Work Text:
The thing is, Stelle knows that Ruan Mei isn’t lying when she tells her she will eventually forget.
Ruan Mei says it with such certainty that Stelle is surprised she doesn’t forget just a second after she’s told. It’s certainly undeniable, if not inevitable. And sure, Stelle can do as Stelle would—beg, argue, plead, insist.
But Ruan Mei is right, isn’t she?
This is why there’s no point in stopping Stelle now. Her access card tapping against a terminal, a door that only opens because Ruan Mei had given her the credentials. Ruan Mei doesn’t even look up when it whirs open and closed. Serene; too focused on reading something on the screen that Stelle can’t make sense of.
Stelle’s heart bangs against her chest. Her mind finally catches up to her. She had heard the slightest of whispers that Ruan Mei had been around, and the next thing she knew, her feet had led her to the locked offices on the lower level. The last time she was here, it hadn’t been safe; the dark hallways, the creeping, cloaked monsters. But so what? If she stopped here, there would be no sanctuary for her heart.
The sound of cutlery on a plate. Stelle looks up to find Ruan Mei has turned away from the screen. She’s slicing a pastry in half. She places half on another plate, slides a fork next to it, before lifting it toward Stelle.
“Cake?”
Each step closer feels like walking through knee-deep snow. Ruan Mei guides her to the other side of the room, to the table and chairs. Stelle moves forward as if on autopilot. When she gets there, the seat is cold against her bare thighs. Ruan Mei doesn’t sit down.
“If I knew you were coming, I would have brought something more special to eat,” Ruan Mei says. She glances at Stelle to gauge her reaction, but mercifully looks away before Stelle crumbles completely. “Is there something you came here for?”
You is too honest; too heartfelt. Stelle tries to say it, but even her heart forbids her. The word gets caught in her throat. “Not really,” she says instead. Nonchalance isn’t her strongest suit.
“I heard you were taking good care of the lifeforms,” Ruan Mei hums.
I would do it without you asking, Stelle swallows. “They miss you.” This one is the simple truth.
“I’m sure they are doing well under your watchful eye.”
“They would do better with you around,” Stelle continues. “They ask for you all the time.”
Ruan Mei puts her plate down on the table. Stelle looks up; Ruan Mei is looking past the glass wall into the room below, where a few of her creations gather together. Stelle can almost hear them already mumbling about wanting to impress Ruan Mei, so she would notice them. It’s a longing Stelle already knows far too well.
“What is it that you want out of this, Stelle?” Ruan Mei finally asks.
Nothing, for a moment. Stelle can’t seem to tear her eyes away from Ruan Mei, even as the latter’s gaze finally meets hers. Sky-blue eyes, the lightest shimmer of her lip gloss, her pearl earring. The fatigue that shows after hours of long work cuts shadows over her face, but only in a way that makes Stelle stop thinking completely.
What does she want out of this?
Because at the end of the day, this is all that it is for Ruan Mei—just collaterals to her work. At the end of the day, her goals take precedence over everything, and things will topple in the name of preserving the integrity of her path to her objectives.
Even Stelle.
“I don’t want to forget you.”
A small puff of air, not quite a sigh, leaves Ruan Mei’s small mouth. “It will not be so soon. You will still have time to remember, if that’s what you wish.”
“You know that’s not what I want.”
Stelle gets up from her seat. It’s defiance that empowers her—the resistance against Ruan Mei’s desired outcome. Ruan Mei watches with a raised eyebrow as Stelle moves toward her. She lets Stelle push her backward, seated on the table. She lets Stelle get close. Close enough for her to almost pull back completely.
But only almost.
“Stop looking at me like I’m one of your experiments,” Stelle says. This takes Ruan Mei aback.
Wide-eyed. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
“Look at me, Ruan Mei,” Stelle continues, more eagerly. “Look at me.”
Ruan Mei does.
“What would it take for me to remember?” Her voice steady, breaking only at the edges. “Tell me.”
A flash of something in Ruan Mei’s face. Stelle isn’t quite sure what. Even the pursing of her lips says nothing. Stelle does not falter.
“You said you have trouble trusting anyone but yourself. I understand that. But you’ll never stop unless you try to do the opposite.” The words pour out of Stelle’s mouth; a confession more than it is anything else. “I will keep your secrets. Let me.”
A pause hangs over them like a breath held. It takes several faulty heartbeats for the words to come out again.
“Nothing but a brief infatuation,” Ruan Mei dismisses. “A biological reaction, likely from the adrenaline that had rushed through you after the battle at the incubation chamber. The association will wear off.”
Stelle’s fist unfurls to wrap around Ruan Mei’s wrist instead. The strength of the clenched fist that had left crescent moon marks on Stelle’s palm is shaky as it touches the other.
Maybe Ruan Mei is right. Stelle feels, at this moment, much like any other of Ruan Mei’s creations—insistent and pleading, pulled and magnetized, but not knowing what is going on. What kind of love is this? Even Stelle doesn’t know.
“Let me.”
But isn’t there but one way to find out?
“You will forget, Stelle,” Ruan Mei reminds her. “There is no point insisting.
“You can’t compute the effects of the Stellaron in your calculations,” Stelle says confidently. “You aren’t as all-knowing as you wish you are,” a breath, “Ruan Mei.”
A shot of something cold up Ruan Mei’s spine. “I suppose you will just have to prove its power to me, then,” she says, slowly, “Stelle.”
