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“We weren’t made for each other.”
The admission was quiet, blending in with the rain tapping against their window. Their backs were to one another, their heads lowered in varying degrees. Solemn acceptance painted each of their features, the darkness in the room nearly suffocating Aventurine in the way it draped over his shoulders.
Their current conversation had been brewing on the horizon for weeks, riddled with clouds of uncertainty and thunderous repercussions. His vision was blurred with tears threatening to spill over at any second. Maybe the winds would throw the window open and soak them to the bone, obscuring the sorrow preparing to drip down his cheeks. Only salt separated their forms, after all.
“Not in this life,” Aventurine finally managed to say, pressing his thumb sharply into his palm. The nail dug deeper and deeper, a grounding pressure amidst the storm of his heart. “But … the next one. The next one for sure.”
Sunday sighed behind him. His statement received no reply. He could hear the quiver in his lip, teetering closer to the edge of sobs than he would ever dare admit; Aventurine knew him better than anyone.
Knew.
“I’m sorry, Kakavasha.”
“Don’t be. Sometimes … these things just happen.” Aventurine was used to being left behind, to holding onto things even as the edges frayed and everything fell apart around him. The final thread always remained clasped between desperate fingers until it too finally snapped. His body sagged beneath the weight of shadows; the space between their exhausted shapes had somehow grown to span an entire galaxy. An orbit once made just for them, now planets apart. “We’re only human.”
Aventurine was still caged by obligations, his weeks spent in a sea of stars. He lived on the edge, gambled with his life, and cared little for consequences. It was the way he had thrived for years upon years.
Sunday had moved on from a life of disaster and hardship. His soul-searching had finally come to an end, and the idea of settling down in some quiet corner of the galaxy had become more appealing over the previous months. He wanted stability and peace—and the prospect of a family.
They were two halves of a whole, but not halves meant to fit together. Aventurine had become bold and adventurous; Sunday had become exhausted and modest.
It was Sunday who rose first. The bed springs squealed in protest as they were allowed to sink back into their usual shape. Aventurine felt his heart clench at the departure. He didn’t turn, and he knew Sunday wasn’t looking at him either. The shuffle of feet was all he needed to know the Halovian was busying himself with gathering clothes from the floor.
For a moment, Aventurine wanted to scream. To ask for a second chance, to rewind time, to beg, but his vocal cords felt paralyzed and his lungs were empty. Deep down, he knew this wasn’t even his fault; he wasn’t the one that fell out of love, after all. But he convinced himself it was. His teeth worried at his lip, and the first of many tears rolled down his cheeks in silent agony.
What, and where, had he gone wrong? Were there not enough dates? Had he not presented enough gifts? Did he text too much, or perhaps too little? There were a million different reasons that flashed through Aventurine’s mind but he knew none of them were the reason for their current state. He had done nothing wrong. Neither had Sunday, in reality.
Sunday had found someone else. He had found stability and happiness and the chance to settle down. There was no denying that fact; Sunday had told him directly after all. There had been no cheating. Aventurine trusted him enough to believe those words. Just flirting and a supposed warm smile, the promise of a future carried on wings he could never hope to soar with.
Aventurine was right; they were only human. They’re young and reckless and polar opposites, and all of those things made it hurt so much more.
His boyfriend — ex-boyfriend, he reminded himself — sniffled behind him. They weren’t parting on bad terms, and maybe that was what made it hurt all the more. They were still going to be in contact. They were still going to be friends, because they were in no way acquaintances anymore. Aventurine would still think about how Sunday always rearranged the pillows in the morning. Aventurine would still think about how Sunday’s nose scrunched at the smell of his bitter coffee. Aventurine would still think about Sunday’s rose-scented shampoo whenever he stepped into the shower.
They would still be friends, when their hearts finally stitched themselves back together.
Aventurine wasn’t mad. Instead, his chest felt hollow. Even though he could feel the guilt dripping from Sunday’s body, oozing into crevices that used to feel so welcoming, Aventurine still wasn’t mad.
“Sunny … Ah, Sunday, ” he corrected himself, and Aventurine missed the wince behind him. “Invite me to the wedding, yeah? Let me be Uncle Aven?” The way his voice shook betrayed the emotions bubbling inside him. His tears began to fall harder, staining the back of his weak hands.
“Of course, of course.” Sunday’s voice was so terribly small, soft breeze from his shuffling tickling Aventurine’s naked back. He was gathering what little possessions he had deemed worthy of taking from their apartment— Aventurine’s apartment.
Aventurine silently hoped Sunday would snag the photo of their first date, but he knew he’d forget it. Maybe on purpose, maybe not. They had bought brand new magnets just to crown it above the ice dispenser. So we can always smile in the morning, Sunday said.
He knew it would stay there for many more months.
“Let me know when you make it there.”
“Kakavas—”
“Aventurine,” he whispered softly. “That name is only for those I’m close with.” The silence was deafening for a moment. “Please. For my peace of mind; give me that at least.”
Sunday didn’t say another word for a bit but he knew his correction cut deep. The reality of it was finally setting in for the other man.
They listened to the rain in silence, growing heavier against the wearing shingles. The room remained still until he raised a hand to brush away the tears moistening his cheekbones. Feet shuffled behind him, and then a hand rested gently upon his shoulder, palm warm and soft. What used to be so comforting now felt white-hot and branding. Both of them knew they shouldn’t have faced each other, even for a goodbye, but they did it anyway. Aventurine twisted and their eyes met, weary and sad, and everything in him collapsed in one brilliant show.
