Archive of Our Own

It didn't work. Again, it didn't work. This time, the reason Helios was rejected was "I have a mission I must fulfill," an entirely legitimate reason. Of course that's how it would go, but that didn't mean giving up was an option.

Palmer recalled Helios's tears when Ruby turned her down.

Her beloved sun. If it was to protect that smile, she would defy even God.

She pulled out the clock and poured her wish into it with all her heart. In that instant, a sensation of floating gently into the air washed over her, and the world line shifted.

She would find it. Absolutely. A world where Helios and Ruby end up together—!

Parallel worlds. A place where every conceivable possibility exists. From the mainstream to the obscure. There, every possible pairing awaits.

World Line "1.0000"

The clock came into Palmer's possession on an unremarkable Tuesday.

She had been helping an elderly woman carry her groceries home from the shopping district. The sort of thing Grandmother would expect of a Mejiro, and the sort of thing Palmer would do regardless because the bags looked heavy and the hill looked steep. When they reached her door, the old woman pressed something into her hands. A clock. Shaped like a perfectly ordinary alarm clock, slightly warm to the touch, with a small digital screen on the bottom displaying "1.0000."

"For a girl with a wish," she said, and smiled in that way old people do when they know something you don't.

Palmer thanked her politely, brought the clock home, set it on her nightstand, and promptly forgot about it.

Because at the time, she didn't have a wish. Her life was good. She had her races. She had Grandmother cheering her on. She had Helios dragging her to karaoke every other weekend and teaching her slang she was too embarrassed to use in public. She had the warmth of the sun on her face every single day, because the sun was her bestie and was always, always beside her.

What more could she possibly want?

The answer arrived three weeks later.

Helios burst into Palmer's room without knocking—as she always did—with a grin so wide it could have split her face in two.

"PALMY! You will NOT believe what just happened!"

"What? Did you beat your personal best?"

"Even better! Ruby and Miracle are official! They're dating! My two faves are literally a couple now, like, my heart is literally exploding!"

She was bouncing. Physically bouncing. Her ears were twitching with excitement and her tail was going back and forth so fast it was practically a blur.

And Palmer stood there, watching her bounce, and felt her stomach drop through the floor.

Because Ruby the elegant, untouchable, porcelain-doll Ruby was the person Helios had been in love with for as long as Palmer could remember.

She knew because she paid attention to Helios. 

There was thousands of tells Helios probably wasn't aware of from the way Helios's voice went soft when she talked about Ruby's races to the way paid attention to the way Helios would spend an hour picking out a gift for Ruby's birthday and then pretend she'd grabbed it last-minute. The longing glance Helios sent towards Ruby and every time Helios said "m'lady" with that particular note of reverence that she used for no one else.

Palmer knew Helios better than anyone because she was her bestie.

So why was Helios smiling?

"Helios. Are you… okay with this?"

"Huh? Okay with what?"

"With Ruby dating Miracle. Your feelings—"

"Oh!" Helios blinked, and for the briefest instant, something flickering behind her eyes. Then the grin was back. "Palmy, come on. Ruby's happy! Miracle's happy! Everybody's happy! What's not to love?"

"But—"

"It's fiiiine. Totes fine. One hundred percent fine."

It was not fine.

Palmer could tell because Helios's ears had stopped twitching. Helios's ears always stopped twitching when she was pretending.

That night, Palmer found Helios sitting alone on the dormitory roof.

Helios didn't hear her approach, so for a moment Palmer just stood there, watching.

She was looking up at the sky. The moon was out painting everything silver and in that light Palmer could see the wet tracks running down Helios's cheeks.

Her sun was crying in the moonlight, and the sight of it broke something inside Palmer that she didn't know could break.

"Helios."

Helios startled frantically started wiping her face with her sleeve. "P-Palmy!? Whatcha doing up here! It's, like, mega late and stuff—"

"You're crying."

"Am not! It's—it's allergies! There's like, pollen, or whatever—"

"Helios."

Palmer sat down beside her. Close enough that their shoulders touched.

"I know you're hurting. You don't have to pretend with me."

"—"

The silence stretched between them and as Palmer waited for Helios's answer, the cicada's sung filling the night.

"I just—" Helios's voice cracked. "I thought maybe—if I was, like, brave enough—if I told her properly—she might've—"

She couldn't finish. The tears came again harder this time, and she pressed her palms against her eyes like she could force them back in.

"But Miracle got there first, and that's—that's fine, because Miracle is amazing, and Ruby deserves someone amazing, and—and—"

"Helios."

Palmer pulled her into her arms and she could feel Helios went rigid for a second before then collapsing against her like a puppet with cut strings, and sobbing.

"I'm here," Palmer said. "I'm not going anywhere. We're besties, remember? I'll always be here."

