Chapter Text
You’ve never gotten used to listening to your own voice.
Even after Stardust surpassed a hundred loops, a hundred conversations with you, you never adjusted. Not when he laughed the way you did, breathy and low, or when his accent curled around consonants the same way yours did. Not when he mumbled, stuttered, and trailed off just like you.
Once, the Researcher had told you that a person’s internal voice didn't align with the way they actually sounded. Something about the way the ear worked, you don't remember the details well, aside from your guess that her research topic was ‘audiology’. You don't think you fully believed her until that first loop of his, until your voice came out of somebody else’s mouth.
A voice that you didn't expect to hear in the bustling market of Jouvente on a random Wednesday. So far away from you, buried beneath the sounds of the crowd, yet so distinct.
Something in you, the same part that itched at you to travel west and to linger in Jouvente, called for you to follow them. You know with certainty by this point, that what’s calling out to you is the Universe. And as you stand there, people pushing past your frozen form, you make the same decision you always made when you felt its guidance.
You followed.
You’d love to say that you pulled off an incredible feat of stealth, that it was a difficult task to follow your better self and not be caught. But truthfully, it seemed that Stardust had lost his perceptive touch. He didn’t look your way a single time, not even after you knocked over an entire basket of produce at a market stall one row away from his.
It took around two hours of following Stardust’s trail before they lead you to what you assume to be the place they’ve been staying. Strangely enough, it didn’t appear to be an inn, and based on the key they’d worn on a chain around their neck, they weren’t relying on Vaugardian hospitality either. A rental then, an awfully nice rental, but you’ve seen firsthand the kind of benefits being considered a hero gets you in this country.
The townhouse wasn’t exceptionally large- if anything, it was a cozy size. The gable wasn’t too tall, nor were the windows too wide. There was a well-tended flower garden out front and a small chair tucked into the far corner of the porch. It was… perfect, and the mere sight of it sickened you.
Yet despite the churning nausea, that twisting in your heart that screamed at you to just leave, you stayed. You wandered the city for three more days after that first run-in, spending long nights tucked away into a booth at the bar across the street from their house. You never enjoyed the taste of liquor, but you’re beginning to understand why people tolerate the stuff. The burn of the drink melts away everything you don’t want to think about, at least until the next morning.
It couldn’t erase the shame, however. The biting voice in your ear screaming that you were a coward, that Stardust would’ve already sought you out by now, if they knew what you were; if they knew everything you’d failed to tell them in the last loop. It was unbearably loud, and there was no part of you that could refute it, not when you were still hiding. It was unbearable, the festering shame growing and writhing until it threatened to swallow you whole.
Which is what brought you to Stardust’s doorstep so early in the day that the sun hadn’t even hit its peak. You were trembling in fear, anticipation and some other emotion you couldn’t think to name, and maybe still hungover from the night prior. You’d gone a little overboard on drink, to the point where the bartender had offered you a room above the tavern, free of charge.
Everything in you was begging to run, to ignore the Universe and flee to the nearest Poterian border town. The Universe has done nothing but lead you in the wrong direction again and again, letting you suffer while the Change God laughed. Obviously, the best most logical option is to turn away- take your life in your own hands just this once.
But your feet don’t move. They stay planted firmly in the boards of the porch as you sway. Your fist clenches so tightly it hurts, as you raise it parallel to the scuffed paint of the door. Nobody has seen you yet, you haven’t knocked, you can still go.
You remember commenting to Stardust about how fixated he gets. About how much his entire life can be run by stupid ideas that mean nothing. But you know you’re no different. The minute you caught that familiar darkless hair in your sight your fate was set. You can’t hide anymore, you need to see him.
At least one more time.
Wrapping your free hand around the coins in your pocket, you knock three times, holding your breath. As you hear footsteps beyond the door, you shut your eyes and force your expression into something friendly, numb lips quirking upward into a smile.
The curtain rises as the door swings open and you see… him. Not Stardust, not even someone you could tolerate right now like the Kid or the Housemaiden. No, instead the Universe has cursed you once more by placing the Fighter behind that door.
You hadn’t assumed Stardust was on their own, not after the whole debacle, but the others had always been busy. Had been out of the blinding house by this time of evening, while Stardust was often back earlier than the rest. It’s just your luck! Really, you shouldn’t be surprised anymore; this was the only way for this meeting to go.
Then, before you even blink, the Fighter addresses you, eyes squinted inquisitively. "Sif?" He asks, looking behind you, one hand resting on the doorknob. "Did you forget your key again?" He looks different; his facial hair is more grown out and he has thick glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. And.
