mean- probably not," Sour Cream concedes, "but consider- how would anyone stop him?"

"Hmm. True."

=<>=

"Hey yo Connie," Amethyst gestures over to herself. "Check this out."

She dumps a spread of firesalt on her tongue, and blows fire into the sky.

There are stars in Connie's eyes. "I want it."

There's a mild panic on the Gem's face now. "Uh, maybe that's not such a good idea-"

"Let me become the dragon, Amethyst-"

=<>=

"Oh no," Pearl subtly waves away an offered glass. "I don't drink."

"Aw, why not Pearls?"

"She knows she'll be a lightweight," Garnet deadpans into her own drink.

"Oh, is that so? " Bismuth teases.

"Ugh, fine." Pearl finally snatches a passing shot of ambrosia. "If only to prove you wrong."

=<>=

A veritable herd of Gems follows entranced as Shep walks around, playing their EWI.

=<>=

"What colors would you like?" Blue Pearl's brush hovers over Buck's face.

"Just gimme all of 'em."

=<>=

"Oh my stars!" squeals a Rose Quartz.

"Hi! " chirps all five of Casimir's heads.

"I love him..." cries another Rose, hugging at his leg.

"Come on," tugs another at his arm, "dance with us!"

=<>=

"Why do you have a stripe on your face?" prods a Nephrite.

"Oh, this?" Sadie raises a hand to her face and laughs. "That's a scar. It's a funny story really..."

=<>=

"Okay, who played warp taxi for the melonsprites? I'm not mad, I just want to talk."

=<>=

Three Pearls stand bemused. "What is... pizza."

Jenny tents her hands in front of her face and takes a long, slow breath.

=<>=

"Oh my god how many frankenkids do you even have."

Steven laughs only a little hysterically from under a pile on conspicuously Steven-shaped hedges. "I may have lost count after the first eighty."

"That's a lie, I know for a fact you have the exact figure tallied somewhere in that calculator brain of yours."

"Ah, ya got me there."

=<>=

Jasper is wearing a black dress, a rose gold armor gorget, and the white satin of the shawl that wraps hapzardly around her like a scarf is scattered with pink, yellow, and blue diamonds.

Her Diamond looks up at her and extends his hand.

"Dance with me?"

=<>=

"Humans have smaller, secret pants that we wear under our pants."

"Uh... I'm going with false."

Andy laughs. "Nope!"

The crowd of Gems around him lets out a collective growl and downs another shot.

=<>=

"You could probably do it," Sapphire concedes. "All the other Diamonds have projected energy attacks."

Steven runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know how though."

Blue Diamond kneels down and kisses him on the cheek. "Go forth my sweet boy. I believe in you."

Steven takes the instructional code with a few sharp blinks.

"Do it," Ruby egg on. "Do it, do it, do it do it do it-"

"I don't know if this is a good idea-"

Ruby jumps up and sharply claps him across the back, prompting a sharp yelp as pink fire rolls up from his shoulders.

A silence.

"Oh mercy, I'm a dragon."

=<>=

Ronaldo soberly walks up to Pearl. "I would like to fight one of your holograms for science."

"You would lose."

"No, no, let him go for it, Pearls. I wanna see how long he'll last."

=<>=

"Steven..." Connie whispers. "Come here a sec."

"What-"

As soon as he turns his head, she grabs his face and kisses him, long and slow, before unceremoniously pulling away. "Okay, my busted throat's gone now. Thanks."

"What just happened..."

"Shh..." she idly pets his head. "Don't worry about it."

"Everyone! I have had a vision! Connie will hurt herself by overusing firesalt to breathe fire!"

"Connie." Steven's song is dangerously level with his smile. "Please tell me you did not in fact hurt yourself trying to breathe fire."

"...Amethyst dared me to."

"No I didn't," Amethyst shouts in the distance.

"Amethyst dared me to."

Chapter Text

Stevonnie's certainly jarring to look at, five years later.

They tower over Lars now, a near eight foot solid pillar of unforgiving muscle, all of Connie's scars stretched bare, the rosy shine of their light brown skin dusted with Steven's freckles.

A face long and angular with a broad hooked nose. Half-lidded diamond eyes look down on him appraisingly.

"A poet shirt? You really fell off the deep end of the pirate aesthetic, huh?" Their gaze sweeps down his legs. "Certainly a look you've got going with the skinny jeans."