"Palmy—"

"I'll be right beside you. As your bestie. No matter what."

"—Just—as a bestie—?"

Her voice was small. So small. Palmer didn't understand why she would phrase it that way—of course as a bestie, what else would she mean? She nodded firmly.

"Yep. The best bestie you've ever had."

"—Palmy doesn't get it at all."

And then, quieter: "So that's it… I got rejected twice in one day, huh—"

"Huh? Twice? By who else—"

But Helios was already pulling away, scrubbing at her face, reassembling that blinding grin piece by piece.

"Forget it! I'm fine! Totally fine! Let's go back inside, it's cold and I don't want Palmy catching a cold—"

"Helios, wait—"

She was gone before Palmer could finish. Down the stairs, around the corner, vanished into the dormitory halls.

After that, Helios didn't answer her calls nor did she reply to her messages.

Three days. Four days. Five days of silence.

This had never happened before. No matter how many times Palmer reached out, Helios wouldn't see her. Had she really hurt her that deeply?

—No, of course she had. Helios had been so desperately in love with Ruby. There was no way she could stay calm when the person she adored got a girlfriend. And Palmer had gone and said something that rubbed salt in the wound—

She remembered the sadness on Helios's face. That anguished expression, wet with tears. She just wanted Helios to smile.

Palmer sat on her bed on the fifth night, staring at the ceiling.

"—I can't accept a world like this."

She said it out loud. To the empty room. To the uncaring world.

"I refuse to accept a world where Helios cries."

And then her eyes landed on the nightstand. On the clock.

The screen glowed softly in the dark: 1.0000.

A device for traveling to parallel worlds. Usable only if you have a wish strong enough to cross dimensions for.

She picked it up feeling its faint hum in her hands.

"Take me to a world where Helios is happy," she whispered. "A world where Helios and Ruby end up together. Where HelioRuby is real."

The clock pulsed once, and the world dissolved.

World Line "2.1349"

Palmer woke on her bed, gasping like she'd just finished a 2500-meter sprint. The clock was clutched in her right hand, and the screen now read "2.1349."

So it worked. Probably. Hopefully. Unless she'd had some kind of elaborate stress dream, which, frankly, was the more rational explanation.

She spent the first hour conducting reconnaissance. Her room looked the same. The academy looked the same. Her reflection in the mirror looked the same—still Palmer, still the same face Grandmother called "dignified" and Helios called "mega cute when you pout."

The differences were subtle. A poster on the hallway wall advertising a race meet that hadn't happened in her world. A vending machine in a slightly different location. Her race record—when she pulled it up—showing results that made her do a double take.

She had won the Tenno Sho (Autumn) in this world.

The Tenno Sho (Autumn). Her. Mejiro Palmer. The girl whose racing strategy could charitably be described as "run at the front and pray."

She watched the replay. There she was, maintaining the lead through the final straight, and then—crossing the finish line, turning to the stands where Grandmother sat, and doing a full-body celebratory shimmy. She was doing a uweiwi in front of Grandmother. Palmer wanted to die.

She closed the video and vowed never to watch it again.

But the important thing wasn't her. The important thing was Helios.

She found Helios in the cafeteria, inhaling a parfait the size of her head, chattering at a hundred words per minute to no one in particular.

"Helios!"

"Palmy!! Yaaay! Morning vibes! You want some of my parfait? It's, like, next-level fire—"

She was smiling. The real smile, the one that reached her eyes. Palmer's chest went tight with relief.

"Hey, quick question—is Ruby seeing anyone?"

"Huh? M'lady? Um—I don't think so?"

"What about Miracle? Are Miracle and Ruby—"

"Nah, I don't think they're dating or anything. Why?"

"No reason."

Palmer sat down across from Helios and felt, for the first time in days, like the world was on the right track. No MiracleRuby. Ruby was single. Helios was smiling.

All that was needed was for Helios to confess and Ruby to say yes.

HelioRuby. The ship Palmer had been rooting for since the day Helios first showed her a blurry phone photo of Ruby's race and said, with eyes like dinner plates, "She's literally an angel descended from heaven, Palmy. An ANGEL."

"So," Palmer said, sipping the coffee she'd grabbed on her way in. "How are things going with Ruby?"

Helios turned pink from her collar to her ear tips. "W-w-what do you mean, how are things going—"

"Have you talked to her lately?"

"I mean—yeah—I said hi yesterday and she said hi back and our eyes met for like 0.3 seconds and I almost died—"

"That's the same as always."

"Palmy, you don't understand! 0.3 seconds of eye contact with m'lady is worth, like, ten years of ordinary life!"

This was going to be a challenge.

