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Cold.
It’s the only word Xinyu can use to describe the girl in front of her, a mere few inches away, separated by two panels of glass and what feels like an entire universe.
Her plain, unassuming box. Her eyes, dark as an abyss, void of any emotion. She breathes shallowly, like the ruffles of her dress are suffocating her, and yet, despite her cold demeanour, the sight of another human warmed Xinyu’s heart.
Xinyu’s palm presses against the glass of her own box, trying to reach for her. The other girl finally looks up, surprise coating her features, and when she tries to reach back, Xinyu thinks that perhaps the universe might not be so far away after all.
And then they are torn apart, the distance between them growing impossibly large, and Xinyu bangs her fist on the glass in her desperation to reach for her again. Her eyes welled up with tears, an emotion she still can't name engulfing her wholly.
Bye bye, she thinks, wailing. As the other girl fades into the abyss, Xinyu swears she will carve her face into her memory—of porcelain skin and jet black hair, the stars twinkling behind her lonesome figure.
“Why do you like the stars so much, Xinyu?” Nien asks.
They’re sitting together under a tree, peering up at the endless night sky. When Nien is here, it always ends up with just the two of them—Mayu doesn’t like the dark, for some reason, and Sohyun said she was feeling under the weather.
Xinyu hums, stretching a hand out to the sky. They sparkle beyond her grasp, and it’s unlike anything she’s ever seen here at Anakt. They’re not pretty like the flowers, or calming like the rivers, but they’re a special kind of beauty that draws her in.
“I don’t know,” she replies. “Aren’t they nice to look at?”
“They are,” Nien agrees easily. She copies her action, reaching out and pretending to close her fist around one of the stars. Xinyu giggles. “But you can’t even touch them.”
Her arm drops by her side. “I guess so,” she relents. “But they’re always there, right? They never leave you. That’s kind of nice.”
Every night, without fail, the stars will come out of the shadows, lovely and invigorating. And every morning, when the stars have retreated, Xinyu would see Sohyun waiting for her in the garden, her hands clasped behind her back and a sweet smile on her lips.
The stars are a certainty, Xinyu decides. And if it’s one place she could choose to live outside of Anakt Garden, it would be up in the sky, where the universe waits.
When she looks over, Nien has an odd, light frown on her face. It disappears the moment they make eye contact, though, and she sighs, ruffling her hair lightly. “Okay, Xinyu. Whatever you say.”
“Do you know what they say about the ones who die?”
Xinyu rolls over, the soft blades of grass tickling her skin, until she’s facing Sohyun. Sohyun herself is looking up, her hands resting on her chest. Her eyes are a dark, almost midnight shade of purple, and if Xinyu looks closer enough, she thinks she can see the stars reflected in her irises.
It’s a rather morbid question, but then again, Xinyu has gotten used to Sohyun’s random bursts of introspection. She hums, shifting so that she’s mimicking Sohyun’s position and laying on her back.
“They say that those who die are turned into cosmic dust. Millions of little specks, so small that you can barely see them.” To emphasise her point, Sohyun plucks out a blade of grass, holding it up. Then, with nimble fingers, she rips the small blade up, until it’s crumbling apart and fluttering onto their bodies. “Those little specks of dust get tossed into the sky, somewhere far far away. Eventually, when they collect, they form dust balls, which are what we see as stars.”
“Huh.” Xinyu traces a constellation with her eyes. “So the stars are just… us?”
“Just us,” Sohyun confirms. She wrinkles her nose. “But that’s not really nice to think about, is it?”
Xinyu huffs out a laugh. “You’re the one who started talking about it!”
She sits up, drawing her knees to her chest and looking over at Sohyun. Sohyun’s hair is a mess against the ground, fanning around her face. She’s still fiddling with the bits of grass she tore and Xinyu takes her hand, swiping them away, before lacing their fingers together.
“If anything, I think it’s kinda nice that the stars used to be people. It’s like they’re watching over us, waiting for us to join them,” she muses. “Maybe they’re the Gods of the universe.”
Sohyun’s lips part in surprise. And then she smiles, and it’s ethereal and breathtaking and Xinyu’s chest aches a little at how much she likes her.
“That’s a nice belief,” Sohyun agrees. The conversation dies there—Xinyu drops back down, brings their interlocked hands to her chest, and breathes softly.
Xinyu hugs the fish to her chest, loud sobs wracking her body. Its cool skin stings against her warm one, and devastation rushes through her with the force of a typhoon. From beside her, Sohyun gives her a sympathetic expression, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“It's okay, Xinyu,” she tries to assure. “There are many more fish in the river.”
Xinyu turns to her with pitiful, wet eyes, and blubbers, “But I like this one!”
She's been visiting this fish for the past few days whenever she had the time, playing with it and watching it swim back and forth. She knows it's the same fish because it has a slight defect in its tail—the edge of the caudal fin is chipped on the top. When the fish swims, it wobbles, but the fact that it's still living made Xinyu like it the most.
Today, when she visited, the fish was floating lifelessly, hovering on the surface. Xinyu scooped the fish out of the water with a sorrowful cry, hugging it to her chest, and prayed for it to come back to life.
“It's gone for good,” Sohyun tells her when she won't stop whispering for it to come back. She isn't saying it to be mean, but Xinyu feels irrationally upset anyway. “It was defective anyway. And it's just a rob—”
“Who cares what was wrong with it?” Xinyu says fiercely. She hugs the fish tighter to her chest. A droplet of water falls onto her clothes. “It was happy here in the river. It deserves to live!”