He'll never admit to the blush that rose on his face. "It's not like I've got much normal fucking human clothes that fit me anymore."

"You lazed around on Earth for a month and didn't even bother to look at a Goodwill or something. Just say you like skinny jeans, Lars," their song laughs. "Besides, I ain't saying it's a bad look on you. If you're gonna fall off the deep end of an aesthetic, you might as well own it."

"Ugh, whatever." He nurses his cup of ambrosia. "Will I be seeing more of you now that you've gone and married yourself?"

"Probably not." They lean back against the railing of the building roof, almost half sitting down. "It's nice to be me, but Steven and Connie like to be together as themselves a little more."

"Fair enough, I guess."

The party goes on below. There's a shapeshifting speed contest happening on ground level. Amethyst is winning, naturally.

"When are you leaving?"

Lars snorts at the thought. "Who says I'm leaving?"

He can't quite manage a laugh anymore. There's a sad, knowing tilt to Stevonnie's smile.

He caves.

"Probably tomorrow. At least some time within the next few days."

"Have you visited your parents yet?"

A silence.

"I was gonna stop by their place. Before I left, at least." He sighs. "It's just- hard, seeing them, sometimes."

"They miss you."

"I know."

"I miss you."

"...Oh."

Well fuck. He's sad now.

"I'm sorry I don't touch down more often, I-"

"Hey." A large, callused hand rests on his shoulder, wide curling claws clinging at his shirt. "I get it. You gotta drift. That's just how it is. I'm not saying you shouldn't. I'm just glad you're here."

"Yeah, well." He scratches at his beard. "It was nice to be back- home. At least for a little while. Even if I can never bring myself to stay."

Even when there's nothing to really come home to.

"Do what you gotta do, man. Just don't forget about us Earthlings out here, all right?"

Us Earthlings. 

Not humans or Gems or strange portal-y undead, just... people.

People in a little blue world who call it home.

Huh.

Now that's a thought he could almost come home to.

"How can I forget?" He deadpans into his drink. "Half of you beams me weird foreign candies at midnight o' clock."

"That's the spirit."

Chapter Text

Hey.

It's been a while, huh?

I know, I know. I never call, I never write. I'm here now though, aren't I?

...I'm sorry, that sounded kind of mean. Sorry. It's like... 5 in the morning right now. Even if I hardly need to sleep anymore, I guess I can still get a bit- irritable when I've just woken up.

I...

...We got married to Connie yesterday.

It's kind of young, I know. It was young the first time I asked. But it was her idea this time, and I guess it just made sense now. Now, of all times.

We had a wedding. Cakes, speeches, dresses. It was all very human- you would have loved it.

She wore roses in her hair. Maybe you would have found it ironic.

Still. It was... nice.

Everything's changing, and maybe I am too, but... I think I've finally learned to be okay with that. And even if I'm still- if we're still not quite as okay with it as we can be... at least we're not alone.

I've got me. Sten and Vendan… we've got eachother.

This life is beyond me. Beyond anything that I could have ever imagined myself being.

...

...I know this isn't the life you would have wanted for me. I know you wouldn't have wanted this.

But I do.

I don't need you to be proud of me. I think... I think I don't need you anymore. Maybe I never did.

But I guess I- I hope you would have been happy for me, at least.

It's weird, isn't it? Saying it out loud.

My therapist would have been proud of me for saying it, that's for sure. Hah. Stars, you probably never knew what a therapist is.

...

I don't know why I'm even saying all this. It's not like there's any part of you that's there to listen.

I'm basically just talking to myself in the most literal way possible. I mean, you literally-

...Ah, nevermind. You wouldn't have understood, anyway.

Anyway!

I, uh.

I saved some cake for you. I know you won't eat it, but- I guess I saw it in a movie once? It's a human thing, to leave something behind. You won't need to worry about it going to waste or anything, it'll go away on its own.

I don't think I'll be seeing you again anytime soon. I just wanted to catch up, that's all.

...Goodbye, mom. I'll let you go back to sleep.

…..

There is, somewhere, an endless field of grass, under rolling clouds and a cerise sky.

There she lies under the shade of a shrine all her own. An old painting of a Rose Quartz, untouched by the eternal sun.

There is a little plate, and a slice of cake- and yes, it was a cake so lovely it could have been worth 50 pages of pretty words.

Bit by bit, that cake turns into blooming flowers that blaze and burn with pink fire and scatter to the breeze.