Work Text:
Mac once held most of the universe's answers.
Yet now, a question lies beyond their old self’s reach: How do stars look?
They’ve seen them before, confined within rectangles... squares... 3D models. But what use are those, when every star was but a cluster of pixels, flat and rough against the screen?
It is never accompanied by the chirping of birds on nearby trees. Their pet mouse pressing its paws onto the grass. The kissing of mist and wind on their skin.
Your own heart beating against their ear. How their head rises with your chest, and falls again. Your fingers combing through their hair.
They hear their voice scattering into the fields—talking of stars, of galaxies, of how much they love these, of how much they love you. All of it pulls to orbit around their muses: the sky beyond reach, and you in their arms.
Stretching their hand out, they can no longer touch the rough pixels of stars. Only the soft skin of your face.
They smile, now knowing the answer to a question different from the one they first asked:
How does it feel to look at stars?