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“It’s your fault.”
Earth closed his good eye, lowering his head to rest against his knees. His thumb trailed soft, short strokes against his opposite hand, the touch the only thing keeping Earth grounded.
“It’s your fault.”
Again, Earth opened and closed his good eye, willing the other one to open with it - but it didn’t, and Earth felt a tear prick the corner of his eye as a conflicting mixture of fury and grief rose in his core again.
“You deserve the pain. You should’ve tried harder.”
The voice continued talking, a crueler, twisted version of his own. It was a constant companion now, the only thing that stayed with him. Even Luna had taken to stepping away more often now, Earth’s frequent lashing out taking a toll on him.
Stopping the movement of his thumb, Earth lifted his hand to press against the wound covering half of his face. It felt rough, warm to the touch - and Earth hissed as pain shot through his veins, moving his hand away with a jolt. His vision blacked out for a brief second as Earth almost bit his tongue with how hard he grit his teeth, weathering the feeling as it finally ebbed away.
“You deserve it, Earth. And you know it.”
“Shut up,” Earth finally replied to the voice, his own voice weak in a way that burned, that made him close his mouth and regret speaking in the first place. The pain finally dulled down to the distant level he’d contended with ever since the asteroid hit, and Earth let out a sigh, pressing his hands around his waist in the facsimile of a hug. He shivered, already feeling colder despite the fact that he was in the same orbital position as always - the dust accumulating in his atmosphere was already lowering the temperature of his surface, and Earth could feel it, could feel himself growing colder every rotation. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but it was also one of many unpleasant feelings Earth was dealing with. Finally, he spoke again - it was futile, he knew, but something within him wanted to fight back against the voice and all of the poisonous things it whispered. “I might’ve deserved it… but my life didn’t.”
“If your life didn’t deserve it, you would’ve saved them. You should’ve tried harder, Earth.”
He squeezed his good eye shut one more time, tight enough that he felt his skin slightly pulling just enough to ignite another thread of pain. Earth grit his teeth, pressing his thumb against the skin of his waist until it hurt, giving him something else to focus on. With his eye closed, Earth could see nothing but darkness - until memories popped into his mind, and a wave of horror swept through his core.
“No, no, I don’t want to remember that. Stop it,” he said, not even sure if he was saying it aloud or in his head. “I don’t want to - I don’t want to remember that.” His good eye flung open immediately when he felt the barest touch of something’s gravity, and he swung his head around to where he felt it, ignoring the pain that sparked in his nerves. “Leave me - oh, it’s you, Luna.” His tone started out angry, but the anger died almost immediately, leaving an emotionless tone that Earth almost couldn’t recognize as his own voice. “You’re back.”
“Earth,” Luna replied, his mouth downturned, brows furrowed. “Are you feeling better?”
“No.” Earth answered, not elaborating. Luna continued staring at him, that stupid pitiful expression on his face. Earth finally looked away from him, a scowl curling onto his face. “It’s going to be no every time you ask, Luna. I got my—“ He sucked in a deep breath, not even wanting to finish the sentence. “I got my life killed.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Earth, please.” Luna’s voice was pleading as always, a tone Earth had gotten very used to hearing since the asteroid — since it happened.
“Yes, it was,” Earth said, his shoulders dropping now. “Luna, I can’t keep having this argument with you. Are you going to leave it alone or am I going to have to make you leave again?” His voice was snappish again, fury obvious in every syllable. It was almost like there was a yawning hole in his core, and the only emotions big enough to fill it were anger and grief. He kept cycling between the two so quickly it felt like whiplash. One moment he’d be incensed, angry at every word the others offered; the next he’d be inconsolable, unresponsive in a way that he knew scared Luna and the others. It was like - it was like ever since it happened, his sense of control was slipping.