Over the next several days, Palmer quietly orchestrated opportunities for Helios and Ruby to interact. She suggested group study sessions and made sure they ended up at the same table. She "accidentally" mentioned to Ruby's trainer that Helios had been wanting to learn more about classical music, Ruby's known area of expertise. She even went so far as to bake cookies—well, attempt to bake cookies; the first batch caught fire—and sent Helios to deliver them to Ruby as a "gift from the both of us."

The cookie delivery went like this:

Helios, outside Ruby's door, holding a plate of slightly charred but fundamentally edible cookies: "M-m'lady! These are—um—Palmy and I made these and—we thought—well, I thought—well, Palmy thought, but I also thought—"

Ruby, opening the door in her reading glasses, which Helios later described as "literally the cutest thing in the history of cuteness": "Oh. How thoughtful. Thank you."

Ruby took one cookie. Ate it. Nodded once. Said, "The flavor is acceptable." And closed the door.

Helios stood in the hallway for a full ninety seconds afterward, vibrating with joy, because Ruby had eaten her cookie and called the flavor acceptable.

"Palmy! She said it was acceptable! ACCEPTABLE! That's practically a love confession from m'lady!"

"That is—not what that means."

"It totally is! For m'lady, 'acceptable' is like, top-tier praise! She once told Miracle her racing form was 'adequate' and she cried tears of happiness!"

Palmer sincerely doubted that Miracle had cried tears of happiness, but she let it go.

Unfortunately, her careful matchmaking efforts were about to be rendered completely irrelevant.

On the seventh day in this world, Palmer was walking past the rooftop stairwell when she heard voices. One bright and desperate, one cool and measured.

"Ruby! I'm, like, mega super seriously in love with you! So please be my girlfriend!"

She confessed. She actually confessed. On her own, without any of Palmer's careful setup, she just—

"I must decline."

Palmer's blood went cold.

"I have a mission I must fulfill. I cannot afford to entangle myself in romantic matters."

"B-but—"

"I am sorry. Please do not ask again."

She heard footsteps—Ruby's, precise and unhurried—descending the stairs. Palmer flattened herself against the wall as Ruby passed. She didn't notice her. Her expression was unreadable, as always, though Palmer thought she caught the faintest furrow in her brow.

Then she heard the other sound. A choked, hiccupping sob from the rooftop.

She couldn't go up there. If she went, she'd have to watch Helios cry, and if she watched Helios cry, she'd have to accept that this world was no different from the last one.

She reached for the clock instead.

Helios, I'm sorry. I'll find you a better world. I promise.

She felt a floating sensation before the world dissolved once more.

World Line "2.4375"

Palmer landed in her room. Checked the clock. Checked her phone. Same date as before—apparently world-hopping didn't cost any time. Convenient, if slightly unsettling.

Standard reconnaissance. This world's Palmer had lost the Takarazuka Kinen—the race she had won alongside Helios, the one she treasured above all others. It stung a little to have that victory erased, even though it technically hadn't happened to her.

She found Helios quickly. She was already crying.

"I confessed to Ruby and she said no," she whispered, face blotchy and red. "She said I'm not the one."

Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.5108"

This world's Palmer had apparently dyed her hair at some point. There was a streak of pink in her bangs that she did not approve of. She would have to deal with it later.

Helios was fine—bright and bubbly, no confession yet. Good. Maybe this time Palmer could actually prepare the ground properly before Helios threw herself off the romantic cliff.

She decided to take a different approach. Instead of pushing Helios toward Ruby, she would work on Ruby directly. If she could figure out what made Ruby tick, maybe she could find the key to unlocking HelioRuby.

Step one: gather intel.

She started with Ruby's trainer, a sensible-looking woman who spoke in clipped sentences and radiated the energy of someone who had given up on understanding her charge's social life.

"Ruby's type?" The trainer repeated, looking at Palmer like she'd asked her to explain quantum physics. "I train her for races, Palmer. I don't manage her love life."

"But you must have some idea—"

"She likes people who are serious about their goals. She respects dedication. Beyond that, I genuinely cannot help you."

Serious about their goals. Respects dedication.

Helios was dedicated. Helios was incredibly dedicated. Helios had once run an extra twenty laps because she'd overheard Ruby mention she admired runners who pushed past their limits. She'd also vomited afterward, but the dedication was there.

Step two: observe.

Palmer spent three days shadowing Ruby at a distance that she hoped read as "casual acquaintance who happens to be walking in the same direction" and not "stalker." Ruby's daily routine was almost military in its precision. Morning training. Classes. Afternoon training. Evening study. Violin practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tea in her room, alone, at precisely 8 PM.

She spoke to almost no one outside of necessary interactions. Miracle was the exception—they shared a room, and Palmer occasionally saw them talking in low voices by the window, Miracle leaning against the frame with that effortlessly cool posture and Ruby standing with her usual ramrod posture, her expression softer than the one she wore in public.

