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When Rockstar came to the rooftop of the complex to wind down for the evening, he didn’t expect to see someone else taking up residence in his favorite spot.
Least of all, he didn’t expect *Sparkling Cookie* to be taking up residence in his favorite spot.
The sun had just gone down for that night, and Rockstar had just come back from an especially exhausting jam session. He had been working for months on a new album, tweaking every note and lyric to his standards, pouring his absolute heart and soul into each featured song. Rocking out was his favorite thing to do. Why else would he be named after it? But sometimes, even the great Rockstar Cookie himself needed a long-winded break from blowing out amps with his guitar.
So, that’s why he was here. To cool off from it. To sit down, enjoy the night air and relax, then go home to pass out in his soft and comfy bed. But, from the looks of it, it feels like this plan of his might be on hold for a little while.
Rockstar stepped out from the stairwell he had just come up from, and closed the door behind him. Even the sound of the door shutting didn’t rouse Sparkling to glance back, which was surprising to Rockstar. Usually, Sparkling notices most things. He silently approached, walking up to where Sparkling was until he was pretty much standing directly next to him.
“Man. If I knew you were here, Stilts, I would’ve rushed out of the studio faster.”
Sparkling finally turns to look at Rockstar, a more wistful smile on his face. “Glad you made it anyway.”
Rockstar took that as an invitation to sit down. He set down his guitar case somewhere nearby. “Whatcha doin’ here anyway? Figured you’d be at home watching a soap opera or something. That’s what rich people do, right?”
“I’m not exactly *rich*, Rockstar, *you* are.”
A shrug. “Whatever. Just answer the question.”
Sparkling seemed to hug his knees a little more firmly. He pondered an answer for but a second or two as he gazed out from the rooftop at the dark horizon. “Eh. I was just thinking. About you, me…the like.”
Not exactly an answer Rockstar was expecting. He, too, didn’t know what to respond to that with, other than a blank stare. Him and Sparkling…Well, that really wasn’t anything *new*, was it? Although, the way Sparkling worded it made it sound very concerning.
“Me and…you?” Rockstar managed to say. “Sparkling, you’re not gonna break up with me, are you?”
“Wha— huh??” The frantic denial sets into Sparkling’s tone almost immediately. It was actually kind of funny. “No no no! That’s not what I meant! I’m not breaking up with you. Not even close!”
“Then why’d ya hafta word it like that?!”
“I-I meant— I meant in terms of like, you! Being famous!”
“What? You’re kind of famous too though, right? Like your parties have really sought-after invitations—!”
“No, Rockstar.” Sparkling let out a deep sigh, trying to gather his frazzled thoughts. “Not just fame. Like *how* you became famous. And your music career. And all that. You know…what you do for a living. Your dream.”
Rockstar paused, trying to make sense of what Sparkling was saying. His dream? What he does for a living? “I…thought you already knew how that happened. My passion was born straight from the Oven, remember?”
It was an origin story that was just made for someone like him. Waking up, hearing voices and fire and music…Coming to with nothing but a guitar in his hand and legs to run. The experience was still fresh in his mind, even after all this time.
“Mine was too, you know.”
Rockstar blinked. “You escaped knowing you wanted to be a bartender? You never told me anything like that. I mean, it makes sense, but…”
“Not a bartender, actually.” Sparkling looked over at Rockstar with a smile. But the smile seemed…distant. “I used to dance.”
…Huh?
Sparkling *definitely* didn’t mention anything about dancing to Rockstar. Rockstar thought that sort of thing was more up Whipped Cream or Rose’s alley. The performing in front of a gazillion people with nothing but your body, skills, and background music stuff. The whole shabang. And Sparkling had almost zero tells on him that had a history in dancing.
“You used to *what?*”
“Dance. Really doesn’t seem like something I would be doing now, huh?”
“Err, no, not really. You never told me about that.” Though, now that Rockstar thinks about it, Sparkling *is* flexible. A lot more flexible than an average cookie. Is that because of this?
The distant smile only grew more amused. “You never asked. You’re a rockstar because you love rock ‘n’ roll, right? And you have fans who adore you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of my fans. You know I’ll always make room for you, right, Stilts?”
“Hah, I’m not jealous. I just wondered…if I had kept dancing like I wanted to, where would I be right now?”
Rockstar rubbed his chin. It was way too late in the night for hypothetical shenanigans, in his opinion. “Dunno. Maybe you’ll have to contact the TBD to answer that question for you. Y’know, only if they’d look into timelines like that or something.”
Sparkling simply shrugged, and leaned forward to rest his chin in his arms. Maybe he’ll never know. But it was still something he’s wondered about. Many times, actually.
“You know, Sparks…if you wanted to keep dancing, why didn’t you? Could’ve ended up more famous like Rose. Or Whipped. If that’s what you really wanted.”
There was the sound of someone’s car radio passing by on the street below. Sparkling’s eyes fluttered closed to listen to it. “The answer is simple: I couldn’t.”
Rockstar fell silent. ‘He couldn’t.’ There was an odd weight in those words, he noticed, even though he had no clue why. Something stopped that passion to dance. In this moment, he realized that he knew very little about Sparkling’s history, even though Sparkling knew quite a bit about him. And Rockstar felt like it was for this very reason.
