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The first time Clay becomes aware of the concept of death, he’s a bit too young to understand the implications.
He wakes up and heads downstairs on a sunny afternoon in spring and sees his mother crying on the couch. She’s curled up with her phone at her ear, but wracked sobs make most of her syllables incomprehensible. He stands at the end of the hallway, just watching as she nods at him, composes herself, and in a shaky voice, says something in Korean he can’t quite make out, save for his name. She presses a button, the hang up tone chiming. Without looking up, she whispers quietly, “Come here.”
He obliges, taking the small spot next to her.
Plainly, she states, “We finally got an e-mail from your grandmother with an update. Your grandfather is dead. He died in his sleep.”
He knows what the word “dead” means; he’s heard it in movies and in passing conversations uttered with the same numbness in his mother’s voice right now, but he still doesn’t quite understand why she’s crying— he’s just gone; that’s all, right?
He hugs her just the same, though— after all, it’s the first time he’s ever seen her cry, and he can’t help but miss a family member he never really knew.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet boy,” she chokes out, holding him like a lifeline. “You have his heart. Don’t ever lose it.”
They stay like that for what feels like forever.
Seven years later, Clay’s still got heart to spare.
When tasked in sixth grade to write about what inspires him the most, how can he not say his goofy father, who helps build rockets to send people to the new frontier, and his mother, the accountant who, despite her stone-cold façade, has a sharp wit and a loyalty to her family more vibrant than the sun?
How can he not write about the people who make the stars feel within reach?
Another kid in his class writes about law, because apparently, people in suits arguing over pieces of paper is riveting.
He’s not getting a date to the dance, that’s for sure.
He goes home the same way he always does, racing his friends to their street. Once he makes it to his own doorstep, the door, to his surprise, is locked, and neither of his parents’ cars are in the driveway. He goes to the pocket of his backpack to grab his key, but it’s not there. It must’ve gotten lost, as do so many other things in Clay’s possession.
He sits on the concrete step and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
The streetlights come on. He’s still waiting.
Finally, after what feels like forever, two cars pull into the driveway, one after the other. His father looks angry in a way that doesn’t suit his friendly face, and his mother looks like a portrait— beautiful as always, but unmistakably sad.
“Hey kiddo,” his dad says, and to Clay’s shock, his voice is completely even, as if he’s not even angry at all. “Did you lose your key?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Clay hangs his head in shame.
“Ah, don’t worry about it. Locks can be changed. Just go on inside and wash up. Come down when you’re done.” His dad unlocks the door and Clay dashes in, but not before hearing, “Tae. Tae, c’mon honey, step— yeah, you got it.”
A sense of dread builds in his gut, but the hot water of the shower keeps him grounded. He gets into his pajamas and darts back downstairs chirping, “What’s for dinner?”
“Clay.” His father has never sounded more sincere in his life, and the grave tone he uses sobers Clay out of his normally chipper attitude as he pulls out a chair at the dining table where his parents wait for him.
“Something bad’s happened,” he concludes— though, really, he already knew.
His father takes his mother’s hand. She says nothing, rather unusual for a woman who’s usually laughing in the kitchen over a stock pot or swatting her husband for some inane dad joke with a clever retort.
“Your mom had her doctor’s appointment today,” his father reminds him.
Clay’s heart sinks down to his stomach. He’s always insisted that he’ll be a great astronaut since he never feels sick, but he finds himself proven wrong. He takes a deep, steadying breath, bracing himself for the worst.
“They…” his mother, normally so averse to mincing her words, seems to be at a loss for them.
“Cancer,” his father says, his eyes clearly straining to accommodate the brimming tears.
“How bad? Is it…?”
“They don’t know yet.”
Before Clay knows it, he’s bolting out the door as quickly as he can, his parents shouting after him. It’s a brisk fall night, cool enough to make the tears that run down his cheeks colder still, but he pushes, pushes his legs, one in front of the other, until he ends up at a bench in the school’s open courtyard.
