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Arthur Baker is having trouble sleeping at 23:47, which is a problem of sorts due to the fact that he has to be up in a little over six hours. Six hours and thirteen minutes, to be exact, but who was counting anyway?
Lights were out at 22:00 on the dot and Art had said his goodnights to his bunk mates, and turned to face the wall, clutching the standard issued blanket and sheet over him and trying to will himself unsuccessfully from a doze into a proper dream.
But, no surprise, it just wasn’t working out.
This place had its moments, that much was for sure. The cafeteria and windowless classrooms where the bulk of his lessons took place were all so relatively unremarkable, that he sometimes was able to forget altogether where he was. The ground was so solid beneath his feet (really, what did he expect? Frequent zero gravity?) that it was easy to trick his mind into thinking he was still back on earth.
Nights though, nights were different.
So far, it was the silence that hit him the hardest, that and the cold.
Back at home, there was plenty of noise one could expect on any plain, warm night in Louisiana. He'd spent most of his life in Baton Rouge, but he and his family always made their way to different parts of the state for some reason or another. They had relatives a stone’s throw away nearly everywhere anyway, so why not go to Shreveport for Christmas? New Orleans for Mardi Gras and the occasional blink and you’ll miss it small town, like Houma, for family weddings and baptisms?
The one thing they all had in common, oddly enough, were the noises.
Not necessarily the kind outside that was subject to change, cars and crickets changed places depending on where he was and the time of night he found himself nodding off but there were some things that simply did not.
Sounds like the murmur of voices downstairs or up the hall, the static from a tv left on for too long, the rain that so very unpredictably fell hard and heavy down on the rooftops, all of it had told him for as long as he could remember that he was safe, that he was home.
By contrast, the cold silence of the space station and the fact that none of his roommates seemed to so much as snore, told Art that not only was he the furthest from home he had ever been- but there was no going back.
At 24:00 on the dot, he really should have been asleep, but instead, he rose up from his bed and as quietly as he could, left the room.
There was one thing that he knew would make him feel a little better, one thing that would grant him some much needed peace. It had been something of a lone solace ever since he had made it up to the space station.
After all, he’d loved the stars ever since he was a little boy.
His grandmother used to sit with him on the front porch of their house and point out the constellations to him, tell him the stories behind them. Old stories, ones that were even hard to find in books now, but she knew them all the same, and she trusted Art with them.
It made him love both more than he could even comprehend at times.
The best place on the entire space station to see the stars is the atrium, where cadets frequently come on their breaks; it was one of the few sections that never closed. In addition, it was the one that reminded Art the most of earth, what with its carefully cultivated plant life, it even had a scent to it that was unmistakably warm and miraculously green.
The Atrium also had wide windows, practically floor to ceiling, and skylights to boot; the best seat in the house to stargaze.
Art makes his way down the hall, and then down the stairs at the end of it. Right after that, he makes a left turn and a detour that almost feels like he’s going in a circle. The way was something of a process to memorize, but it had been the first thing he’d set to doing once he realized just how much of his free time he wanted to spend there.
Once he arrives, he regards the scent of the plants and the sight of the stars with a relieved sigh for all of ten seconds before he realizes that he is not alone.
“What are you still doing up, Baker?” asked a voice from over by the little pond at the far end of the atrium.
Art looks over to confirm and yes, It’s Collie Parker. He’s sitting on one of the stone benches that were parsed through the room. Like Art, Collie is in his night uniform (Calling them pajamas doesn’t quite feel right given how formal and stiff they were.) and his long, dark hair is pulled back from his face.
His expression, the furrow of his brow and the focus his gaze gives to Art is more curious than demanding.
Collie shrugs, “I mean, It’s kind of late for you, isn’t it? Aren’t you…” He takes a breath, perhaps recalling the events of earlier today.
No, Art reminds himself, the events of yesterday, now - wasn’t it?
“Aren’t you piloting tomorrow? That means you’re up at six sharp.”
Art doesn’t answer right away. What could he say?
I’m sorry I got assigned to pilot your shuttle? I’m sorry you’re on injured leave for the week? I’m sorry you couldn’t sync up with your system?
But, no, he realizes, none of that would do any good. And besides, worst of all, Collie doesn’t seem to be looking for an apology or explanation of any sort. His eyes are soft and don’t hold anything resembling a grudge. There’s no jealousy there, no resentment at Art’s unexpected promotion.
Actually, Collie almost looks pleased to see Art here so unexpectedly.
The corners of his mouth are perked up into something that could so easily slip into a smile and it makes Art feel bad for suspecting the worst mood out of him in the first place.
