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The trek up the hill to XEL-II’s best stargazing spot was by far the most difficult that Kafka has ever subjected herself to.
Earlier that week, while pushing back deadlines on requests, Kafka had got a message. In the darkness of her room, her phone lit up to a phone number she had barely recognized. The attempt at anonymity made her chuckle, knowing exactly who it was the moment she read it.
You always wanted to hear me talk about stars, meet me here.
And an attached link led Kafka to coordinates that were extremely far from her. It’s a pity the sender knew Kafka would traverse the entire universe for her.
So now, at the flat outlook of the hill, sat a lovely red-haired lady. Kafka could only see the back of her head as she walked towards the telescope and the small blanket that the woman was sitting on. Kafka took a minute to think of what to say, before her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“I can see your shadow, Kafka.” Himeko’s voice broke through the windy night, laughing quietly at Kafka’s failed attempt at stealth.
Kafka sighed, now making way to sit beside her partner on the blanket. She placed her arm around her bare shoulders—barely protected by her long dress—before commenting, “Are you not cold?”
Himeko smiles at her concern—which makes Kafka suck in her breath. It had been a while since she had last seen the trailblazer; she had been too caught up in her exploration to make time for Kafka, but it didn’t bother her. Kafka had cherished every moment she had with her, even if they were scarce.
“It’s barely cold, Kafka.” Himeko held the hand Kafka had on her right shoulder, squeezing it, “You’re just cold-blooded.”
Kafka let out a laugh at her joke, “I’m sure—us devil hunters tend to be such.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other before Himeko bit her lip and turned her head.
“You’ve been busy,” Himeko looked at the stars, “you’re a hard woman to contact, you know. I could’ve never spoken to you again if I didn’t figure it out.”
“But you did; you always do.” Kafka draws circles on Himeko’s shoulder, letting her hand move down her arm.
Himeko seems frustrated at this, holding her glare for the stars instead, “But I could’ve chosen not to.”
Kafka knows this, of course, she’s not the type to pressure the people she’s with. Part of her wants to hold on to Himeko, continuously message her day and night; but, that isn’t possible, not for Kafka.
“Then I would let you,” Kafka removes her touch from Himeko entirely this time, “but, you won’t, so it’s alright. No harm done, right?”
Himeko thinks about it for a beat before speaking, “Yeah, I wouldn’t.”
The soft reassurance sends something sparking in Kafka. The care she felt from Himeko was new, this back and forth chase since the day they met by the wreckage of the Astral Express. Kafka knew her life had always been spontaneous, but the consistency that was Himeko was welcomed. Himeko had been there for her even when Kafka couldn’t reciprocate.
It’s a shame, though, that Kafka was never in it for the long run.
Kafka feels the touch of Himeko’s hand, now resting atop of hers as golden eyes stare into hers. The moonlight dusts the top of Himeko’s hair, not quite reaching her face. Then, when Himeko’s face shifts to smile, shadows leave her eyes in favor of letting the light glisten in her eyes.
Kafka loves her, she thinks.
“I wanted to show you,” Himeko doesn’t take her eyes off Kafka, “there’s a celestial event going on here.”
“Here?” Kafka raises her eyebrows in surprise.
“Well, light years away, but here is the safest spot to observe it,” Himeko explains, now turning to her telescope. She angles it carefully before letting Kafka look.
Kafka peers into the telescope, looking at what seems to be a very distant white star.
“It’s a white dwarf, reaching the end of it’s life,” Himeko speaks, “this one is relatively small, but it’ll have a thermonuclear explosion in a few minutes.”
“And what is that?” Kafka wasn’t as well-versed in astronomy as Himeko was, but she admired the lengths her lover would go to explain everything in detail.
“It’s—well, I can tell you about how it looks,” Himeko moves the telescope back, “It’ll be red and orange, it’s like fire—it is fire. It’s pressure built up to create a nova.”
“Not a supernova?” Kafka jokes, “sounds like this star is lacking.”
Himeko softly hits Kafka’s arm, “A supernova would be hard to see, but this is just as beautiful.”
“I’m sure it is,” Kafka laughs, looking up at the star, “The death of a star is a beautiful sight, sounds unfortunate though.”
“I don’t think so,” Himeko sighs, “It’s sad, but the material of the star scatters away to create new stars. It’s still living in a way.”
Himeko pauses, leaning her head on Kafka’s shoulder. The sudden movement surprises Kafka, who was still admiring the stars until now.
Himeko continues, “I think it’s poetic, in a way.”