He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but when he hears the rush of cars passing by, he looks at his phone and realizes it’s nearly midnight.
When he gets home, the door is unlocked this time, and his parents rush to scoop him up, as if a hug will protect their family from whatever may come.
He believes it, if only for a moment.
He tells every day that he loves her— he always did before, of course, but it’s more purposeful now. He doesn’t go out with friends or have sleepovers anymore, not when there’s someone much more important to be spending time with— his newly-acquired status at school as outcast be damned. The doctors say she’s relatively stable, at least for someone who’s bedridden in a hospital, and that she’s got time left. While the implication that that time will eventually run out scares him more than anything, Clay’s learned quickly to just be grateful for what he can get.
Every day, like clockwork, his dad picks him up in the powder blue minivan with a dent by the back plate and drives him an hour to Turner Clinic to visit with his mom. While she always seems tired and changed with every day that her struggle continues, she always manages a smile and a gentle kiss on the emblem of his visor with a dazed muttering that he still doesn’t understand— but the love in her eyes says it all:
“I love you.”
Clay smiles back, fighting back tears in his eyes, and squeezes her arm a bit tighter.
He loves her, too.
Eventually, visiting hours draw to a close, and his mother’s smile falls to a slight scowl, though it lacks the fire it used to have. “Don’t forget about your homework.”
He laughs as his dad leads him out of the room. “Don’t worry so much, mom. I’ll be top of the class just for you. See you tomorrow!”
She whispers a quiet “Thank you” as the door closes.
He wakes up the next morning like he always does, buttons his uniform like he always does, and goes to school like he always does.
His life, at this point, just feels like waiting. Waiting to see his mother again, sure; but underneath all that, waiting for the inevitable day she dies. The day he and his father are left to deal with the wreckage.
He goes about his day, going to algebra, then to history, then to Latin, then to lunch. He sits alone, kind of like the kid with the two hair spikes who sits in the corner with his tray— Apollo, the name Clay’s learned only from the former’s squawked “Here!” when it’s called during attendance. For a moment, Clay considers joining him, but he understands— being alone means you’ve got problems you don’t wanna talk about.
He sits through English, hand on his chin as his teacher drones on and on…
He’s knocked out of his daze by the class phone ringing and the click of his teacher’s shoes towards the ancient, wired device on the wall.
“Hello? Mhm. Sure, I can do that. Thanks.” She hangs it back up and turns to him. “Clay, honey, they want to see you in the main office.”
There’re some mumblings of “Oooo, Clay’s in trouble!” from the people who used to call themselves his friends but have since moved on. He trudges his way to the door; he hasn’t even done anything wrong. God, his mom’s gonna be disappointed when she hears about it. His dad, ordinarily so sunny, will probably go all “Listen here, buster” on him; he’s gonna be grounded for at least a week and he doesn’t even know what he did wrong—
His dad is waiting in the office.
“It’s your mom. Something bad happened when I was with her this morning— something about a tired nurse who screwed up some medications. They’re trying to keep her holding on for as long as they can. We’ll come get your stuff later. We need to go now, kiddo.”
Clay walks out with his father silently.
The car drive is tense; his father’s knuckles are white on the wheel, his foot aggressively presses on the gas pedal with consistent pressure as they speed down the highway, and the only other noise aside from the rumbling of wheels on gravel is the quiet guitar bridge of American Pie turned down to an almost inaudible volume.
Clay has time to think and no time at all; a million thoughts run through his head of what to say to his mom— the woman who so affectionately let him taste test foods from a culture he never got to know beyond what she taught him, the woman who held him in her arms during thunderstorms with store-bought cookies and hummed until he wasn’t afraid anymore, the woman who raised him just as much as his father did. If he only has a few words left to say before she’s gone— what will those words be?
They should be words of gratitude, of love, of farewell.
“Hi, mom. It’s okay.” He thinks of how people say goodbye in movies.
“You did your best. You fought so hard.” He pulls out Google Translate and reads the pronunciation to make sure he gets the last part as right as he can, even if he ends up butchering it a bit.
