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Rowan hated his birthday.He hated it because it was a sign that he was getting older and she wasn't.
He hated most things on the ship anyways.
He spent most of his time either in his art studio,trying to teach himself how to paint.
He loved it so far,not just because he found the repeated brush strokes relaxing,but because it was one of the only ways he would see her again.
Alive and Radiant.
As always.
Painting portraits of her.
Never sad or melancholy ones.Always ones filled with joy,with light.
Seeing her deadish body in the hold always hurt him a bit.Like a perpetually bleeding wound.But her bullet wound did not keep bleeding,he made sure of that.
He kept reliving that day in his nightmares.He didn't want to relive them in his waking hours.But he did.For her sake.He visited her down there once a day,at least.
Or he went to the gym,cried on the treadmill for a while.He felt pained afterwards,more so than usual.
Every day,scratch that,every moment was agony,but his birthday more so.
The cake was always too sweet,and the champagne was always too hard to swallow,and every glass was more bitter than the last.
The only good thing about the day was that he was one year closer to seeing her again.
The first couple of years,he spent the day holed up in his cabin.No one would go near him.
Not just out of fear,out of pity.
People still didn't believe him much,but in their eyes,his strange devotion to their martyr was something that they could believe in.
They thought that he would,at the least,last maybe two or three years before it broke down and decomposed.
117 years was,after all,a very long time.
But as they soon found out,it was non-wavering,no matter what.They wondered what she had done to earn the love and loyalty of someone the world believed wasn't capable of it.
How had it culminated? They wondered.
But all they could do was wonder.
At least for a couple of years.
As the years passed,he slowly,very slowly,came out of his shell.
He started talking to the crew more.For a while,he was seen as a mystery,a ghost,coming and going as he pleased.They wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery.
That was all before a girl,of maybe five or six years of age went up to him when he was sitting on a bench.
And asked him the one question that they all wanted to know the answer to. "Why are you waiting for Scythe Anastasia?" She had asked.The girl's parents were,of course,very apologetic.
But he had just smiled at her.
And asked her parents if she could sit on the bench with him.They were taken aback by how respectful he was to them.But they said yes.And this girl sat down beside him on there,swinging her legs back and forth.She had brown eyes.And for a moment all he could see was her.And so,he finally began to tell their story.Granted,a very censored version,but nonetheless.
He told the girl about the opera at which they met,about the early days of their apprenticeship,about the way she clutched his hand right before their first test,about how beautiful she looked in her robes,about the way her eyes would light up when she won,whether that be a sparring match,or a verbal one.About her neat cursive handwriting,about seeing how cutting her broadcasts were.Just about her.As he went on,continuing telling their story,a crowd had began to gather around the bench.Mostly other children.Perhaps they were curious as well.
It reminded him of another life,back when he was a self confessed "professional older brother",one who would tell his little siblings stories.He wondered where his little siblings were now.He hoped they were happy
He was almost done with their story,and almost every single kid in that crowd was on the verge of tears,if not fully crying.He himself was tearing up a little.
When he was completely done,those kids on the verge of tears were full on crying.And the kids who were already crying were crying harder.They all cried like that for a couple minutes.
That was how he got roped into telling stories to the kids at the library on the ship.He would go once a week to tell them stories,anything from fantasy to comedy to mystery.He always looked forward to it.It was a break from the drudgery of his life.The kids loved him.
That was also how Scythes Lucifer and Anastasia's reputation as the "post-mortal Romeo and Juliet" started.
A love story for the ages.A tragedy for the ages.A weird mosaic of both.
And the crew finally began to see him as less of a monster with a heart of stone,and more like someone worthy of their allegiance. Within a year,he was running the ship entirely.
The years went by slowly,but not as slowly as they seemed to before.No matter how busy he was,he found a way to go back to the library to tell kids stories,not the same kids he first told those stories to.Those kids had grown,and it was bittersweet for him.To see them grow up.
It felt so fast to him.How they went from children to young adults.
She still came to him in dreams.The nightmares were less often.Of course,they were still there. Her face was as beautiful as ever,but in his dreams,she had grown with him.She never got the chance to in real life.Frozen at eighteen for the next 33 years.He still kept count.Just as he did in those first years.
She would talk to him softly,like an angel,like a goddess.She never once blamed him for it,her current state.
Over the next 33 years,his life looked much the same.
Running the ship,painting in his art studio,going to the hold to see her,going to the library to tell his stories.
Some of the kids in the library were the children and grandchildren and great grandchildren of the original kids.The first ones to listen to him.To listen to his story.
He remembered every single one.Every single kid.
They were hard to forget,for him at least.He would see them around the ship sometimes,the kids who used to listen to him,all grown up.
They would smile and wave and say hello to him.Ask him how he was doing.It was good to see them happy.It was good to see them,period.
He couldn't wait to see her again.It is only a matter of time.
With only a couple hours until they are reaching their destination.
Trappist 1-e.
Terranova.
He is eighteen again,for the second time.He remembers wondering,once upon a time,
"Who would ever want to be a teenager more than once?"
But he wants it.He wants her more than anything.Even being a teenager again was worth it for her.
He is nervously pacing the ship,afraid something might happen in these final hours.Nothing happens.
He is excited,more than anything,to see her eyes open for the first time in 117 years.In reality,this time.
His portraits of her might be incredibly lifelike,but they aren't her.Nothing could do her justice.
Ever.
Although,he often hopes that he is close to doing her justice.
He is sitting by her bedside on the planet.He can see the rosy pink skies through a circular window.
Most of the crew are outside,exploring their new home.
Not him,though.He is only here for her.He only got on the ship because he wanted a future with her.
Maybe that was his only innocent crime.
Wanting a future with the girl he loves.
And that future he wanted so long ago is now.
He is holding her hand gently now.
She opens her eyes,finally,and she is better than any portrait or dream.
He knows at this moment,that she was worth all the tears,all the sleepless nights,all the bitter champagne toasts.
One moment with her was worth a lifetime of waiting.
Although,he hopes that they will have many,many,many lifetimes together.
He hopes to love her for many,many,many lifetimes.
One lifetime simply will not be enough.
"Hey," He says,no,he practically whispers it.He is so, so gentle with her hand.
He smiles,bigger than he has for a hundred years.He can't control it.
He can't seem to control himself.
"Hey," Her voice is rough,but it's hers,and that's enough to make tears fall down his face. "We were just running,right?" She says.
More tears cascade down his face.
"When was that?" She asks.Her voice is less rough,it has softened.
His face must be sparkling from all of those tears,but more keep falling anyways.
"Only a moment ago."