“Sure.” A step forward. “If you kissed me,” Stelle says, her face mere inches away, “do you think I’d forget?”
“You will,” Ruan Mei says, with that certainty that nearly breaks Stelle’s heart. “But that won’t stop you.”
“It won’t,” Stelle says. A leg slipping between Ruan Mei’s. “It won’t.”
Stelle’s heart is convinced she can do something about it even if her brain knows better.
Which is why she persists. Stelle sneaks into Ruan Mei’s office when she is there and steals what affection she can. A hand around a waist, a tap of a finger against her nose. Sometimes, a little more. Only in places she can hide, she takes a marker and doodles plum blossoms over where a hickey used to bloom, like it will make the remnant last longer.
Which is why she persists. Keeps Ruan Mei’s name in her phone. At first she leaves information, basic facts about the genius listed down in the file, but she erases it eventually. Getting to know her again is simple. To remember her is another thing altogether. Over and over, Ruan Mei, Ruan Mei, Ruan Mei.
Which is why she persists. The simulated universe, a concoction made of memory and time; if she tries hard enough she will find her here, too. Hidden in curios, in occurrences and the winding routes. Sometimes Stelle finds herself distracted, wandering down the halls and streets unable to find her way to the next area, because the memory runs away from her.
Hm?
What memory?
Unanchored, the Express moves on to its next destination. Jarilo-VI is wonderful to visit, because every time they go it feels warmer and livelier despite the torrential snow. The Luofu, too, is a delight, somehow with always a new street yet to be discovered. And Penacony isn’t too far out of their sights either.
So what keeps her coming back to the space station? Why does she find her heart carrying her to the seclusion zone, where everything is shut down, just to find empty rooms and abandoned offices with no one there?
Only the faint sensation of lip gloss residue against her collarbone.
“I think we’re ready to go to Penacony,” Himeko says, the next time the crew is gathered in the parlor car. “There’s only last-minute prep being done by Pom-pom, but we can be setting off as soon as possible. If there’s anything you’d like to go back to before we leave, now’s the time.”
“Can we—” Stelle speaks up before her brain can stop her. The words lunge out of her as if pushed out by something greater than her. Like the Stellaron? “Um.”
March turns. “Somewhere you wanted to go, Stelle?”
A lie, something quick. “I told Herta I’d run the simulated universe one last time before we left.”
“We can arrange a visit to the space station,” Himeko nods. “We can use that time to restock supplies as well. Sure. We’ll go tomorrow.”
Dan Heng eyes Stelle as she nods in thanks.
“Thank you so much for your help with the little critters,” Asta says, “I wouldn’t know what to do with them on my own. There was no one else better for the job.”
Stelle nods. “It’s nothing, Asta. They’re cute.”
“They look for you when you’re not around, you know?”
After talking with Herta, Stelle finds herself at the nursery, looking up at the vast space outside the window. The little lifeforms, round and fluffy like cushions, waddle over to where she stands. As their caretaker, they recognize her and look up with adoration. She who gives them food, she who fluffs their pillows, she who tends to their wounds.
They look for you when you’re not around, you know?
Except Stelle recognizes the look in their eyes; it’s something she’s seen in March when she thinks about her past. It’s something she’s seen in Dan Heng when the Luofu is brought up. It’s something she’s seen in the mirror.
In the doodle of a plum blossom on her inner thigh.
She’s not what they’re looking for, is she?
A shadow where someone once existed.
A small sigh that shakes her lungs.
And if I forget, what then?
The Nameless go as the Nameless do, and eventually, just as she had been told, Stelle forgets. What remains of it hides where Stelle cannot find.
Stelle finds herself unable to sleep, some nights. Tossing and turning in her bed, drowsiness eluding her. On those nights, the Stellaron burns inside of her. The seed of a disaster in the making, the only thing it destroys by holding onto what Stelle cannot remember is Stelle herself.
There is a phrase written all throughout her notes app she cannot make sense of, a string of letters that bear no meaning. R, U, A, N, M, E, I; a password, a hint, a clue, maybe a code for a game she’d long already redeemed? Over and over, written next to errands for the Luofu and shopping lists from the rest of the crew; R, U, A, N, M, E, I, R, U, A, N, M, E, I; a ghostly haunting.
At some point Stelle wonders if it is a name, and she rolls the syllables around in her tongue, unaccustomed to the sound. As if trying to see if saying it over and over again would bring something back.
Had she forgotten or had she not known who this was to begin with?
“Ruanmei,” she says, alone in her room in the dead of night. “Ruanmei.”
Stelle forgets, just as she had been told.
But the Stellaron remembers.
So when the Express returns to the space station, Stelle has forgotten, but she turns sharply anyway at the faint whiff of floral perfume. A young woman dressed in delicate blue, her dark hair in a high updo, passes by with an expressionless face.
Her breath catches in her throat and it’s as if Nanook themself has taken over her entire body.
There, “I know you,” Stelle says, anyway, to the woman’s face, even if she doesn’t. Stelle’s fist, the one as calloused as her heart, around a slender wrist.
Sky-blue eyes turn to face Stelle’s. Where the mind forgets, the body remembers. Stelle breathes a soft sigh on reflex.
“Do you?” the woman asks, eyebrow raised, defiance laced with amusement.
Stelle swallows. She doesn’t. But she knows she should. The Stellaron is telling her so.
“I do,” she insists. “See? Right now. My name is Stelle.”
A smile, like a plum blossom in spring.
“And I am Ruan Mei.”