“모든 것에 감사드립니다. 편히 쉬세요. 엄마 사랑 해요.”
He practices the line in his head over and over and over until they speed into the lot, the rubber tires nearly screeching as they whip into a parking spot and hit the curb. Clay can barely keep up as they run into the lobby, where the receptionist seems to already recognize them.
“Oh, um, Terran, right?” she asks, and there’s a deep, deep pool of sympathy in her brown eyes. “She’s still in her room, but—”
Clay doesn’t care. He runs a route his legs have memorized over the past few months, and when he makes it into her room—
His mother, his mother, is laying there, cold.
It’s then, after all these years, that he understands the real implications of death.
Grief.
The last thing he can remember before it all starts blurring together is pressing the gold emblem of his visor to her lips before his dad drags him away.
His dad goes to sleep as soon as they get home— understandable, considering he drove them home through tears and unlocked the door with a “We’ll talk tomorrow, Clay. Go to bed. You’ve had a long day.”
Once he hears his father’s snores coming from the bed he used to share with a now dead wife, Clay sneaks downstairs, unlocks the door as quietly as possible, and runs.
And runs.
And runs.
He reaches the courtyard where he first cried all those years ago, only this time, the sun has set, the new moon provides no light, and all he can see above him are smatterings of stars.
They seem farther away now, so far that not even his wails that beg his mother to come back can reach them.
“Oh. Um, Clay, right?”
The last thing he wants is to be perceived by another human being right now, but he looks up from his tear-soaked hands to see Apollo standing a few feet away, head cocked like a chicken.
“Get away, Apollo. Don’t come over here.”
Of course, the freak does exactly that and sits right next to him on the bench.
“Clay… listen to me. I don’t have a mother, either.”
That gets his attention.
“Huh…?”
By the time Clay and Apollo are laughing and just fine, the former finally has the clarity to ask, “Hey, how did… how did you know about what happened to my mom, anyway?”
Apollo hums a little, swinging his legs that don’t quite brush the dirt. “Mm, I dunno. It was this… gut feeling, I guess. You were a really popular guy last year, and you haven’t really talked to anyone since school started this year. And then you brought your dad for Take Your Parent to School Day, and it was always your mom, so I guess when I saw you crying, I just put it together…”
“You notice a lot of things. It’s almost creepy.”
“Yeah.” He looks down. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Clay looks up again at the stars, and while they’re still not quite within his reach, they’re still beautiful. They’re still there. “Hey, Apollo, shouldn’t you be getting home?”
“Nah. Nobody’s waiting for me. What about you?”
“My dad. He’s asleep, though. I can stay a little longer.”
Apollo shakes his head. “No, you can’t. You’ve got someone waiting for you. Go home, Clay.”
“What about you, though?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’ll be fine.” Clay gets up from his spot on the bench. “Thanks, Apollo. You’re a really good person.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, Clay smiles.
Apollo smiles back.
The next day at lunch, Clay doesn’t hesitate to sit next to Apollo.
“Sitting with the class loser, Terran?” the latter snarks, digging into his corn that sits in way too much water and pizza that looks more like cardboard with mozzarella haphazardly smothered on top.
“Eh, he’s got some redeeming qualities.”
For a minute, Apollo glares, and Clay’s about to start profusely apologizing until Apollo smirks. “Huh. And you’ve got jokes.”
They both laugh so hard that people start staring, but Clay doesn’t care.
When they both eventually collect themselves, he starts, “Hey, ‘Pollo—”
“’Pollo? Isn’t that the Spanish word for chicken?”
Clay fiddles with the brim of his visor. “Well, I think the pronunciation is different, but I guess? Kind of a fitting nickname, though. Last night you looked like a rooster tilting its head.”
“You’re mean.”
“It’s friendly teasing,” he dismisses.
Apollo looks down at his pizza with a smile, but there’s a little sadness to it.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah, it’s just… it’s been a while since I’ve had friends,” he replies.
