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Stelle has always made it a habit to keep herself occupied. In the past, she’d participated in nearly every event or challenge her friends had conjured up (Origami Bird Clash had been one of her long-time favorites) and taken on countless commissions (sometimes to beat up enemies or find rare items, but most often to deliver packages to Aeons-forsaken places).
Back then, Himeko had often raised a brow at Stelle’s seemingly unending misadventures. “Be sure you’re back in time for dinner,” she’d say pointedly (but to Stelle, that depended on whether or not Himeko was the one making dinner — if so, she was glad for the excuse not to come back). Dan Heng would simply advise her to stay safe, requesting that she enter any interesting information she found into the data bank when she returned.
That was then.
But after everything that’s happened in Amphoreus, Stelle can’t find it in herself anymore to venture out so often. Instead, she opts to spend her time on the Express. She makes herself useful, sweeping the Parlor Car in Pom-Pom’s stead (she pretends not to notice Pom-Pom anxiously attacking all the spots she missed with a broom) and helping out with breakfast (swapping the cups Himeko’s filled with coffee for her own hastily brewed tea, if that counts as helping).
She doesn’t think she could even bring herself to complete these small tasks — to get through the next day — if Dan Heng wasn’t by her side.
Dan Heng, whose arms encircle her from behind when she’s making toast in the kitchen. Dan Heng, who catches her when she slips on the newly-cleaned floors. Dan Heng, who spends hours answering her questions in the dead of night and tucks her in when she inevitably falls asleep. Dan Heng, who reads data bank entries about their Amphorean friends when she misses them. Dan Heng, who makes Stelle laugh and cry (happy tears only), and who looks at her like she’s his entire world.
Stelle sometimes worries (uncharacteristically, she knows) that she’s being too much. But when Dan Heng is with her, the expression on his face — like all his worries have melted away — reassures her that he feels the same way.
The truth is, they haven’t been apart once since they left Amphoreus.
So, naturally, when Stelle receives a summons to the space station from Asta, she panics.
She’s leaning against Dan Heng’s shoulder in the Archives when she receives the notification; he’s reading a book (some chronology of Ruan Mei’s research) while she swipes away at her phone, trying to beat an unfairly tricky level of a match-three game she’s recently downloaded.
Stelle flinches at the loud ping, and Dan Heng turns to look at her phone screen.
“SoulGlad Crush?” he teases. “Really?”
“Better than reading research articles for fun like a lunatic,” she retorts affectionately, swiping up to read Asta’s message. “Anyway, I only started playing because it’s made by the same devs as Origami Bird Clash . . .”
She freezes.
Stelle, are you free today?
Ruan Mei has developed a training program for her creations, and I know you’d be the perfect person to help out!
Meet me at the space station if you’re available.
Stelle groans, passing the phone to Dan Heng without a word.
She watches him as he reads over the messages, waiting until he’s done to speak. “Help me out, genius. What’s the best excuse not to go?”
She pauses. “Maybe I could say I broke my leg. Then I wouldn’t be able to chase after the cat-cakes — but no, little inconveniences like that have never stopped me before —”
“Wait,” he says, putting the phone down and turning to look at Stelle. “It’s been nearly a month since you left the Express. You might enjoy helping out with this, no?”
Stelle’s lips press together, and his eyes soften with understanding.
He laces his fingers through hers. “Alright,” he whispers.
He doesn’t say it, but Stelle knows Dan Heng is relieved. She is, too.
She tilts her head up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, then picks up the phone once again, fingers hovering over the keypad.
I’d love to come by, but I’m stuck with cleaning duties aboard the Express today. Hopefully another time, she types out. It’s not entirely a lie; she did (unfortunately) promise to help Pom-Pom deep-clean the bathrooms later today.
“Hold on,” Dan Heng says quickly, just as she’s about to hit send.
Stelle stops.
“What if I went with you?”
His eyes are open, questioning. Stelle hadn’t even considered that possibility before now. She’d never asked Dan Heng to come play Hanu’s Prison Break or solve Luofu Temple Fair puzzles with her in the past, but not because she didn’t want his company (was there ever a time when she didn’t?). Rather, she’d avoided bringing him along because she worried, irrationally, that he might find her interests shallow, her favorite games a waste of time.
She knew much better than to think that now.
“Really?” she asks.
“Why not?” he says, lips quirking upwards. “I don’t see any reason that ‘Dan Heng, Seal Master’ shouldn’t return.”
“It’s a date, then,” she says, “Dan Heng, Cat-Cake Master.”
“I didn’t agree to that name,” Dan Heng scoffs, but his smile is too adorable for her to take him seriously.
That’s how they end up in the Seclusion Zone, listening to Asta explain the rules of “Snack Dash.”