“I couldn’t sleep.” He says at last, and his voice feels small, almost like a child who braved the trek from their room to their parents’ to wake them up with the same notion.
He clears his throat and tries to shake the nerves along with it. He’s never really been alone with Collie before, not like this anyway. When he speaks a second time, his voice is more assured.
“I came to see the stars.” He explains, “They make me think of home, thought it might help, you know?”
Collie nods, “Yeah, I get it.” He says.
He motions to the space next to him on the bench.
“You wanna sit down?”
“Thanks, man.” Art says as he takes him up on the offer.
Then, the silence resumes, settles between the two of them. It feels like a long, long time before either of them says anything.
Finally, Art points up to the window.
“They’re the same stars.” He says, mostly to himself, but not entirely.
“I used to spend hours looking up at them, thinking about what it must be like for them up there, away from all the mess on earth.”
Collie’s watching him, almost as though he can picture Art in the backyard of his childhood home, lying on a blanket and reaching a hand up to the sky as though those stars he loved so well were anywhere within reach.
“What about now?” Collie asks him, “Now that you're up here and all?”
“It’s different.” Art admits.
He doesn't say that it frightens him, He doesn’t say that he isn’t quite sure he belongs here, That the idea of roaming the stars for monsters he can barely even comprehend the presence of is all fine and glorious in theory, but now he’s seen what training alone can do to a person, even when they think they’ve done every thing right and even to someone as strong as Collie Parker. Art doesn’t say that part of him is certain he’s made the biggest possible mistake of his life and he can’t take it back.
All he does is confirm, “Yeah, It’s different, that’s for sure. But you can’t blame the stars for that.”
He finds it then, while the conversation is still easy; the small notch in between concern and morbid curiosity.
“How’re you holding up?” He asks and taps his right temple with his index finger, “How’s your head?”
Now, it’s Collie’s turn to hesitate, he looks down at his hands.
“I’m fine.” he says at last “I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Art feels the word stick to the roof of his mouth, it’s too much and not enough.
“We’ve been worried about you- I mean, well, I’ve been worried about you. The other boys in my squad said I shouldn’t bother. They said it would take a lot more than a pairing malfunction to bring you down.”
Though, it hadn’t looked that way when Collie was in the middle of said pairing malfunction, three warnings in and unable to disconnect on his own. His eyes had rolled back in his head, his skin had gone pallid and he’d been racked with a convulsive fit.
Art didn’t even like to think back on it, attempting to bring up specific details was all but out of the question.
If Collie has anything to add to Art’s confession, he keeps it to himself. Even as his expression betrays him. The surprise, the hollow ache of, not for the first, and not for the last time, being overestimated in something as relatable as pain; as the fear for one’s life.
Art understands this as well.
It seemed like he’d been hearing similar notions all his life.
Boys don’t cry- Black boys, especially- Wasn’t it a well known fact that black people had a higher pain tolerance? Why should you bother talking about your feelings? Crying over a cut? It was only three stitches. What’s wrong, Arthur? Aren’t you a man? Aren’t you a real man?
While Art didn’t think any of the other boys meant it like that necessarily, it didn’t stop it from dredging up the memories of those who had meant it like that. It didn’t stop it from hurting, for him or Collie, he was sure.
And hadn’t Collie done enough hurting lately?
There’s a space in between them, where their hands are barely touching at the tips. Almost without noticing, like it’s an instinct, the two of them reach for one another to close it, fingers falling over fingers. Shy, at first, then interlocking as though each served as an anchor for the other.
“Thank you.” Collie says. “I don’t think I ever got to thank you like I wanted to, so..”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Art says.
“Yeah, I do.” Collie insists. “I would have fried if it weren’t for you.”
Have they moved closer to each other? Or is Art just wishing for it?
“I didn’t think,” Art admits, “I just had to do something. I couldn’t just-”
His voice is getting thick, the memory stings his eyes like smoke and blurs his vision. It’s not until he feels it down his face that he realizes he’s crying, and not until he looks over does he see that Collie’s crying too.
Neither of them says anything after that. The gap between them narrows and then disappears as they find and lean on each other, wrap their arms around one another. Steady themselves like ships after a bad storm, they find their way back to shore together and the stars are there the entire time. Quiet and constant and lighting the way in the vast darkness. Collie and Art do this for each other too, and they have, ever since they stepped foot on this space station. Neither is quite ready to say it yet, but this too is a quiet, constant, light in the dark. Both can feel it, both understand it, but like the stars it still feels like an endless wish away.