And a silver earring dangling in his left ear, a thin, dull, knife engraved with a swirling pattern of stars. You drop your gaze to his chest, wincing internally at the unsubtlety in the motion.
In an attempt to play it off, laugh awkwardly, hoping the heat you feel on your traitorous cheeks isn't visible to him. It's not yours, it’s not yours, he’s not yours. "You know me! Forgetful!" You giggle, sounding more strained than you’d like with your tight chest.
The Fighter hums incredulously. “Right.” He says, looking you up and down. "Well, uh, you better get in quick before Puddle gets out again." He pushes the door open just enough for you to slide through before shutting it so firmly the walls rattle. A shiver runs down your spine as you hear the click of the lock.
The inside of Stardust’s rental is just as picturesque as the outside. The first room is fairly average sized, with scuffed hardwood beneath your feet. There’s a kitchen tucked in one corner, a long dining table taking up most of the space, and six chairs tucked underneath. Thankfully, the rest of Stardust’s party doesn’t appear to be home at the present moment.
As you walk, you feel something brush against your ankle, and looking down you see a fluffy lightless cat nuzzling your boot. This is Puddle, you assume. You wonder if they came with the house or if the party had adopted a traveling cat.
“Yvette must not have needed as much work as she said, since you’re back early.” The Fighter comments, stepping carefully, putting himself between you and the nearest window. “Didn’t you say you were probably going to have to stay for dinner to get everything she needed done?”
Okay, you can work with that. Before Dormont, before your party, you used to work odd jobs whenever you could. Without the end of the world looming over his head, Stardust must’ve picked that back up to avoid being a dead weight to the party. “Yes, well, I’ve been wrong about things before.” You excuse with a wave of your hand. “What’s one more?”
You didn’t plan for this, for stepping back into a role you’d vacated for almost as long as you’d played it. The words all feel so wrong coming out of your mouth- would Stardust say this? Would you? Or are the words being dragged out of you by forces outside of your understanding?
You could still leave. Run before this conversation gets any further and pretend it never happened. But the Fighter would probably tell Stardust about it, about you. And try as you might, the part of you that cares doesn't want that. Doesn't want Stardust to wonder what happened, you know his mind gets away from him. He wouldn't forget about it. Even if he really really should.
The Fighter narrows his eyes, clenching his jaw. You feel like a fly in a jar waiting to be studied with how intense his gaze is. “Are you feeling alright?”
Forcing your face into your winning smile you shut your eyes tightly. "Never better!" You cock your head to the side, as though you are a puppet dangling limply on a string. "Why? Do I seem off, Isa?" His name feels like acid on your tongue, burning your insides as you swallow. You hope your discomfort doesn't show on your face.
"Very." The Fighter admits honestly, his gloved hands clenched into fists, but he makes no move toward you. Your eye twitches. "Care to tell me what's going on?"
You open your mouth baring your teeth. “I’ve had a long morning, dear, aren’t I allowed to be tired?” You shift your hand to the empty sheath at your hip out of habit. Right. You’d tossed your dagger into a well weeks ago now. Out of the corner of your eye, you scan the room for any other potential weapon you could use. The knife block is tucked on a counter nearest to a window; you’re fast, but you’d have to get past the Fighter to even get there. Not viable.
The only other option is a fire poker beside an unlit hearth. Those are closer to you, but much longer and more spear-like than any weapon you’ve ever used. Unideal, that’s for certain. Fine, bare-handed it is.
The Fighter shrugs. "Of course, but ‘tired’ doesn't explain everything that's weird about you today." He explains. This is off script. The Fighter never realizes anything, he didn’t even realize that Stardust noticed how he felt! Surely he doesn't know, that's out of character! But the way he's behaving...
Does he know or does he not? When did he learn to be subtle?!
"Weird?! You wound me!" You cry, slapping your hands to your chest in mock-offence. “And here I thought we had something special!”
You watch the Fighter closely, shifting your fingers into a scissors position as his shoulders grow tense. You know an attack stance when you see one. “You know what,” You say, and shift your weight off of one of your legs. “I think it’s time to cut you loose!” You lunge, swinging your arm outward, a slash of scissorscraft shooting in the Fighter’s direction.
He tanks the hit, slamming a fist into his palm, sending a shockwave of rockcraft right back at you. You leap, grimacing as it connects with your foot. Stumbling, you bring your knee up into his gut. As he’s reeling, you sweep him off balance, nearly hitting his head on the floor as he falls.
You drop with him, pressing your forearm into his throat. A giggle escapes your lips as he glares and swipes your arm away with ease. Before you strike again, the Fighter releases a strong rock attack in your direction, knocking you off of his body and into the air.
