Archive of Our Own ^beta

Even the most well known voices have lives to live on their own. As a matter of fact, they are more than just entities to provide entertainment before creeping back into the darkness. Right now, One of them is heading back home with a grocery bag in hand as they stroll through the neighborhood. Now, the signs weren’t exactly a useful thing, his visor didn’t exactly help in making his vision clearer, but the landmarks were handy enough. That playground with all the various children meant that he turned left here. Up ahead was the large oak tree. Today a fish lady and a yellow dinosaur were having a picnic underneath it, exchanging laughter. That meant, the tree not the picnickers, that they turned right here. It kept on like this all the way home: Go straight through the field, Saunter past the clovers, then turn to the left when you see the blue building.

The astronaut fiddled with his key chain, managing to grab hold of the pyrite colored key despite his suit and grocery bag keeping his other hand hostage. He opened the door and went inside, being sure to lock the door behind him.

“I’m home!” They called out in their warbly voice.

“Welcome back!” Called a higher, more practiced voice, followed shortly by rapid footsteps charging on over. A cyan haired girl in an outfit that was barely changed, much like the astronaut’s own suit.

The astronaut showed off his bag. “I got some scallions for tonight.”

“Perfect!” The singer exclaimed. “You’ll be able to try the recipe I’ve been practicing!”

“It should be nice.”

“It will, just you see!”

It’s a funny story, really. As of their respective creations, only one of these two would go on to achieve a massive amount of fame. The other was still well known, sure, but it is hard to compare to a popstar with concerts and albums and plushies and figurines… The list goes on.

The astronaut, on the other hand, was much more subtle. If you asked around about them, you’d most likely get a few faces of recognition, but nothing special beyond that. If you’re lucky, perhaps you would end up finding someone who’s heard them sing, but it wouldn’t be the first thing that comes to most people’s minds.

If memory serves correctly, the popstar enjoyed their life, but the desire for a friend on the quieter side was always present. Likewise, the astronaut never did feel like a trip to the moon was exciting enough. Someone peppy would do better to make their life more interesting.

The popstar cranked on the stove to begin heating the sesame oil in the well-used pot. The soft boiled eggs she had taken out before almost charged right onto the floor, but the astronaut quickly grabbed them up and placed them on the table. The popstar let out a sheepish smile, and the astronaut in turn let a small laugh escape their suit.

The popstar rubbed the back of their head fluffing around their locks. “Eheheh… sorry.”

The astronaut shrugged. “You can probably make an excuse as to why that happened. You’re the head chef after all.”

“Right. Riiiiight. That was just how you prepare egg drop soup. You gotta… drop the egg.”

Some more snickering in the kitchen could be heard between the two.

If the meeting of these two was of any interest, the popstar had actually been out for a bit of a rowdier night out, bouncing from bar to bar, singing under what must have been an overdose of atmosphere and liquor. The astronaut similarly had been out trying to find something new to do without having many tasks in recent years. What resulted was a long night where the two sang several songs together, some being of more risque quality than the popstar would ever consider performing live.

They found each other so fun that night, that they decided a close friendship was in order. Thankfully, as these are beings that we have made and the popstar holding a large sum of wealth in the first place, the issue of money was not a roadblock.

The garlic had been chopped by the astronaut and dropped into the pot, along with some chicken broth and chopped sausage. Another pot was prepared to allow some water to boil and bubble away for the noodles all while the aroma from the broth wafted across the kitchen, even stronger once a hearty shake of pepper was added to the mix.

“Try not to kill me, if that’s fine.” The astronaut said, hiding small tears that should normally exist behind their visor.

“Don’t worry,” the popstar smiled. “I’m keeping it on American medium.”

There were still times where the astronaut was whisked away to the moon for various others to explore its vast and free surface, but it was not nearly as often as the popstar found herself on her way to perform for the adoring fan base she had built, or to cover songs on the occasion that someone requested. On the days she was asked to sing in English, her face would turn a somewhat brighter pink as she warmed up with a basic DoReMi. The astronaut had come along once to see her at work, and realized her slower pace wasn’t from an unpracticed script. In the studio that day, one could hear the sound of two awkward voices, one with a tune in English, the other making a song in Japanese.

The ramen noodles softened as the astronaut stirred, a splash of water threatening to jump onto their suit as they lifted the noodles out of the water to check for a decent consistency. “Is this right?” He turned to the popstar with a spoonful of his work.

“Perfect!” The popstar moved away from the pot of bubbling broth. “Just pop it right in.”

In with the noodles, and out another intense sizzle came. “Let me finish up here.” The popstar told the astronaut. “Grab some silverware and meet me at the table.”

The astronaut did so, placing themselves on the opposite side of the square table to look out the window to their left and see the night sky begin to creep in. Mixed feelings existed when such beauty also happened to be where you worked.

“Alright, eat up!” The popstar said, placing a colorful bowl in front of them. The soft boiled eggs from before finally made their appearance in the finished product, along with a few pieces of seaweed and some sprinkling of sesame seeds for texture. “Make sure to go quickly before the texture felt off.”

If one were to sit at the dinner table as someone completely new to the company they were now holding, they would not be ready for the astronaut to take a forkful of their meal and bring it to their face as any other person would. Even more strange would be the fact that the food would magically travel through the visor and never be seen again. There was a reason for the astronaut’s suit to be opened, so their face and body was always just the suit. None of this mattered anyhow, as a majority of their mind was occupied by the intense flames that now existed in their nonexistent mouth. The popstar laughed a little. “C’mon, I only added a teaspoon of chili powder!”

“I am going to need to refilter my oxygen the next chance I get.” The astronaut said, keeping a strong hold on the table.

After trudging through inferno, there was admittedly a very well put together dish of spice and savory, the egg yolk leaking into the rest of the dish adding a new layer of texture, the garlic adding a captivating aftertaste.

“See?” The popstar jeered, having already gone through half of her bowl. “It’s awesome stuff.”

“It hurts.” The astronaut said, going in for another bite while the fire still lingered. “But it is absolutely worth it.”

As the night drifted on, some of the walkers who passed the blue house could swear there was a twenty person karaoke party going on inside. Unbeknownst to them, there were only two good friends having a blast singing all of the most insane songs they could find.