Aventurine had read a book once on the lives of stars. Their cores blazed bright and hot, lighting up their galaxy and all those around them for billions of years—but even stars could not escape their inevitable demise. Once they began to produce iron, an internal timer boiled to the surface. A spare second, a gasp for breath, was all it took to choke their veins. Down they crumbled, an endless void of darkness and emptiness, doomed to be without anchor for eternity. Stardust scattered amongst nothingness, a beautiful supernova painting a breathless atmosphere with light. Sometimes they became new stars; sometimes they became black holes.
Sunday became the void in his chest, cold and heavy and empty.
Aventurine tore his gaze away first, curling his arm back to gently slot his hand atop Sunday’s. It fit there perfectly, just as it always had. It felt familiar, just as it always had, and it would never be there again.
“I’m sorry, Ka—Aventurine.” He took a deep, unsteady breath; he could feel the way his hand was shaking beneath his own. “I really am.”
He laughed, but the sound was hollow. “You already said that. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Aventurine blinked, and a new set of tears were swallowed by the tap of rain on glass. “You’ll be fine too.”
“Bu—”
“You should go,” Aventurine interrupted. “The rain is only going to fall harder. I know you hate driving in storms, especially at night.” There was so much he knew about Sunday; that had been his duty once, after all.
Sunday made a noise, a soft but painful exhale of defeat. He didn’t argue. He dropped his hand from Aventurine’s shoulder. Every footstep towards the door was louder than the thunder rolling in the distance. The space between them grew to lightyears; any further and it would span endlessly, never to be closed again.
“Then … I’ll see you around, Aventurine.”
“Drive safe,” he whispered.
The I love you hung heavily between them, resting on cracked lips, but neither dared whisper those dangerous words. Instead, Aventurine glanced behind and watched as Sunday finally left. The door clicked shut behind him and all the sounds of a tumultuous storm came rushing back. Frigid, icy darkness clawed at his skin, and he could no longer keep his sobs at bay.
Sunday’s name never flashed upon his screen.
————————————— < o > —————————————
Aventurine spotted them together a few months later. The man was tall and rugged, with a wolfish smile and wild hair. They eat at what were once their favorite places. They post on social media about the adventures Aventurine wanted to take Sunday on. His new boyfriend is also his new sun, a warm foundation of stability. He was outgoing and devious and handsome, and Aventurine wanted to hate him for all of the similarities between the two of them, but he couldn’t.
The new guy, Gallagher, had quickly become Sunday’s entire world. Their pictures showed Sunday gazing up at him with such open adoration and infatuation. Gallagher met that energy in return. The two of them seemed so happy.
He wasn’t okay, and that was fine. He wouldn’t be okay for a long time, and that was also fine. He was only human.
A month passed.
Aventurine found himself checking up on Sunday less and less. His expeditions picked up, Jade sending him off to far corners of the galaxy. He was certain it was out of pity in the beginning, a way to break him from his grief. His heart slowly healed, and then there came a day where he realized he hadn’t thought of Sunday in over a year.
They moved in together. They adopted a cat and a dog. They do weird couple things like matching outfits and sappy love letters and best boyfriend ever! admissions for all the world to see.
A few more months passed in a blur. Aventurine arrived back home from a particular difficult job, exhausted and battered, to an envelope waiting on his kitchen table. The paper was powder blue and edged in gold, and he knew immediately who it came from. It was an invitation, and he smiled. This time, there was no pain at the sight in front of him. Sunday had always wanted to get married, to settle down somewhere. He was only a guest but that was okay; Aventurine was just happy he got to go at all.
It was beautiful, full of tears and flowers and the two of them in tuxedos tailored to their specific tastes. Gallagher was in red and black, Sunday was in blue and gold. The cake matched. The tables were neatly arranged. The vows were perfect.
Aventurine found himself staring at someone halfway through. Veritas Ratio had been invited too, managing an appearance despite being busy with his tenth doctorate. He had never thought about how great the doctor looked in a suit before then, and he would eventually realize Sunday and Gallagher’s wedding had been the start of a yawning, infinite future.
He doesn’t stay long after that. Sunday formally introduced him to Gallagher, and he offered his congratulations with a genuine smile. There was only happiness. He doesn’t linger.
A week after the wedding, Aventurine decided to take a plunge. The gambling man in him was a fickle beast. It clawed at the shield around his heart until a crack split it apart. He typed a message and hit send before he could stop himself. Much to his surprise, the recipient actually messaged him back.
Aventurine found his moon.
Another year passed in a blur. Sitting on the couch in Ratio’s university office, his phone buzzed with an image. It was from Sunday, containing a photo of Gallagher and himself sitting on a plush blue couch. In his lap sat a small baby, eyes closed and entirely too young to care what her adoptive parents were up to. He smiled, because he’ll get his wish to be Uncle Aven and spoil her, but he couldn’t ignore the sadness temporarily squeezing his heart. Staring at the picture was like staring at a sliver of a life that could’ve been his. He was happy it was Gallagher. Aventurine knew he could never have made Sunday as happy as he is now, and it stung.
They were still two halves of two different wholes. Sunday found his perfect puzzle piece with Gallagher. Aventurine had found his with Ratio. Aventurine was still exploring the galaxy. Aventurine was still taking risks. Aventurine was still a gambling man. Sunday was settling into a quiet life. Sunday was a married man. Sunday had become a parent, just like he had always wanted.
Staring at the message, he smiled. Not in this life, he thought quietly, and not in the next one either. You’re where you were meant to be.
When Aventurine got home that night, he paused at the refrigerator humming softly. His hand rose and traced the edge of a picture; it was their first date, still above the ice dispenser. He took it in hand and squeezed it gently. Here, Sunday became his iron, heart superheating deep within. It exploded into a beautiful supernova that only he witnessed, but the fate of a blackhole did not await him. Aventurine instead formed into a new star, and the picture slowly floated down into a box of recyclables.
The last, and final, goodbye.