It was during one of these observation sessions that she witnessed something interesting.

Helios, apparently acting on her own initiative, had cornered Ruby outside the training facility. Palmer couldn't hear what they were saying from her hiding spot behind a pillar, but she could see their body language. Helios was animated—gesturing wildly, leaning in, practically vibrating. Ruby was still, her arms at her sides, her head tilted slightly as though she were observing a mildly puzzling natural phenomenon.

Then Helios said something, and Ruby's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. The ghost of a smile. The fossil of a smile, buried under layers of composure and propriety.

But it was there.

Helios didn't notice—she was too busy flailing—but Palmer noticed and it gave her hope.

That hope lasted approximately forty-eight hours, at which point Helios confessed and was rejected with the words, "I do not require romantic companionship at this time."

Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.6201"

New strategy: delay the confession.

Palmer's theory was this—Helios kept confessing too early. Ruby was in full race-mode, focused entirely on her mission, whatever that meant. If Palmer could convince Helios to wait—to build the relationship slowly, to let Ruby come to her—maybe the outcome would be different.

She found Helios in her room, lying upside-down on her bed with her legs up against the wall, scrolling through her phone.

"Palmy! Look, m'lady posted on her socials! She's drinking tea! She looks so ELEGANT, I could literally die—"

"Helios, I need to talk to you about something important."

"Oooh, what? Is it about boys? Wait, we don't care about boys. Is it about girls? Is it about m'lady? IS IT—"

"It's about strategy."

Helios flipped right-side up, her expression suddenly serious. "Strategy? Like, race strategy?"

"Love strategy."

"Oh." Her face went crimson. "Oh oh oh oh—"

"Listen. I think you should wait before confessing to Ruby."

"Wait? But Palmy, I feel like if I don't say it now I'll literally explode—"

"That's exactly the problem. You rush in without thinking, and Ruby gets overwhelmed. You need to play the long game."

"Long game—" Helios chewed her lip. "Like, how long?"

"I don't know. A month? Two months? Long enough for Ruby to see you as more than just 'that loud girl who follows me around.'"

"She doesn't think that!" Helios paused. "—Does she think that?"

"I'm saying you should let her get to know the real you. The you that wakes up at 5 AM to train. The you that cried watching that movie about the retired racehorse. The you that—"

"PALMY! You promised you'd never bring up the horse movie!"

"—the you that has more heart than anyone I've ever met. If Ruby sees that, she won't be able to refuse."

Helios stared at her. Her eyes were very wide and very bright.

"Palmy—"

"What?"

"You really think I have more heart than anyone?"

"Obviously. You're the sun, Helios. You make everything brighter just by being there."

Helios went very quiet. Her face was so red it was practically luminescent.

"—Palmy, when you say stuff like that, it makes it really hard to—" She stopped herself. Shook her head vigorously. "Never mind! Okay! Long game! Operation: Make M'lady Fall For Me Slowly Over A Period Of Time is a go!"

"That's the worst operation name I've ever heard."

"Would you prefer Operation: HelioRuby Forever?"

"—That's marginally better."

The plan lasted eleven days.

On day eleven, Helios burst into Palmer's room at midnight, tears streaming down her face, wailing that she'd confessed to Ruby on impulse after Ruby said her running form had "improved noticeably" and Ruby had turned her down with, "I am flattered, but I cannot reciprocate."

"SHE SAID MY FORM IMPROVED, PALMY! MY FORM! That's basically 'I love you' in Ruby-speak, so I thought—I THOUGHT—"

"That is absolutely not what that means!"

Palmer held her while she cried. She stroked her hair and told her it would be okay. And when Helios fell asleep in her arms, exhausted from sobbing, Palmer reached for the clock on her nightstand.

We'll get it right next time.

She jumped.

World Line "2.7016"

Palmer was getting efficient at this. Land, check the clock, check the date, quick survey of the local conditions, locate Helios, assess the HelioRuby situation.

This time she skipped the preamble entirely.

"Helios—!"

"Whoa, Palmy!? Hype vibes from the morning, yaaay!"

"Yaaay! Are you dating Ruby? Are you two being lovey-dovey?"

"Bweh!?"

She had lost all subtlety. Several world lines of watching Helios get rejected will do that to a person.

"Wh-what's gotten into you, Palmy!? Me and m'lady, we're not—I mean—uhh—"

"Then what about Miracle? Is Miracle dating Ruby?"

"No?? I don't think?? Palmy, are you okay??"

Same pattern. MiracleRuby was nonexistent. Ruby was single. Helios was pining.

Palmer tried yet another approach this time. Instead of working on either Helios or Ruby individually, she tried to engineer a scenario where they'd be forced to spend an extended period together. Her theory: if they were stuck together long enough, Ruby would see Helios's true self, and love would follow naturally.