“Oh.” Clay pauses. “Me too.” His eyes flit back and forth, back and forth. “Hey, this might sound a bit out of the blue, but do you wanna hang out after school?”
That “out of the blue” suggestion becomes a weekly tradition, at Clay’s insistence after an afternoon of homework, ice cream, and Lego sets. Eventually, Apollo starts coming out of his shell, and it turns out he’s loud, a bit cockier than he lets on, practically a second son to Clay’s dad and— if you asked Clay himself— the world’s best best-kept secret.
Years later, they’ve bonded over pretty much anything two kids can: video games, nerdy television, a shared hatred of math, their future hopes and dreams (Clay insists that Apollo can be a pioneer of Intergalactic Lawyering once he gets taken under Solomon’s wing), and—
“So, ‘Pollo, any girls catch your eye? Prom’s coming up. It’s our last chance before we go off to college,” he says, nonchalant as he flops onto his bed.
Apollo rolls his eyes from his seat in the desk chair. “I wasn’t even planning on going.”
Clay sits up, and his eyes bulge out as if to say “Sacrilege.”
“You’re kidding. You’re kidding, Apollo. Come on!” He moves to cross his legs, a scandalized look on his face. “You know, a ton of people are eating up the whole loner act you’ve had going on since you moved here. They think it’s cute.”
“How do you know that?”
“’Pollo, you’re my best friend, but I’m an extrovert. I’ll chat with anything with a mouth and ears. I have to, or I’ll die. I’m not immune to gossip.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“I’m still not going.”
It’s Clay’s turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever, dude. You’re letting down a bunch of girls. And guys, actually, if you swing that way.”
“Maybe…” Apollo starts, but then quickly mutters, “Never mind.”
Clay doesn’t want to push, but he’s curious. “Something up?”
“No, I mean, I was… just wondering if you’d ditch with me. But you wanna go. I mean, if you really want to, I’ll go with you, but I always kinda thought we’d… I dunno. Maybe go somewhere more fun than a chaperoned dance and then hit a diner or something.”
“What, like laser tag?”
“Yeah,” Apollo says, nodding with a growing smile. “Getting your ass kicked by your best friend and then getting dinner at 1:00 a.m. is lot more fun than distanced dancing with room for Jesus, isn’t it?”
It’s in that precise moment, that little pocket in time, that Clay’s stomach flips. He loves the feeling, of course— it’s why he wants to become an astronaut, after all— but it clicks for him, in that moment, that it’s not the gravity of the Earth doing this to him…
It’s Apollo.
Clay’s known for some time that he really isn’t partial to one gender or another when it comes to his love life— so long as they’re a seven on an average day and nice to retail workers— but the realization that he really wants to take his best friend out for dinner is something new and absolutely terrifying. He pushes that feeling down, though, as he waits a few more minutes before letting Apollo know that he has a final to study for before kicking him out as kindly and naturally as possible.
His dad gets home at the usual time, with his usual smile— one that’s been healing slowly over the years but will never fully recover. “Hey. Where’s Apollo?”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m your least favorite kid. And I’m your only kid.”
“That you know of.”
“I refuse to believe anyone other than mom would get with you.”
“That’s the joke, Clay.”
Clay rolls his eyes and fights down the warmth on his cheeks. “Apollo went home already.” He pauses. “Hey, dad… can I ask you about something?”
“If it’s ‘Can I do drugs?’ No.”
“C’mon, I’m serious.”
“Hi serious, I’m Glen.”
“Dad!”
“Okay, okay! Sorry. You’ve got your serious ‘old man’ now. What’s up, buckaroo?”
Clay takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s say I… had a crush on this person—”
“Oh, Apollo.”
Clay nearly dies on the spot.
“H-how did you—?”
