Chapter Text
Stelle kept little a little observation log.
She filed information, bits and pieces of it, diligently away in categories within its pages, unlabelled for now but relevant all the same. It was her way of understanding people, the world around her, the vastness of the universe and the life she was now living among the Express. She had been told not to think she was special moments after she met the conductor – everyone was, with their own hidden secrets and past, the mix and match family they were building here on a train hurtling through the cosmos along a silver starry trail; it took her time to wrap her head around the idea, and she still found it occasionally bizarre, though she’d never voice it. Experiencing being abandoned once was more than sufficient, she didn’t need her careless words risking that again.
Everyone was relatively easy to read. Himeko, with her love of coffee and natural elegance. Welt, with his approachable demeanour and promise of guidance. March, with her unending exuberance and need for preserving memories. Pom Pom, with their mildly commanding presence and vast general knowledge.
Then there was Dan Heng.
Dan Heng made himself easy and difficult. His cool, almost aloof exterior was a drawing point as much as it intimidated and repelled, and if it weren’t for how he had tried to “kiss” her (under the clever guise of CPR) she would have believed he’d remain distant. She had been alive for less than a day; terms like “Antimatter Legion”, “Herta Space Station”, “Lead Researcher”… Those were foreign concepts, references to things she didn’t know, intel presented and forcefully grasped within seconds. Consequently, she didn’t have time to get to know him back then, considering they were in a space station under attack by monsters – a joyous way to spend her first day – but now, being in such close proximity every day yet so far compelled her to want to become acquainted.
Bits of his personality had surfaced during their brief encounter. Pieces of a puzzle she had tried to catch and fit together, not quite filling the whole but enough to start comprehending the mystery surrounding him, in all his quiet, reserved glory.
Dan Heng was protective. Out of instinct, reflex, or an inner need to protect those around him for fear of them being hurt or losing them (the answer was all of the above), he’d stepped in front of her immediately when an arrow had shot at them on their way to the elevator. A chivalrous move straight out of a novel, romantics would say, but she had been more focused on his immediate reaction, faster than she could blink. He was always observing, his danger radar on high alert in areas he didn’t feel safe, shielding others first and taking the full force of the blow. The same happened on Belobog, the old Astral Express escape signal she had learnt in those few seconds he’d spouted card terms. She didn’t know Dan Heng would duck and pull March with him; she’d reacted on her own instinct, summoning her bat and whacking a home run hit right to the guard’s head, assuming it’d be an ample distraction before he had tripped the rest of them with his spear point.
(It had worked, and that was what mattered, though she did receive his deadpan, cautionary advice about aiming for somewhere that wouldn’t cause lasting or critical damage the next time they needed an escape.)
He was deliberate in the small things. March, particularly, had a penchant for placing herself unknowingly in danger – if anything, that proved his vigilance extended to everyone he cared for – because even for small things such as moving her hands away from where they wandered too near a boiling kettle to striking a guard sneaking up behind her in battle was evidence enough. He cared about what others thought, not in the sense where their opinions affected how he saw himself, but how he regarded their feelings before making an informed decision for the best of the group.
(It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel, it was that he didn’t express much. She wished he would, it’d certainly save her the trouble of having to guess the emotions behind his eyes, why he rarely smiled, his favourite foods – anything regarding him, the complete mystery she was trying to unravel. There was no way she’d delve into his past; he was guarded as is, and that topic seemed to be forbidden, one he avoided at all costs, a card he kept under lock and key. She supposed it was what connected the three younger members of the Express. Their past was either forgotten, unremembered, or something they were trying to escape, so if that made hers prohibited subject, it was one thing she could have in common with him, albeit a connection she wasn’t proud of.)
Dan Heng didn’t restrict her. He didn’t hold her back when she felt a curious affinity towards trash cans strong enough to go dumpster diving in every single one she came across, her “treasures” stockpiled in a corner of the Express’ parlour car nobody touched (she liked to believe it was because they knew how precious her discoveries were to her, and their love made them endure. Her stash also didn’t contain the stench from the original containers she found them in; rather, they smelled like the batches of air freshener Pom Pom purchased every week). Part of her enjoyed seeing his reaction, the flicker of obvious emotion across his face, even if it was a dispassionate, tired frown, she considered that a victory. It was tangible, real, different from the passive, blank, unreadable expression he often held and she clung tight like her life depended on it.
He stepped in and stopped her if she had gone too far, needed help, or had a task she couldn’t handle alone. That was the defining factor – he allowed her to explore, be free, express herself, but knew when she needed him without asking, and understood what kind of help she required even without her saying a word.
Dan Heng was simply… him.
And Stelle wanted to know more.