The opportunity came in the form of a joint training camp. Palmer convinced Helios's trainer and Ruby's trainer that a collaboration exercise would benefit both runners—Helios could learn discipline from Ruby, and Ruby could learn adaptability from Helios. A perfectly reasonable proposal that was in no way motivated by her desire to lock them in a cabin together until they developed feelings.

The training camp lasted one week. Palmer observed from a distance, taking notes.

Day 1: Ruby and Helios train in silence. Helios keeps stealing glances. Ruby does not appear to notice.

Day 2: Helios attempts to engage Ruby in conversation during lunch. Ruby responds with single-word answers. Helios does not appear discouraged.

Day 3: They run together for the first time. Side by side. Helios is beaming so brightly Palmer can see it from 200 meters away. Ruby's expression is—focused. Professional. But she matches Helios's pace instead of pulling ahead, which Palmer chose to interpret as a positive sign.

Day 4: Helios trips during an obstacle course exercise and skins her knee. Ruby kneels beside her and applies a bandage with clinical precision. Helios, from what Palmer can gather at her distance, appears to ascend to a higher plane of existence.

Day 5: They have dinner together. Helios is talking. Ruby is listening. Ruby's head is tilted in that way—the interested tilt, not the confused tilt. Progress.

Day 6: Palmer overhears Ruby tell Miracle that Helios is "less incomprehensible than initially assessed." Her heart soars.

Day 7: Helios confesses. Ruby declines. The reason: "I cannot prioritize personal relationships over my duty."

Palmer was getting really, really tired of the word "duty."

She jumped.

World Line "2.8044"

By this point Palmer had developed a system.

Upon arriving in a new world line, she would: (1) check her race record for anomalies, because it was always different and sometimes entertaining; (2) locate Helios and confirm she was still in love with Ruby, which she always was; (3) confirm that MiracleRuby was not a thing, which it never was in the 2's; and (4) attempt some new strategy to bring HelioRuby to fruition.

This world's race record informed Palmer that she had somehow won the Japan Cup. She did not watch the replay.

Her new strategy: get Ruby to watch Helios race.

Not just any race. A race where Helios was at her absolute best—burning bright, running wild, shining like the sun she was. If Ruby could see that, really see it, she would understand why Helios was special.

There was a mock race coming up. Internal academy event, low stakes, but the perfect venue.

Palmer spent days coaching Helios. They trained together morning and evening. She pushed Helios on her form, her pacing, her burst speed. Helios complained constantly—"Palmy, you're being a total drill sergeant!" But she worked harder than Palmer had ever seen her work, because Palmer told her Ruby might be watching.

That was all the motivation she needed.

The day of the mock race, Palmer personally escorted Ruby to the spectator area. This took some doing; Ruby had not been planning to attend and had to be persuaded with the argument that "observing diverse running styles is part of a complete education."

"I suppose there is merit in that," Ruby conceded, and allowed herself to be led to a seat.

The race began. And Helios—

Helios was magnificent.

She broke from the gate like a comet. The other runners fell behind immediately; they couldn't match her pace, her fire, her sheer incandescent will. She rounded the final corner and the gap was absurd—ten lengths, fifteen—and she crossed the finish line with her arms thrown wide, laughing, her hair streaming behind her like a golden banner, and the small crowd erupted.

Palmer turned to Ruby.

Ruby was watching. Her hands were folded in her lap. Her posture was perfectly straight. And her lips were parted just slightly, just enough to suggest something that might, in the most generous interpretation, be described as awe.

"She is—remarkable," Ruby murmured. Palmer didn't think she meant for anyone to hear it.

Yes! She is! Now fall in love with her! Please!

Palmer did not say this out loud. What she said was: "She trained really hard for this race. She wanted you to see."

Ruby turned to look at Palmer. For a long moment, she searched her face with those deep, unreadable eyes.

"You are a good friend to her," Ruby said.

"She's my bestie."

"Yes. I can see that."

Something in her tone made Palmer think she meant more than the surface words, but she couldn't figure out what.

Helios confessed three days later. Ruby said, "I admire your passion. But I cannot answer your feelings."

Closer. That was closer. "I admire your passion" was new.

But not close enough.

Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.9003"

Palmer was tired. Not physically—the clock seemed to reset her body with each jump—but soul-tired. The kind of tired that settles into your bones and whispers, what if it's not possible?

She refused to listen.

Before jumping again, she decided to return to the old woman who had given her the clock. In every world, she was there—same shopping district, same hill, same warm smile. The clock's original owner. A retired horse girl who'd used it to chase her own dreams, long ago.

She served Palmer tea and listened patiently while she explained everything. The jumps. The rejections. The endless, agonizing pattern.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you." Not a question.

"I just want Helios to be happy. I want her to be with the person she loves."