Earth didn’t even want to act like this. He wanted to act like his usual self; he wanted things to go back to normal. But with the constant reminder of what happened aching on his face and throughout his entire body, every second was like another stab, another reminder that what he’d worked so hard to build was gone. Normalcy felt impossible. He heard Luna sigh, and then a hand pressed onto one of his shoulders, an almost comforting weight. “Just… I’ll be back later, okay, Earth? If you need me, just come get me. You know I’m here for you.” Earth didn’t respond, clenching his hands tighter against his sides; Luna sighed a second time, this one a lot heavier, and Earth felt a wave of self-loathing pass through his core, curling his nails into the flesh of his palm until it hurt.
He heard shuffling as Luna disappeared; and when the familiar feeling of his gravity disappeared Earth finally broke down, letting the tears slip out of his good eye without even trying to stop them. His bad eye was nonfunctional - he couldn’t see out of it, he couldn’t cry out of it, it hurt to touch - so he pressed the palm of one hand onto the skin above his eye, taking in stuttering breaths every couple of seconds.
After a couple of seconds, his breathing slowed, returning to a normal rhythm - but the tears continued eking out, even as Earth squeezed his eye shut tighter, ignoring the slight sparks of pain that ignited. He suddenly stiffened as he felt someone’s gravity again, his core stuttering; whipping around without a second’s pause, Earth drew the back of his hand across his face at the same time, swiping away the tears.
He went to snap at whoever was there, annoyed he’d been interrupted, but he paused before he could, confused at who he saw. “Uranus?” Earth said after a second, brow furrowing. “What are you doing over here?” His voice still sounded hostile, even to him, but Uranus didn’t even react, just blinking at Earth with his brows furrowed, a look of worry in his eyes.
“I came over here to offer something - but are you okay?”
Earth felt his mouth thin. “I’m fine,” he gritted out. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I’m not here to offer pity,” Uranus answered, voice measured as he continuing staring. After a second, Earth looked away from his eyes, almost feeling like Uranus was looking straight into his core.
“Then what did you want?” Earth asked. He was still annoyed, but after a second he took a shallow breath and then exhaled; he didn’t want to be unnecessarily rude to somehow who was being nice to him.
“I wanted to offer to paint one of your lifeforms for you. To keep - as a gift. Something nice to look at so you can remember them.” As he continued speaking, Uranus’s eyes finally trailed away, instead looking at his own hands as he finally revealed what he was holding behind his back - a canvas.
“I—” Earth started, before his throat closed as grief pressed in on all sides. He pressed a hand against his mouth and cleared his throat before speaking, eye looking into the distance behind Uranus instead of directly at him. “I didn’t - really?”
“I’m not that mean, to lie about that.” Uranus said, his mouth ticking up to one side. “Of course.”
“I would… appreciate that, Uranus. Thank you,” Earth wrestled back the urge to cry again, gritting his teeth slightly. His memory was notoriously iffy - he hadn’t even considered it, but the idea that he could forget his lifeforms someday… it sent a stab of pain through his already aching core. He paused, eye flicking back up to Uranus. “But you don’t know what they look like?” Earth’s tone was questioning now, his brows furrowing deeper.
“I sort of do, actually. But I was still hoping you could give me a reference. It always makes it a bit easier.” Uranus didn’t explain how he knew what Earth’s lifeforms looked like, and after a second Earth just let it go, assuming he’d heard Earth boasting about them to the others at some point.
“I mean…” Earth’s eye shifted to the side as he gazed into the distance. “I think so? Give me a second.” He bit down on his tongue as he considered, pressing a finger against his chapped lips. Suddenly, Earth got an idea, and he felt his face light up in a smile, a feeling he hadn’t felt for quite a while now. “Here!” he said, excitedly putting his hands out as something flickered into place in his hands. “This is one of my favorites!” A figure materialized in his hands, and Earth looked at it, recognizing the figure and pose as something he’d seen on one of the days he’d visited his surface. For a second, his smile flickered again, disappearing, before he shook his head and held the figure up to Uranus, who also smiled and then grabbed it, letting it float in his gravity beside the canvas.
“Just sit next to me,” Uranus suddenly said, his eyes blank as he looked down at Earth. “I can tell you need to relax a bit - and I don’t mean that in a rude way.” He said the second part quickly, probably recognizing Earth’s indignation rising; Earth felt a slight smile cross his face before he shook his head and sat down, almost awkwardly close to Uranus as he looked at the canvas. He waited, slightly shuffling in place, as Uranus pulled out everything he needed and finally started painting; after a second Earth’s eye drifted away to look in the distance, the awkwardness building.