Sohyun frowns deeply. The expression melts away soon enough, though, replaced by a gentle, placating smile. “You're right,” she agrees, and she pulls Xinyu into a hug.
The fish slips from her grasp as she hugs Sohyun back, burying her wet face into her shoulder. Sohyun strokes a hand up and down her back soothingly. Xinyu pouts and cries until she doesn't have any more tears to give, and when they pull away, she feels a little better.
“Is it stupid to cry over this, Sohyun?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. Nien would probably make fun of her, and Mayu wouldn't know what to respond with. She can only ask Sohyun.
"Of course not," Sohyun says. "But don't worry."
Sohyun always says not to worry, and Xinyu always believes her.
Sohyun lifts a finger and points it to the sky, where it's still bright and breezy. “The fish isn't really gone. It's waiting for you with the stars, remember?”
It was her own theory, but for some reason, it doesn't feel as comforting to hear it aloud as to think about it. Still, Xinyu swallows harshly and nods. “Yeah. With the stars.”
Sohyun chuckles. “Exactly. And it's a very patient fish, so don't head up to the stars too soon, okay?”
She smiles sweetly, and Xinyu's lips wobble as she smiles back. “The same goes for you, Sohyun!”
.
.
.
.
When Sohyun died, the stars surrounded her lifeless frame, and it felt like the sickest mockery to be watched over as Xinyu grieves.
“Xinyu,” Nakyoung calls softly, poking her head into the room. “The girls and I are heading out for a drive. It’s a nice night, do you want to come?”
“Oh, sure,” Xinyu mumbles, looking up. Nakyoung grabs her wrist and doesn’t really give her a chance to change her mind before she’s being tugged out of the room.
There were already two bikes waiting outside when they arrived. Kotone and Jiyeon are already on one, Nakyoung guides her onto the other, letting her hold on to her waist. Once they’re ready, they drive out of base and out into the open.
Not just 'the open' like Anakt Garden, but the real open. The actual universe and everything beyond. Xinyu still has to remind herself that this is real, sometimes, and that everything she saw around her when growing up was simply a lie.
The wind whips past her hair as they drive. Kotone drives on ahead, leading the way. She doesn’t know if they’ll just end up at a bar again, but she wouldn’t be surprised.
“Hey, Xinyu,” Nakyoung says. “The stars are nice today.”
It’s an offhand comment, stated as simply as one would when talking about the time or the weather, but Xinyu can’t help the pang in her chest anyway. A rush of resentment washes over her, trying to cover up the actual emotion bubbling in her chest—a fierce, undying grief.
Still, Xinyu looks up. Indeed, the stars are lovely. They’re even better than whatever faux projection it was that the aliens showed them. The sky is clearer than she can ever imagine, and the stars fade in and out of sight as the clouds drift by. They’re a beacon of hope to some, and simply a pretty view to many else.
Xinyu from a few months ago would’ve fawned over them as well. She’d bring a jar to the river, where the star’s reflections are smattered on the surface of the water, and try to scoop them up. She’d probably cry when she realises she can’t, and Sohyun or someone else will comfort her—
Sohyun.
The name tastes like copper on her tongue. Xinyu bites the inside of her cheek.
Whenever Xinyu pictures her, she pictures her by her features—the shimmer of her dress, the gentle smile she wears like a glove, and the twinkle of her eyes. She hears her sometimes, too, especially at night, when the phantom touch of her hands wrap around her shoulder and her chest and squeeze . When she thinks of Sohyun, she hears the tender, sweet melody of her voice, and it's like a haunting lullaby she keeps playing on loop.
“Naky,” Xinyu called, her voice devoid of any emotion, “Do you think it’s possible to visit the stars?”
Nakyoung’s body tenses visibly. She speeds up, and the cold sting of the wind on her cheeks is a welcome distraction from the echo of Sohyun’s laughter in her head.
“Possibly,” Nakyoung replies after a while. “If we could fly to a different planet one day, we could definitely visit the stars on the way.”
“I see.”
“Do you like them?” Nakyoung asks. She glances back for just a second, and through the reflection of her dark sunglasses, Xinyu sees herself. She sees the misery etched in her eyes and the permanent frown between her eyebrows and the downturn of her lips, and she thinks, with a wave of spite— this is what you’ve done to me.
Xinyu took a while to reply. “Not really,” she admits. “They’re not really nice to think about.”
Nakyoung makes a confused sort of noise, but she doesn’t prod, and Xinyu remains grateful for it. As the drive continues, Xinyu looks to where the stars hang in the sky and thinks of Sohyun dangling from above. Even the tiniest parts of Sohyun’s soul must be up there somewhere, scattered across the universe.
Xinyu feels surrounded by her, and it isn’t the comfort she thought it’d provide. Instead, it gets under her skin and presses uncomfortably against her organs, seering through her body. She wishes she could remove the feeling, because maybe then it’d make loving Sohyun easier to handle.
Xinyu, she hears, the voice sinking into her like a heavy, agonising weight, I’m waiting for you. Will you come visit me?
“No,” Xinyu whispers, and it’s an act of defiance as much as it is an act of grief. “I refuse.”
She swears the stars got a little dimmer after that.