His dad sighs with a smile and puts his laptop bag down on the shoe bench, then sits on the stairs, patting the space next to him. Clay follows, a bit stiffly, and takes a seat. “You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve. It’s not that hard for anyone who really knows you to tell.” Before Clay can panic, he continues, “Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s figured it out; he strikes me as the kid who’s so busy watching everyone around him and getting nervous about it that he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
“Harsh.”
“Maybe. But I’ve been around the block a few times.” They sit in the silence for a while before his dad adds with a Texan lilt, “I’m guessing you wanna ask him out?”
“I mean… he kind of already asked me to ditch prom with him. Isn’t that like, teen romance movie material?”
His dad’s laugh is one that comes straight from the gut, with years of wisdom in every chuckle. “You know, for Science National Honor Society, you’re not always the brightest, are ya?” He snorts. “You gotta be forward about these things. Your mom dropped hints with me for months before she confessed, but I just thought she was a really good friend. Even perceptive people have a hard time with these things, and he’s probably thinking you’re just two pals hanging out on prom night.”
Clay’s grateful for the advice, sure, but it’s the first time in a long time that his father’s talked so casually about his mom. Normally, mentions of his mom are only when one of them finds an old home video in the basement or during teary nights where one of them misses her more than usual, but it’s a reminder for Clay that the world still spins.
“What did you guys do for your first date?” he finds himself asking, and while his dad looks taken aback, he smiles, and it brims with nostalgia.
“We went stargazing in the park, and then ate the worst takeout either of us have ever had.”
“That sounds really nice,” Clay says.
“It was.”
Right in the wake of exam season, prom night sneaks up on Clay. He gets dressed just a touch more put-together than usual and takes the keys from his dad who insists that he “Drive safe, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Clay gets into the powder blue minivan with the dent near the rear plate and turns the key to put-put-put the engine to life. If his dad is to be believed, it’s a “damn relief” that he plans on piloting spaceships and not public buses, though admittedly that point is proven when he hits the curb while pulling out of the driveway.
He picks Apollo up without much fanfare, only honking when he’s outside, to the latter’s annoyance.
“Could you be any louder?”
“Is that a challenge, ‘Pollo?”
“No,” he deadpans.
“Good. I’d kick your ass.”
“Shut up.”
Clay can only laugh as he gets back on the road. “Okay, so you know how you told me to make the plans?”
“Should I be scared?”
“You are such a loser.”
“Says the one hanging out with said loser. Pot, kettle.”
“Relax, ‘Pollo, we’re fine, remember? I’ve got a great night planned, way better than watching store-brand Trunchbull go to all the girls with a ruler to measure the length of their dress straps. Trust me, okay?”
Apollo rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face says, “How could I do anything else?”
Laser tag is fun. They manage to humble a few 12-year-olds who started the night by swearing like sailors. The diner is mediocre, but the server’s got jokes, and they leave an extra tip.
“One more thing for tonight,” Clay says, getting off the highway.
“I knew you weren’t done.”
Knowing that his best friend isn’t too fond of surprises, Clay reassures him, “Like I said earlier: relax, Apollo. We’re just gonna go look at the stars, that’s all.” He pulls into a parking lot adjacent to a grassy field, and while there’s a few other people laid out on blankets or peering into telescopes, everyone has a quite a few yards of space between them.
It’s private enough.
They lay down right on the dry grass, and the stars, at least to Clay, seem closer still. Just as he opens his mouth to dive right into the romantic confession he’s been planning ever since that talk with his father, Apollo beats him to the punch.
“Clay, I need to tell— er, ask you something. Or, uh… I really don’t know how to put it. Just hear me out?”
“Always, dude.” He tries to keep his voice even, but it’s hard when Apollo speaks with such care, such love.
“Good. Um, I figured I’d tell you now, since you’re going off to college soon…”
“Yeah? What is it?”
Apollo sits up, and he’s right over Clay, looking him in the eyes. Clay almost reaches out and pulls him in for a kiss but resists the urge. He’s letting Apollo say his piece, then kissing him.
“I’m going to college, too.”