Earth finally spoke, eye concentrated on Uranus’s hand as he deftly maneuvered the paintbrush, a familiar silhouette already appearing on the canvas like magic. “I went down to my surface a couple of times,” he started, voice cracking briefly before he wrestled back control, clearing his throat. “I wanted to… say goodbye.” His eye trailed down to his hand, studying the gray hue it had taken, before jumping back to the canvas.
“A couple of them, I just sat by their side when they passed. I felt bad.” He cleared his throat again, pushing back the slight sob that wanted to escape. Uranus’s hand paused, and Earth felt him move against his side, like he was looking at Earth now - but Earth didn’t look up, knowing that if he did, he’d definitely start crying. “It wasn’t their fault I failed at protecting them.” Uranus let out a quiet hum, starting to paint again. Earth pressed the heel of his palm against his good eye, carefully avoiding the cracked parts of his face that hurt the most, rubbing away the few tears that had almost escaped.
“It wasn’t like they were perfect, you know?” Earth said, the relief at finally being able to talk about his life again almost overwhelming. Uranus continued painting, the rhythmic motions giving Earth something to focus on while he spoke. “But they were mine. They were the most advanced lifeforms I’ve ever had on my surface. They were complicated; I mean, sure, they didn’t seem intelligent like you or I - but does that matter?” Earth pressed a feather-light touch to his face, feeling the heat from the lava that had built up in the cracks. “They were still important to me.” He let his hand fall, instead lacing his fingers together in his lap. “And now they’re dying off almost completely.” He let himself fall to the side slightly, pushing further against Uranus, careful to avoid his arms.
He glanced at the painting, his eye widening as he realized how much Uranus had painted while he’d been talking. “Wow…” he heard himself say. Earth looked up, tilting his head to the side so he was looking at Uranus with his good eye. Uranus’s face was tense with concentration, his tongue poking out of his mouth slightly as he continued painting - Earth felt a slight laugh slip out before he could stop it, and froze. That was the first time he’d laughed since… Uranus looked down at him, and red dusted across his face - Earth looked away again, instead focusing back on the painting.
“Can I tell you about the one you’re painting right now?” He asked, pointing a finger at the silhouette. He was amazed at how easily Uranus was reproducing the likeness. “It’s… really good, by the way.” Earth pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, enjoying the peace that he felt - for once, there was no war between grief and anger in his core. It was simply… quiet.
“Feel free, Earth,” Uranus answered after a second. “And… thank you.” Moving his head so he could look at Uranus’s face again, Earth felt warmth inch through his face as he saw - again - red dusting across his cheeks, and he smiled. This was a million times better than wallowing in his own sorrow.
“Well, I actually haven’t given any of them names yet,” Earth finally said. “But that one’s what I call a predator; see, it-“ He chatted for a while, just watching as the painting came to life in front of him. It felt good to talk about his life; he’d held in the pain for so long Earth was almost amazed it hadn’t burst out of him. Uranus just listened, occasionally humming or offering short replies. It was soothing to watch his movements - the way he easily handled the paintbrush, making the perfect strokes; how easily he fixed mistakes the moment he made them; as Earth rambled on about his life, the emotional pain slowly dampened. It was still there - Earth wasn’t dumb enough to assume one chat about the situation would make it better - but it was easier to handle.
He trailed to a stop as he watched Uranus put the finishing touches on the painting, eye wide. He found himself wishing both of his eyes were working at the moment just so he could see the painting in full glory, but for now he just let his gaze rove over the painting, finding little details to fixate on every couple of seconds.
“Wow,” he finally said. “This is really good, Uranus. It’s more detailed than I expected; how did you know to make the background look like this?” He almost wanted to touch the painting, but restrained himself, knowing it still had to dry.
Uranus glanced away from him, instead looking at the colors on the palette floating in his gravity. “Just got lucky, I guess.”
