Work Text:
"Do you think we're ever going to be like them?"
The food object's gaze fell back to her companion, taking a silent moment to receive her words. The hidden question buried under Microphone's quiet words – most likely result of a subconscious thought – was clear to her.
Taco sighed, leaning against her friend's (how bitter that tasted in her mind. How confusing it was to overlap so many sensations and feelings only because of a word) side as she thought to herself.
Would they ever be like the others who had the (mis)fortune of participating in this reality show? This was a question that would often nest itself on the back of her mind. She didn't have the favoritism or the flashy, quirky personality that'd give her showers of love. She didn't have a notable hobby that could bring her far. She wasn't even a… villain, per se.
"I think," she started, the eyelids heavily closing, banishing the little light that'd bless them. "That we can be better than them."
'You already are better than them', she didn't say. Microphone was perfect in every way, to her eyes. Perhaps not to the public's – something she yearned to change. But gods, didn't Taco adore those moments where Microphone would let herself shine.
In all honesty, Microphone reminded her of a star. In so, so many different ways. And if Microphone was a star, she was a telescope – blessed with the ability to observe her from afar. To watch her beauty, her growth, how she stood out even though there were millions of other stars around.
Oh, how Taco loved this woman. However, the fragility of such passion held her back. It wasn't fear of her adoration being one sided - no. It was the fear of loss. She could handle being rejected, she could deal with Microphone having someone else to appreciate how precious she was. But she couldn't bear the thought of losing her star. To drift apart in the wisps and curls of the night sky above, a slow and painful process that Taco was sure she wouldn't survive.
The scars of the last abandonment (it was her fault, as always. He didn't deserve it; but she still betrayed him, betrayed all of them) were closed, but barely. The softest of plumes could make them bleed and stain the dark blues and intense blacks of the night with a rusty crimson.
Thus Taco sighed once more, still letting herself use Microphone as a support for her tired body. She'd let her shine and guide her through the starry oceans above, but wouldn't dare to disturb their natural order.
One thing Taco had forgotten, tho, is that stars only shine when they're long dead.