Stelle has long tuned her out, instead eyeing the competitors. Her good friends Trash Cake, Rice Dumpling, Ice Cake, Lambda’s Friend, and Shader Cat are here, among others. There are some new faces, too; on first sight, she can pick out cat-cakes modeled after Robin, Aventurine, Fu Xuan, and Guinaifen.
Dan Heng is listening to the game’s rules silently. She can already see the metaphorical gears turning in his head. Unfortunately for him, strategy can’t beat Stelle’s skill, a conjecture she’s proven a thousand times over on Astral Express game nights.
Nonetheless, she’d be lying if she said he didn’t look ridiculously good while deep in thought —
“Stelle,” Asta chirps, her voice singsongy, “did you hear the rules, or have you spent the whole time staring at Dan Heng?”
“Who’s to say I can’t do both?” Stelle says smoothly. (Dan Heng is clearly pretending he didn’t hear.)
Asta giggles. “We’ll see when one of you wins!” She gives the two of them a handful of items (mini trash bags and what looks like bait) and leads them to the room where the training courses are set up, bidding them both good luck on her way out.
“I struggle to believe this was Ruan Mei’s idea,” Dan Heng says, staring at the elaborate layout of tiles set up on the floor. Some are elevated, others have bubbles floating above them, and others are orange and sticky, for whatever reason.
“I don’t.” Stelle assesses the cat-cakes at the starting line for all of five seconds before deciding to support Trash Cake. Was there ever a choice to begin with?
“Are you supporting your son, Dan Heng?”
“What?”
“Rice Dumpling,” she says, shoving him lightly in the side. “Who else?”
“That depends on its ability,” Dan Heng muses. (He doesn’t deny Stelle’s claim, which is good enough for her. Plenty of growth since the last time they’d visited this topic of discussion.)
A tablet containing the cat-cakes’ ability descriptions is affixed to the wall. Stelle watches him swipe, skimming the rest of the entries, until he reaches Rice Dumpling’s.
“Tries to avoid special tiles and bubbles when taking action,” he reads out loud.
“Accurate,” Stelle remarks, and Dan Heng hums. She lets him take his time to make a decision; his expression betrays nothing.
“Do you not want to see Trash Cake’s ability?” he asks, finally.
“Nope,” she says confidently. “I’m winning regardless.”
Dan Heng raises his eyebrows, but he’s smiling. “I expected nothing less from you.” And then Owlbert’s voice is booming over the speakers, urging all cat-cakes to get into their starting positions and competitors to place their bets for the first round.
“Miss Stelle,” Owlbert booms, “Which contestant will you be supporting?”
“Trash Cake!” she whoops.
“Mister Dan Heng, your choice?”
“Rice Dumpling,” he says assuredly, much to Stelle’s delight.
“Wait, Dan Heng! Wait, wait, wait. Does this count as father-son bonding time between you and Rice Dumpling?”
He grabs her hand and gently pulls her down to a good viewing position, angling his body so that their knees touch. “I prefer to think of this as bonding time between you and me,” he says, amused. “But whatever makes you happy is fine.”
Stelle gasps. “Bonding? Is this why you once referred to me as your bondmate?”
His lips part, a blush rising to his cheekbones. But before he can respond, Owlbert starts counting down.
“Lock in, Dan Heng,” Stelle teases.
He straightens, clutching his items with all the grace and poise of a dragon. “We’ll see who has the last laugh,” he says simply.
“Three . . . two . . . one . . . the race is on!” Owlbert announces.
The little creatures — Trash Cake, Rice Dumpling, Ice Cake, Honey Dice, and Sesame Cake — start hopping forward. Stelle is tempted to giggle at how adorable they look, but she holds off for now. She has a very determined Dan Heng to defeat.
“And Rice Dumpling takes the lead!”
The first part of the terrain abounds with bubbles, much to Stelle’s dismay. Rice Dumpling, staying true to its strengths, maneuvers around them expertly. Dan Heng has made a wise decision this time (but no matter, she can’t give up).
“Go, Trash Cake, go!” she cheers, tossing trash bags at strategic points to help it move faster. (Did she read its abilities? No. Did she know, by instinct, that this was the right thing to do? Absolutely.)
“Honey Dice is closing in quickly,” warns Owlbert. Rice Dumpling has hit a rough patch after a precisely thrown trash bag, courtesy of Stelle — and the cat-cake with an uncanny resemblance to Aventurine is catching up.
Dan Heng has opted to use bait instead of trash bags. His aim is straight and true, often slowing down not only Trash Cake, but multiple cat-cakes in the vicinity. And as Honey Dice seems about to overtake Rice Dumpling, it suddenly turns around, attracted by perfectly placed bait.
The other two contestants are caught in an unfortunate struggle in the back. As Sesame Cake rams into Ice Cake, leaving it stunned, Ice Cake releases a puff of frost, leaving Sesame Cake frozen; the cycle continues. “Unfortunately, both Sesame Cake and Ice Cake are out of commission,” Owlbert announces eventually.