Bones rattling as you hit the ground, you remain still until your vision clears. After a few seconds you see the Fighter standing once more, staring, waiting. Slowly and dramatically, you push yourself to your feet, stifling your breathing to hide how tired you actually are already.
Eyes narrow, you sprint at him once more, hand formed in a scissors sign. Without giving you a chance to swing, The Fighter tackles you to the ground. You yelp as you collapse under his weight. His grip is strong, and unrelenting even as you swing and claw at his arms. Then, when his wrist comes too close to your mouth, you sink your teeth into his flesh, pressing harder until he writhes.
Yanking his arm away, he wraps his free hand around the steadily bleeding wound. But before you can move, there’s a knee pinning you in place, and two eyes alight with fury meeting yours. “Where did you get that cloak?” He asks, voice trembling under his facade of anger.
“'Get it from-' it's mine! It's not my fault if Stardust was a perfect copy!” You shout, swinging at his knee with your fist. It doesn’t move, and instead he catches your wrists in his hands, squeezing tightly. There’s no way for you to escape this hold. He’ll have to let you go. As if this situation couldn’t get any worse. “Blinding unbelievable.” You mutter under your breath.
The Fighter works his bottom lip between his teeth. “Like I’d believe that, Siffrin’s is one-of-a-kind.” He argues, you can feel how his hands shake as they grip yours. Aww... he's worried! That's so gross! “Did you do something to them? Or is it just me you’re after?”
Rolling your eyes, you laugh mockingly. “Mighty presumptuous of you! Are there many people after you? I get it, you are quite handsome, I must admit.” You spit, chest tightening with each word, but you continue. “You’re not my type though, I'm afraid- I like them smart, understanding, more brain, less brawn- you understand!”
The grip on your arms grows so firm you swear you hear your bones creak. “Answer my question.” He says coldly, his neutral expression disguising any sign that your comment bothered him.
“Stardust is fine.” You reply letting the exasperation sink into your voice. “Or at least, I didn’t do anything, but we both know that parasite is perfectly capable of finding trouble all on his own; maybe he got lost? Wouldn’t be the first time.” You mock with a snicker. Something soft brushes against your neck. It seems Puddle has come to investigate now that the chaos is over. You wonder who named it; surely it wasn’t your better half, as you were barely able to come up with a suitable name for yourself. Perhaps the Housemaiden? Or the Kid?
The Fighter reacts viscerally to the insult, his eyes growing wide and alight with fury. Beneath the roar of your burning muscles, you feel a faint stabbing pain of nails breaking skin. “S-shut up!” He sputters, much to your shock. The Fighter you knew struggled to even raise his voice in anger, much less lash out like this. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you don’t get to say that about them.” He glares down at you under the lenses of his glasses. “Any of that.”
The righteous anger the Fighter is emitting is only fanning the raging wildfire inside you. You don't even know why you're so angry, but every defense, every kind sentiment that he utters about your copy makes you want to yell and scream and swing harder.
You guffaw so violently you feel spit escape your mouth. “Please!” You cry in between gasps. “Isn’t it just true!? Poor pathetic, useless Stardust! Always getting lost, and making mistakes! They would’ve died in that House without their wish! And maybe they should have! That’s all Siffrins deserve!” You ache as you force the last few words out of your scratchy throat.
After that, a lot happens at once.
First, the Fighter picks you up by your wrists, just high enough off the ground that you see stars when he slams you into the ground again. Then, as the world spins above you, you hear the sound of a door slamming, followed immediately by the click of heels on hardwood. Finally, before you can get a word of argument out, you hear a familiar voice speak.
“Isa?” Your understudy, your Stardust says, voice wavering with concern. “What’s going on?” The words get louder and louder until Stardust is standing right in front of you, bangs framing their frightened expression as he stares down at you.
The Fighter makes a relieved noise, and even without seeing his face you're sure he's grinning like an idiot. “You’re okay.” He breathes, his grip on your wrists loosening. “I- uh, I found our stalker.” And just like that, his facade and bravado are gone. Just like that, now that the real Stardust has returned, he’s back to the man you once knew. “They look just like you.”
Stardust clicks their tongue, and leans to one side to get a better look at your face. Their eye grows wide, but they keep their tone neutral as they respond. "I see that." Bitterly, you notice two different earrings glittering in between strands of darkless hair.
Your instinct is to mock, to continue the train of insults you’d hopped on. But you resist, biting your tongue. "Hiya, Stardust." You say instead, lips quirking up into a smirk.
Somehow, Stardust's face grows paler, his hands wringing into the fabric of his familiar darkless cloak. "...Loop?" He asks, voice barely audible.