Clay’s heart gets pulled in polar directions— on one hand, he’s disappointed that this wasn’t a confession, but on the other…
“Holy shit! ‘Pollo!”
Apollo sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I managed to get into this really great work-study program with a really good law office. I’ll get paid as an intern so I can afford school, and based on some other stuff, it could mean a job by the time I graduate and pass the Bar.”
“I’m so, so proud of you. Geez.”
“Yeah, the guy who interviewed me— Kristoph Gavin, like, that Kristoph Gavin, a real up-and-comer— was really impressed by my application. He said I have potential. I’m honestly a bit shocked, considering most of those scholarship applications I sent out got rejected, but…” he lets out a heavy breath, “I mean, I just can’t believe it. I thought I was gonna have to withdraw my acceptance decision, but… ha. I’m happy. That’s all.”
“I’m so excited for you. God, ‘Pollo, you deserve the world. There’s really nothing you can’t do.”
“Well, speaking of… I, uh… remember how I told you I had something to ask you?”
Clay doesn’t want to be disappointed again, but his hopes slowly start climbing again…
“Would you be willing to get an apartment off-campus with me? I actually… can’t afford housing by myself, and it would save us both a lot of money to split living costs…”
Clay’s a little less hurt this time and manages a soft smile. “Of course, idiot. Who knows what kind of trouble you’d get in without me?”
“I think it’s the other way around,” Apollo levels.
“Tomato, tomato.”
“You’re horrible.”
“And you’re my future roommate. Cope.”
For what it’s worth, they both cope. They cope when they fail tests, when they consider dropping out, when Clay’s dad unexpectedly dies in their third year, when Apollo’s boss turns out to be a murderer, and when his new boss turns out to be an asshole.
That’s not to say they don’t celebrate, though: they celebrate both graduating early, Apollo getting his badge, Clay getting a new visor with his new job at GYAXA, and every little victory after. Even after they’ve given up their joint lease in favor of apartments closer to their respective workplaces, they still visit constantly; they still keep in touch.
They’re still friends.
So, when Clay gets the e-mail that says he’s been picked for the HAT-2 launch, is there really anyone else other than his partner against the world that he can tell?
They meet at the park like they always do, and they grab food and a couple of beers from the taco truck that’s always parked there. They sit on the same bench they always do, and Clay can’t help but chuckle a bit.
“What are you laughing about?” Apollo asks, a little defensive. “Is there already something on my face?”
“Yeah.”
“Wh—”
“Eyes, nose, those weird ass eyebr— hey!” Clay just manages to catch his food in the wrapper and huffs, “You’re horrible.”
“And I’m your best friend,” Apollo drawls with a smile. “Cope.”
Clay can’t help but smile, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of hurt, either. While he’s accepted at this point that Apollo’s heart will never be his— not as long as Klavier fucking Gavin exists (even if poor ‘Pollo doesn’t realize it yet)— he’s allowed to want, and he’s allowed to yearn, damn it.
“Well, your best friend has some news for you.” He produces a printed copy of the e-mail from his jacket pocket and hands it over. “Read it. Out loud.”
Apollo eyes him with suspicion (rightfully so— one time, Clay made him read out a note that said, “I love Mike Hawk!”) but gives in. “Clay, we’ve been evaluating your recent progress in our research department as well as your performance on field tests. Based on these evaluations, your prior qualifications, and the letter of recommendation I received from Solomon, it’s with confidence I offer you a spot on the HAT-2 miss— holy shit. Is this real?” Apollo turns to his best friend, mouth agape.
Clay can only beam and nod.
Apollo slams him with a hug. “Oh my god. I knew you could do it. You’re— ha. You’re going to space! My best friend is going to space!”
“Alright, sunshine. Get up off me, or the ladies and gents’ll think I’m spoken for,” he cracks while patting Apollo’s back as he pulls away laughing. “I… Apollo, I really couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you.”
Radiant as his namesake, Apollo smiles.
Clay smiles back.
A week before the launch, he’s called into the office— not that of his direct report, not Solomon’s, but Cosmos’.