The old woman studied Palmer for a long time.

"Let me tell you how the clock works," she said. "The number before the decimal point—that's the key. In the 1's, the world is closest to your origin. In the 2's, relationships shift—some things change, some things stay stubborn. Cross into the 3's, and the world changes dramatically."

"So if I reach world line 3—"

"Things will be very different. Whether better is another matter."

She paused, then added: "There's one more thing you should know. The clock responds to the user's true wish. Not the wish you speak aloud—the one in your heart. Be sure they're the same thing."

Palmer nodded, not entirely understanding what she meant. Her wish was clear: HelioRuby. What else could it be?

"Thank you," she said, standing to leave. "I'll keep trying."

The old woman smiled that knowing smile again. "You know, dear—when I used that clock, I spent a very long time looking for something too. And when I finally found it, it had been beside me all along."

"That's very poetic."

"It's very literal."

Palmer didn't know what to make of that, so she left.

Armed with new information, she began her assault on the 3 barrier.

She jumped. And jumped. And jumped.

World Line "2.9024"

Helios confessed during a fireworks festival. Ruby said, "The fireworks are beautiful, but my answer remains the same." Helios cried into her cotton candy. Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.9054"

This world's Palmer was apparently the student council vice president. She had no idea how to do that job. She resigned on day two, citing "interdimensional complications," which the student council president assumed was a joke. She jumped before anyone could question it further.

World Line "2.9092"

Helios confessed by letter. A handwritten, twelve-page letter with heart stickers and glitter. Ruby read the entire thing, then handed it back and said, "Your penmanship has improved." Helios chose to take this as encouragement. It was not encouragement. Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.9127"

Palmer tried a radical approach and asked Miracle to confess to Ruby first, on the theory that getting rejected by Miracle might somehow make Ruby reconsider her stance on romance in general.

Miracle looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "You want me to fake-confess to my roommate to manipulate her emotional state?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds bad."

"It sounds bad because it is bad, Palmer."

Fair point. She jumped.

World Line "2.9158"

Helios confessed during a rainstorm. Very cinematic. Ruby offered to share her umbrella. Helios took this as a yes. It was not a yes. Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.9180"

Palmer was starting to notice something. In every world numbered 2, the broad strokes were the same: Miracle didn't love Ruby romantically. Ruby didn't date anyone. Helios confessed and got rejected. But the details varied. Ruby's rejection was sometimes gentle, sometimes firm, sometimes tinged with something almost like regret. And Helios's approach was always different—sometimes bold, sometimes shy, sometimes deeply romantic, sometimes hilariously unhinged.

But the ending never changed.

She was beginning to understand that the 2's were a dead zone for HelioRuby. No matter what she did, no matter how she arranged the pieces, this range of world lines simply would not allow it.

The 3 barrier. She had to cross it.

Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.9206"

World Line "2.9217"

World Line "2.9239"

World Line "2.9252"

World Line "2.9268"

World Line "2.9281"

World Line "2.9298"

World Line "2.9312"

World Line "2.9330"

The numbers crawled upward like a reluctant caterpillar climbing an infinite tree. Palmer was losing track of how many worlds she'd visited. Twenty? Thirty? Each one a fresh start, a new hope, and the same crushing ending.

In one world, Helios tried to serenade Ruby with a ukulele. She didn't know how to play the ukulele. It went about as well as you'd expect.

In another, Palmer convinced Helios to write Ruby a poem. Helios's poem contained the line, "Your eyes are like two beautiful pools of beautiful eye-colored beauty." Palmer tried to edit it. Helios insisted the raw emotion was what mattered. Ruby read the poem, blinked twice, and said, "I see."

In yet another, Helios attempted to impress Ruby by winning a race so decisively that Ruby would have no choice but to fall for her. Helios won the race—won it brilliantly, in fact—and Ruby said, "Congratulations. Your performance was exemplary." Helios asked if "exemplary" meant "I love you" in fancy language. It did not.

"Palmy, I don't get it," Helios said in that world, sitting on the track after everyone else had left, her victory sash draped limply over her shoulders. "What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing," Palmer said, and meant it with her entire heart. "You're doing nothing wrong. It's the world that's wrong."

"Heh. My bestie is kinda dramatic, huh."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are." Helios leaned her head against Palmer's shoulder. "That's what I love about Palmy."

Something about the way she said "love" made Palmer's heart do a strange little skip. She attributed it to dehydration and moved on.

World Line "2.3452"

Wait—2.3452? The number went down?

Palmer stared at the clock in confusion. She'd been climbing steadily toward 3.0000, and now she'd dropped back to 2.3? What was happening?

Was the clock broken? Was she backsliding? Had her wish somehow weakened?

The clock responds to the user's true wish. Not the wish you speak aloud—the one in your heart.