“With Honey Dice down on its luck, who will emerge victorious: Trash Cake or Rice Dumpling?”
The race is drawing into its final seconds, and Stelle is losing hope. One poorly aimed trash bag later, and —
“Rice Dumpling wins!”
Stelle turns to Dan Heng, and his barely-contained smile is unfairly disarming.
“Do you want to actually learn how to play the game now, Stelle?” he deadpans.
“Forgive me, Cat-Cake Master,” she cries, “for I have sinned!” She collapses facefirst into his lap. “Strategy beats skill and all that, I admit it.”
Dan Heng pats her head a few times in consolation before lifting her upright, as if he already knows what Stelle’s going to say next.
“Rematch?” they say in unison.
“REMATCH!” Owlbert booms.
Rice Dumpling wins again. And again. And again.
Stelle loses count of how many times they play. She doesn’t care that she’s losing, doesn’t care that Dan Heng has probably put Rice Dumpling on steroids (how else is the little thing winning?), doesn’t care that she has what Silver Wolf might call a skill issue.
She would play again and again and again, if only this time with him would last forever.
“Last round?” Dan Heng asks, after Stelle can’t hide the flutter of her eyelids anymore.
“Yeah,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. She stands up and stretches as Owlbert begins his countdown for the thirty-fifth (thirty-sixth?) time.
She’ll put in her full effort this round; it can’t hurt to try one last time.
“Go!” Owlbert yells, and the creatures start hopping. At this point, the other cat-cakes have been put on rotation — Trash Cake and Rice Dumpling, though, have raced the entire time. She’d feel bad for putting them through such an ordeal if Trash Cake didn’t look so ridiculously determined (like mother, like daughter, she supposes).
As always, Rice Dumpling begins to overtake Trash Cake.
Stelle sneaks a peek at Dan Heng, who’s just as concentrated (and attractive) as ever. He’s holding a trash bag, waiting for precisely the right moment to throw it. If this game goes predictably, he’ll hit his target as always.
But maybe the way to win with him isn’t to play by the rules.
So, before she can convince herself not to, Stelle launches herself in front of Dan Heng, clumsily blocking his throw with her arm.
“Stelle, what —”
“Take that —”
Then he’s trying to pry her off of him, as gently as he possibly can, because of course he would (he’s never not been a gentleman) — but that just makes Stelle more deadset on her goal, and she grabs hold of both of his wrists, tackling Dan Heng to the floor. He drops his items in shock (hers have already been forgotten, because she didn’t quite think that far ahead), using his strength instead to pull his arms out of her death grip.
And then they’re a tangle of limbs and laughter on the floor, Stelle’s arms now firmly locked around Dan Heng’s neck, and his around her waist. The cat-cakes are still racing in the background, Owlbert’s commentary blaring from the overhead speakers (thank Aeons he can’t see them), but Stelle’s world has narrowed to him — the sound of his breathing and the adoration in his eyes and everything, everything about this beautiful man who has become her lifeline.
There’s a lovely pink flush in Dan Heng’s cheeks as he finally regains his balance, flipping their bodies over until he’s hovering over her.
He laughs. “Stelle, I —”
She pulls him down by his collar — one of the zippers has come undone in their tussle. “Shut up and kiss me,” she says, barely able to contain the affection in her voice.
“As you wish,” he says, voice breathless and low and soft.
Stelle thinks his kiss is the best feeling in the world. He outdoes himself every time. And she’d give up anything, she thinks, for them never to be separated again.
They’re still entwined when the door starts to open.
“Stelle, isn’t this game ridiculous — what the hell?”
They’ve separated too late, Dan Heng smoothing out his hair and Stelle fixing her skirt, which has gotten embarrassingly wrinkled. Silver Wolf is gaping, scandalized.
Stelle doesn’t dare make eye contact with her.
“We were just —”
“Spare the excuses,” says Silver Wolf, more flustered than Stelle has ever seen her. “I’ll leave you and Mr. Lover-Boy to it.”
She points to the game, which has long finished. “Look, you won, Stelle. Even though you were distracted. When you’re not busy being ridiculously in love, call me. We’ll play a match.”
She shuts the door without another word.
Silver Wolf is right. For once, Trash Cake has won — and Rice Dumpling, coming up right behind it, stacks on top of Trash Cake contentedly.
“Gosh, Dan Heng,” Stelle says, slipping her hand into his. “You’d think those two have separation anxiety.”
He looks at her askance. “You’re sure they’re not just mimicking their . . . parents?”
His words undo Stelle again, and she flops onto the floor giggling. Her stomach hurts from how much she’s laughed today, but it’s a lovely sort of pain.
“Can you carry me back home, Dan Heng?”
“. . . Fine.” (He’s happy to, she knows.)