“Sir,” he greets, tipping his visor.
“Clay. Have a seat.”
He does, and sure, he’s a bit nervous. After all, a meeting with the director either means something great, or something horrible. He notices a glass with a trace of what looks like whiskey at the bottom.
Being friends with Apollo for so many years has taught him how to read a room for details.
The alcohol, coupled with Cosmos’ serious tone devoid of its usual quirks, tells Clay to brace himself for the worst.
He cuts to the chase: “Tell me, son, do you know the truth behind what happened during the HAT-1 launch?”
“Yeah,” Clay replies, “Sol— er, Mr. Starbuck told the press everything. How some freak accident—”
He stops his sentence in its tracks when Cosmos shakes his head.
“It was no accident. It was a conspiracy plot for the ages.”
Clay’s eyes blow open, and his brows draw down. “Huh?”
Cosmos weaves a tale right before Clay’s eyes, a story of international espionage and sabotage, putting people’s lives at risk all for the sake of slowing the scientific progress of another country. “…And that’s it. That’s the real truth. For what it’s worth, Solomon is a damn good astronaut. That’s why I put him on the launch with you.”
“And I’m honored, sir.” He pauses. “Is there a problem?”
Cosmos looks down. “Yes. We’ve received a threat. An anonymous source, and I’m sure it’s the same one as before.”
“Wait, then doesn’t that mean that…?”
“Blackquill is likely innocent, yes,” he murmurs, barely audible.
“Woah.”
Cosmos levels him with a disturbingly cold glare.
“I-I’m sorry. Go ahead, sir.”
“There’s been another threat. And this launch needs to be as clean as the last one, if you catch my drift. Lots riding on the success of this mission.”
Clay’s speaking without a filter with every new revelation. “So, you’re asking me…” he swallows, “Are you asking me to… die?”
“No,” Cosmos says, facing the window. “I would never ask that of anyone. I’m asking for your help to make sure everyone lives. Solomon’s capable, but I do worry that if he gets wind of my plan, he could react in a… less than ideal way. I need you to help me keep him under control with those anti-anxiety medications of his.”
“Sir, are you asking me to drug Mr. Starbuck?”
“No,” he insists, turning back around with a glare that clearly says “Yes,” his eyes flitting up to the camera in the corner of the room.
“Right,” Clay says, finally picking up on the subtext. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Clay. These are stressful times we’re living in. Especially for you. I’m just doing everything in my power to make sure everyone is safe, even if that means keeping things under wraps from those who often deserve to know the most,” he says, pointedly, folding his hands behind his back. “Unfortunately, as much as I’d like to give you an out, the only one at this point would be a letter of resignation from you. I…” he looks up at the camera and back at Clay again, “you really do deserve better than this. I’m sorry.”
Clay rises from his seat, slowly, so as not to be insolent or reproachful. “Sir, I’ve made it clear from the moment I started at GYAXA— no, the moment Mr. Starbuck took me under his wing— that I would do whatever it takes to do my job. And… if this is part of it, I’ll put my life on the line to do my duty.”
If Cosmos’ air of pretentiousness was gone before, there are no words for the earnest frown on his face now. “I really am sorry, my boy. Thank you,” he says. “Just trust in me, and I’ll make sure everything’s just fine. You’re dismissed. Remember to use discretion,” he warns.
Clay salutes, two fingers off his visor. “Of course, sir.”
He promised Apollo one last day together before going off to space, and per Cosmos’ further instructions, he’s to pretend that everything is fine.
Everything goes off without a hitch— he and Apollo get drunk and forget about their problems for a few hours— as Apollo babbles on about sending texts to space, Clay can’t help but wonder what will become of him after the launch, when— no, if— he and Solomon make it out alive. Will they be ridiculed? Will they be heroes? Will they be just another headline?
What will happen if they die?
“You know what, man, I’m really gonna miss you,” Apollo says as they’re about to part ways in the parking lot of the bar. “It’s hard to say goodbye to someone I’ve been attached at the hip to for over a decade.”