“Well, still,” Earth added. “It’s really good. It’s—” His voice cut off, and to his horror, Earth felt tears prick at the corner of his eye as he looked at the lifeform in the painting. He drew in a sharp breath, pressing the palm of his hand against his eye again. When he looked up again, Uranus’s gaze was back to him, a worried set to his brow. “I’m fine,” Earth finally said. “I promise. Just a moment.” The tears, however, kept welling up, and finally Earth took a step back, glancing at the painting again. Maybe if he talked about it… he could have another moment of peace?
“Your fault,” the voice hissed again, in the back of his head. Earth ignored it, eye squeezing closed for a moment.
“Uranus,” Earth finally breathed out, opening his eye again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate, and when Earth glanced back at him his eyes were still glued to his face, like they’d never left.
“You might not be able to help me, but maybe it’ll just be worth it to get it out,” Earth worried his lip between his teeth before sighing and speaking again. “If I… If my life survives this, and new ones develop, how am I ever going to love the new life as much as I loved these ones?” He kept his gaze pointed at his feet, staring at the distant stars and galaxies.
“I think you’ll surprise yourself, Earth. I lost something once… someon-something important to me.” Uranus’s voice stumbled for a second, and Earth looked at him, wondering what he was about to say. “I didn’t think I’d be able to heal. But I did.”
“How?” Earth asked.
“Time,” Uranus shrugged. “Lots of time, and lots of thinking. Lots of thinking. I mean, it still hurts to think about sometimes. I don’t think it’ll ever stop hurting. But at some point, it becomes easier to think about. And eventually you’ll find something else you’ll love just as much… even if you never thought you could.” Earth tilted his head to the side, considering Uranus’s words. His voice was distant now, as if he was away in his own memories - but after a second his eyes focused, and his gaze was back on Earth, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.
Earth drew in another deep breath before letting his shoulders drop as he exhaled. “Thanks, Uranus.” He said after a second. “For listening to me… and for the painting. It means a lot more than you know.”
“Of course,” Uranus shrugged, his face painted red. “I offered it for a reason, Earth. Also - do you want this back?” He held the figure out, and Earth studied it for a second before shaking his head.
“No. You can - you can keep that if you want. The painting’s all I need.”
Uranus tightened his grip on the figure as he pulled his hand back, and Earth crossed his arms over his chest; finally, Uranus transferred the painting into Earth’s gravity, and he held tight to it, almost like the second he let go it would float away and disappear.
“Well,” Uranus said after a second. “I should go back to my orbit. I can already feel the heat starting to affect me - and the Sun’s definitely going to notice if I’m out of orbit any longer.”
“Okay,” Earth replied, looking down at his feet again. “But… thanks, again. I really do appreciate it.”
“I know.” Uranus said; when Earth finally looked back up at him, he was pointing a small smile at Earth, one that made him reflexively smile back. As if he was waiting for Earth to look at him, Uranus turned around without a second’s pause, heading towards the asteroid belt. Earth felt a little flutter in his core as he watched Uranus leave - but then he distantly felt another zip of alarm as someone’s gravity interacted with his again, before settling down as he recognized Luna’s.
“Was that Uranus?” he heard Luna ask as he walked up, his tone quiet like he was trying to not irritate Earth again.
“Yep,” Earth answered, tilting his head so he could look at Luna. “He made something for me.”
“Oh?” Luna raised an eyebrow, and Earth pointed at the canvas in front of him. “Oh. That’s… one of your lifeforms.”
“Yep,” Earth said again, before hesitating. “Luna?”
“Earth?”
“I’m sorry about my attitude the past while. I don’t - I don’t want to lash out like that, it’s like I can’t control myself.”
Luna sighed, before settling in to sit next to Earth, leaning against him. “Trust me, Earth, I know. And… I accept your apology.”
“Thanks, Luna.” Earth smiled down at his moon, who just pressed harder into his side. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do.” Luna answered, shaking his head at Earth when he tried to say something else, until finally Earth just let his shoulders drop, relaxing against Luna as he studied the painting, until finally his eye slipped closed, and he felt the heavy shroud of sleep drop over him.