Palmer shoved the old woman's words aside. Her wish was HelioRuby. Period. There was nothing else in her heart.

In any case, she was back in a 2-world, so the outcome was predetermined. Helios confessed. Ruby declined. Palmer jumped.

World Line "2.3468"

World Line "2.3481"

World Line "2.3502"

Still stuck in the low 2's. What was going on?

"—This is exhausting."

She said it to no one, lying on yet another version of her bed in yet another version of her room. The ceiling looked the same in every world. Palmer was starting to hate that ceiling.

She closed her eyes and let her mind wander. Through every world she'd visited, certain things stayed constant. Helios's love for Ruby. Ruby's refusal. Palmer's role as—

As what, exactly?

She sat up abruptly. What was her role in all of this?

In every world, she was the bestie. The supporter. The one who watched from the sidelines, orchestrating and scheming and pushing Helios toward Ruby. She was the background character in someone else's love story.

And for some reason, that thought stung more than it should have.

She shook it off. There was no time for self-pity. Helios needed her. Helios needed a world where Ruby said yes, and Palmer was the only one who could find it.

She decided to do something she'd been putting off: talk to Ruby. Really talk to her. Not about Helios, not about strategy, just—talk. Maybe if she understood Ruby better, she'd understand what was missing.

She invited Ruby to tea. Ruby accepted, which surprised her. They sat together in a quiet corner of the academy courtyard, a pot of high-grade Darjeeling between them, and Palmer did something unprecedented.

She asked Ruby about herself.

Not about her type. Not about Helios. About her.

"What do you want, Ruby? Like, for yourself. Not your mission, not your family's expectations—what does Ruby want?"

Ruby was quiet for a very long time. The steam from her teacup curled upward between them.

"I want to run," she said finally. "I want to run until there is nothing left of me but speed and light. I want to be worthy of the name I carry."

"That's about duty, though. What do you want for yourself?"

"—Is there a difference?"

The genuine confusion in her voice caught Palmer off guard. Ruby, for all her poise and grace, genuinely did not understand the distinction between what she owed the world and what she wanted from it.

"Of course there is," Palmer said. "Duty is what you do for others. But there should be something you do just for you. Something selfish. Something that makes you happy, not because it serves anyone else."

Ruby stared at her. For a long moment, her composure cracked, just slightly, and underneath it Palmer saw something raw—a girl who had never once been told it was okay to want things.

"I—do not know how to answer that," she said softly.

"That's okay. You've got time to figure it out."

They drank their tea in comfortable silence. When they parted, Ruby paused at the courtyard gate and turned back.

"Palmer."

"Yeah?"

"You are—an unusual person. I think I understand why she is so devoted to you."

"Huh? Who?"

But Ruby was already walking away, and Palmer was left standing there wondering what on earth she meant.

That conversation haunted Palmer through the next several jumps. "I think I understand why she is so devoted to you." Who was "she"? Ruby had to be talking about Helios—who else would be devoted to Palmer?

But Helios was devoted to Ruby, not to Palmer. Right?

Obviously Helios cared about Palmer. They were besties. But "devoted" was a strong word. "Devoted" was the kind of word you'd use for—

Palmer decided not to think about it.

She jumped.

World Line "3.0046"

The floating sensation was different this time. Heavier. Like passing through a wall of water instead of air. When Palmer landed on her bed—same bed, same ceiling, same her—she felt it in her bones: something had fundamentally shifted.

The clock read "3.0046."

She had finally done it. Broken through the 3 barrier.

She allowed herself exactly five seconds of triumph before scrambling out of bed and conducting reconnaissance.

The academy was the same, broadly speaking. Same buildings, same layout, same vaguely oppressive ambiance of high-stakes competitive horse girl education. But the details were different in ways the 2-worlds hadn't been. Posters advertised events she'd never heard of. There was a fountain in the central courtyard that definitely hadn't existed before. And when she checked her race record—

She had won the Japan Cup and the Tenno Sho (Autumn) and the Arima Kinen all in the same year.

She had achieved the Autumn Senior Triple Crown.

In this world, Mejiro Palmer was apparently a legendary racehorse girl. People kept bowing to her in the hallways and she had no idea what to do about it.

But never mind that. Helios—where was Helios?

She found Helios in the cafeteria, as usual, except this time she wasn't alone. She was sitting across from Ruby.

Sitting across from Ruby.

They were eating lunch together. Helios was talking—she was always talking—and Ruby was listening, her chin resting on her hand, her expression something Palmer had never seen on Ruby's face in any world.

She looked—fond.

Palmer's heart nearly stopped. Was this it? Had she finally found the world where HelioRuby was—

"Palmy! Over here!"

Helios spotted her and waved so vigorously she nearly knocked over her juice box. Palmer walked over on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.

"H-hey. You two seem close."