Clay wants so badly, more than anything, to confess, to say a real goodbye just in case, but his brain chides him: there are more important things at stake. He needs to give Apollo hope, just like Apollo did for him all those years ago. He needs to protect not just the spirit of science, but the advancements of his country. He can’t afford to be selfish.
So instead, all he says with a wink is, “This isn’t goodbye, ‘Pollo. It’s just a see-you-later.”
The night before the launch, he visits his parents’ grave with the most brilliant yellow chrysanthemums he can find— after all, in a worst-case scenario, it’s the last gift he’ll ever give them.
Tae-yeon Terran
Loving mother to Clay, devoted wife to Glen, and brightest star to all she met.
April 21, 1976 – May 2, 2016
Glen Terran
Clay’s father, Tae-yeon’s husband, the world’s example.
September 3, 1974 – January 12, 2025
Is that what he’ll become if something goes wrong? One sad, reductive little line? “Son of a dead mother and never-the-same-after father?” “Unrequited lover to the most radiant man alive?” “Dutiful sacrificial lamb?”
“Hi, guys,” he says, sitting in the brisk winter air. “I… it’s funny, isn’t it? How I never got to say goodbye to you, but now you’re the only people I can say it to at all?”
He takes a deep breath.
“If I end up joining you tomorrow, don’t be too mad, okay?”
The tears sting his cheeks.
“You know, I never got to tell Apollo I’m in love with him. I’m okay with that. I think I have been for a really long time. Besides, whether I got to kiss him or not, I think he’s still my soulmate. I’m always gonna love him, and I can only hope he’ll do the same.”
Something in him, so profoundly human, stirs.
“God, I’m talking to you guys like I’m gonna die tomorrow. The truth is, I…” he chokes on a sob, “I don’t know… Were you scared?”
He can’t bring himself to ask any more questions.
He doesn’t care to know the answers.
The day comes, and when Solomon is in the bathroom at lunch, Clay crushes a couple of anti-anxiety tablets and mixes them into his drink. As sure as the sun rising in the east, he finishes it and asks, “You ready, Clay?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
When it all goes to shit, he can’t say he’s surprised.
The knife in his chest isn’t innately shocking, either, but every muscle fiber in his lung is pulling, aching, burning.
He doesn’t know whether he’s screaming for help or not.
He sees Solomon passed out on the floor, while a large man in a familiar white suit flees the scene.
Medical training has taught him not to remove the knife, but Clay knows.
He knows he’s dying.
And he didn’t even get to say goodbye.
He wonders if this was what it was like for his grandfather in the moments before his heart stopped, for his mother as her body went into overdrive only to fail when she needed it most, for his father who died when he had so much more life to live.
He is fighting, fighting, to stay alive until a paramedic arrives, until Apollo arrives, until someone arrives. He can’t go without saying goodbye. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
He can stay a little longer.
“No, you can’t. You’ve got someone waiting for you. Go home, Clay.”
Clay knows he’s hallucinating— his eyes tell him it’s dark in the boarding lounge, and Apollo probably hasn’t even received news of the bombing yet, but he indulges himself in the memory of the only person he could possibly say goodbye to now.
“What about you, though?” Clay asks, concerned for Apollo’s well-being.
“I’ll be fine,” Apollo says, and Clay believes it— not just because being “fine” has become their lifeline for over ten years, but because Apollo has a family now. He has Trucy and Athena and Phoenix and Klavier.
He closes his eyes.
He sees the stars as if he’s among them, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he hears his mother’s voice.
“Clay… it’s good to see you again…”
Apollo sits at a cold stone on a cold weekend in December. There’re wilting yellow chrysanthemums at the base, placed there by the very same body that was just buried in the plot a couple days prior.
Clay Terran
Joined the stars he adored, left stardust for those who adored him.
December 26, 2004 – December 15, 2027
He leaves a single yellow rose, and says, “Goodbye.”