As the music was quickly drowned out by distance, Sparkling filled the brief silence. “An accident shattered my leg. I was just crossing the street. Maybe it was bad luck, or maybe I just wasn’t careful enough. But either way, even after it healed, my form was no longer picture-perfect — I couldn’t stand not meeting my own expectations back then. And just like that, my entire career was washed down the drain. Years of it. All in a single night.”
Ah. Rockstar felt a lump slowly forming in his throat. Why didn’t Sparkling tell him any of this before?
“It was my dream. To be on that stage in the spotlight, adored by the masses, rich and famous beyond anything I could have ever imagined…!” Sparkling let out a defeated sigh, his gaze dropping straight down to the pavement. “…But…none of that ever came to fruition. Obviously.”
Rockstar’s gaze held onto Sparkling’s face for a little while longer. The usually-bright and beaming smile he was so used to seeing on the bartender’s face had fallen away into something almost unfamiliar.
“Sparkles…” Rockstar began, tone unsure, “I’m…sorry.”
That earned him a pitiful laugh from Sparkling. “What are you apologizing for? You had nothing to do with it. Besides, it’s all in the past now.”
“No, I mean…”
What should he even say? Rockstar’s fame and fortune was born straight out of the Oven. His rise to the top was just his destiny come true. He still remembered it, too — flames licking way up the Oven’s walls, giving off a dangerous, unbearable heat. And within it all…the spirit of rock and roll inspiring his great escape.
“…I mean, I’m sorry that you couldn’t continue your dream.”
Sparkling continued to stare at the floor, eyes unfocused. His dream, he thought…His dream that was stolen away from him in a single night, his dream of being at the top. It was something he could have reached back then, even as a young, vain dance student. The ropes of success were well within his grasp at the time.
But, now…he was just the handsome bartender working across the counter. “Why are you sorry?”
Rockstar rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…you just seemed so passionate ‘n’ all about the whole thing, y’know? I know I would feel super depressed if something came along and ended my music career in a snap.”
“I am passionate. I *was*…and it was a very low point in my life when it happened. But I think what I have now is a lot better than what I once had.”
Rockstar raised both his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? But your dream…”
The familiar, good-natured smile returned to Sparkling’s face. He reached out and picked up one of Rockstar’s hands, his fingers twining with the other’s, and held it.
“If I had made it safely across the road that night, I might still be practicing routines for hours every day, all in a room by myself. Back then, all that was important to me was success…But now I’m shaking cocktails for friends, for strangers, for people I find interesting. Like you, darling.”
That managed to cause Rockstar’s face to flush, although he was trying his damned hardest to play it off. No pet name on Earthbread will get a reaction out of him. No way!
“So don’t worry about my ‘dream’,” Sparkling continued, letting go of Rockstar’s hand. He went back to watching the city lights, the bright and attractive sparkles like artificial stars in the dark night. “It’s not my dream any longer. Dare I say, I don’t really have one now.”
Don’t really have one, he says. Rockstar thought about it — the fact Sparkling didn’t have a dream anymore, nothing left to achieve…it sounded sort of sad at first. Like something someone with no hope would say. Someone without motivation. But, Sparkling didn’t seem sad or hopeless when he said that at all. In fact, Rockstar thought Sparkling was one of the most hardworking cookies he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. “Because you’ve already achieved it?”
Sparkling nodded. “Yes. Precisely. Friends and good company that support me, who I can see every day and make wonderful memories with — I wouldn’t trade something like this for the entire world.”
Rockstar watched as the reflection of lights danced in Sparkling’s eyes. It looked like the bartender was still deep in thought about his words. A dream shattered for a dream accomplished — not many are lucky enough to experience that, Rockstar realizes.
“Hey, Sparks.”
The faraway look in Sparkling’s eyes vanishes. “Yes, Rocky?”
“It’s getting cold, isn’t it? Maybe we should head back.”
Sparkling laughs. Rockstar wishes he could hear that wonderful sound all the time, for the rest of his life. “Probably.”
Rockstar hops off of the wall he was sitting on, and shoulders his guitar case from where he had left it leaning against his seat. He then offers his other hand to Sparkling as he nods to the stairs. “C’mon, Stilts. I’ll walk ya home.”
Their hands were intertwined again without any hesitation. Rockstar wondered then, how the present would be without Sparkling. Very different, perhaps. No golden parties, no glamorous bar sitting in the center of town. No charismatic bartender to run that very same bar. Rockstar figures it would be…a lot more boring. A lot more mundane…
Was it just the way the strings of fate were pulled?
“Rockstar. Do you think you can stay out a little longer? I’m feeling peckish.”
Sparkling’s voice snapped Rockstar out of his musings. “Oh, *now* you ask me for food?”
“Heh, sorry. I suppose I forgot to mention I didn’t exactly have a proper dinner…”
Man, the things Rockstar goes through for him. “Nah, don’t sweat it. I wouldn’t exactly call it a *proper* dinner, but I guess we can hit up that one sandwich shop before home. My treat. What say you?”
“I say that sounds perfect.”
And with that, the pair made their way down the building’s stairwell to the ground floor, the reminiscing of the past already long gone from their minds.