“The star's death?” Kafka asks, now moving her hand to play with strands of Himeko’s hair.
“Yes, even if it dies, it passes along to create more,” Himeko leans into Kafka’s touch, “It’s memory is never forgotten, because it leaves so much behind. Even in a supernova—the star pulls everything into it. Every black hole is what once used to be a star, it just changes.”
Kafka sits still with the information, “But, humans seem to forget it, isn’t that cruel?”
Himeko shrugs awkwardly in her position, “Human’s memories are fragile anyway.”
“They lack significance compared to the universe’s memories.” Kafka finishes for her, now looking at Himeko from the side.
“It’s a bit harsh, sometimes our memories are important,” Himeko smiles, looking back at her.
Kafka considers it for a moment, the only memories she truly cares about are the ones she has with Himeko. There hasn’t been a point in her life where she felt the need to care for human emotions until she met Himeko. She wondered sometimes why Himeko put in so much effort for someone as nihilistic as her—yet, here she was, holding her close in the moonlight.
“You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Kafka interrogates softly, “what’s got your mind on the death of stars?”
Himeko exhales, “I’ve just been thinking about death.”
Kafka pauses. Her shock is evident on her face yet Himeko doesn’t seem to notice.
Himeko continues, “It’s just funny, you know, we all can die.”
Kafka still doesn’t seem to say anything, she doesn’t know how she feels about the concept of Himeko saying this, it’s too out of her reach.
“When you didn’t contact me for months, I started to almost grieve you,” Kafka feels the tinge of guilt at her words, now focusing on them completely, “but then, I thought, should death be something to grieve?”
Kafka doesn’t know if she should reply to this, but she lets Himeko continue anyway.
“When a star dies, it’s a celestial phenomenon,” Himeko’s voice is almost apathetic—no, she’s admiring, “I want my passing to be like that.”
“Yours?” Kafka questions.
Himeko is silent, as if she’s contemplating what she wants to say before saying it. She lets this go on for agonizing seconds before finally speaking.
“I dream of death,” Himeko smiles at the starry sky, almost refusing to look at Kafka.
Kafka’s reply takes time, it’s only a few beats later that she can let out a small: “What?”
Himeko sighs, adjusting herself off of Kafka’s shoulder so she can face Kafka completely now. Memories fleeting in her mind of her dreams.
“There’s fire,” Himeko pauses, “there’s fire everywhere, at the end I’m staring at a girl I don’t know as my body burns away in ashes.”
Kafka sucks in her breath, deadly still where she is sat. Her expression is mixed as she stares at Himeko.
“I wonder when I wake up if anyone finds my body. I wonder if anyone is there to find it anyway. I wonder who that girl is,” Himeko turns her head to look at the sky, “but I’m never scared.”
“Why doesn’t it scare you?” The response is out of Kafka before she can even think of what she’s asking.
Himeko chuckles lightly, “I may not be like you: fearless and unmoving. I do fear things. Though, I think acceptance outweighs that fear now.”
There’s silence as the stars move. Kafka stays still.
“I used to wake up from that dream in shock, I used to be sweating and shaking, now I just wake up warm,” Himeko looks up at Kafka now, “I feel like a phoenix in some ways. The ashes crumble and I’m left in dust. Now, if I die like that, I can die happy.”
Himeko sits up and places her hand in Kafka’s, squeezing it tightly.
“I’m more afraid of the ones I love leaving. I’m fine if I can die knowing I had you with me.”
Kafka feels the lightest brush in her heart. The soft beating speeding up in her mind as she squeezes back. Her voice isn’t heard in the moonlight when Himeko kisses her, she’s been silent for long.
Kafka isn’t sure how to feel. Beside her undying trust for Himeko, she feels an urge to close a door. Something that had been nagging at her for years. She wants to know what fear is like—but as the world turns to face new constellations, she finds herself lost in the stars that are Himeko.
Love wasn’t something Kafka had known. She had no family, no friends, and no partners. The life of a devil hunter was a lonely one, there was no time for love. Her apathetic nature towards others had made sure of that fact.
But in her life, there are flukes. Himeko had her utterly soft; she became everything that she wasn’t.
There’s a bright light in the sky, the white dwarf has exploded, Kafka can see the reflection of reds and yellows in Himeko’s eyes.
It’s gorgeous.
Kafka takes the moment to bring Himeko into her hold, hugging her tightly. She isn’t sure why she feels like she has to keep her close.
She looks up at the short-lived exploding star, watching as the light travels around. She feels Himeko smile into the embrace.
Kafka knows that, for as long as the stars let her, she will love Himeko.