"Hehe, yeah! M'lady and I have been hanging out tons lately. Right, m'lady?"

Ruby inclined her head. "Helios has been a pleasant companion."

A pleasant companion. In Ruby-speak, that was basically a marriage proposal.

"That's—that's great," Palmer managed. "Really great."

Helios beamed at her, and for a moment everything felt right. The sun was shining. The ship was sailing. All was well.

Then Palmer noticed something.

Ruby wasn't looking at Helios. Ruby was looking at Palmer. And her expression, that soft, fond expression Palmer had attributed to Helios's presence—it hadn't changed when Palmer sat down. If anything, it had intensified.

A cold feeling settled in her stomach. She told herself she was imagining things.

Over the next few days, Palmer gathered information as she always did—carefully, subtly, through casual conversations with classmates and strategic eavesdropping.

What she learned terrified her.

The rumor mill was churning at full speed, and the dominant story was this: Daiichi Ruby had a crush. This was unprecedented—Ruby, the untouchable, the unmoved, the girl who treated romance like an irrelevant distraction—had apparently been displaying all the classic symptoms. Distracted during training. Staring out windows with a wistful expression. Smiling to herself during meals.

And the consensus on who she was crushing on?

Palmer.

Mejiro Palmer. The bestie. The background character. The girl whose entire purpose in this narrative was to facilitate HelioRuby.

"No," Palmer whispered to herself, sitting in an empty classroom with her head in her hands. "No, no, no. This is wrong. This is the wrong ship. This is PalmerRuby and PalmerRuby does not exist."

She needed to fix this immediately. Maybe if she could figure out why this world's Ruby had latched onto her instead of Helios, she could redirect her attention where it belonged.

The answer, it turned out, was the Arima Kinen.

Palmer dug up the footage. Same race as every other world—her in front, Helios at her back, the two of them running like there was nothing else in the universe. But in this world, the camera had captured something extra. A shot of the spectator stands, where Ruby sat watching, and the moment Palmer crossed the finish line, Ruby's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes—

Palmer paused the video. Stared at the screen. Those were not the eyes of someone watching a casual acquaintance win a race. Those were the eyes of someone watching their whole world cross a finish line.

But that should be Helios. Helios was right there too. Helios ran just as brilliantly. Why was Ruby looking at Palmer?

Because the 3-world was different. That's what the old woman had said. Cross the 3 barrier, and the world changes dramatically.

But this wasn't the kind of dramatically she wanted.

The situation escalated rapidly.

It was after school, and Helios and Palmer were in the classroom, alone. Helios was telling Palmer about her latest plan to ask Ruby to go stargazing—"because stars are romantic, Palmy, even m'lady has to think stars are romantic"—when the door slid open.

Ruby stood in the doorway, framed by the golden afternoon light, looking like a painting that had wandered out of a museum.

"Good day."

"Ruby?" Palmer said.

"Oh! M'lady!?" Helios shot to her feet. "Yaaay! Did you come to see me!?"

Ruby's gaze passed over Helios with a polite nod, then fixed on Palmer.

"Palmer. Might I have a moment?"

"—Sure?"

"I have been deliberating for some time, and I have come to a decision." She took a breath—the first sign of nerves Palmer had ever seen from Daiichi Ruby. "I hold you in the highest regard. My admiration for your strength, your grace, and your unwavering devotion to those you love has grown into something I can no longer ignore."

Oh no.

"Palmer. I would like to formally request your courtship."

Oh no.

Helios was frozen. Literally frozen. Statues had more mobility.

"Furthermore," Ruby continued, apparently interpreting Palmer's stunned silence as an invitation to elaborate, "I have already spoken with Grandmother Mejiro, who has expressed her provisional approval pending your consent."

"You WHAT?"

"She was quite agreeable. She said, and I quote, 'About time someone with proper breeding took an interest in that girl.'"

"GRANDMOTHER!"

This was a catastrophe. A full-scale, five-alarm, PalmerRuby catastrophe. And it was happening in front of Helios, whose expression had transitioned from "frozen" to "shattered" with the subtlety of a window meeting a baseball.

"Palmy—and m'lady—?"

Her voice was so small. So impossibly small.

"Helios, no—this isn't—I'm not—"

Palmer turned back to Ruby. She had to decline, but gently. She had to decline without shattering Ruby's feelings, without making Helios cry, without causing Grandmother to disown her—

"I need time," she said desperately. "To think. Please. Can I—can I have some time?"

"Of course." Ruby bowed with perfect composure. "Take all the time you require."

Ruby left. And in the vacuum she created, Miracle materialized. Literally materialized. Palmer was starting to think Miracle had some kind of teleportation ability that no one had bothered to tell her about.

"So," Miracle said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, radiating an aura of vindication. "PalmerRuby."

"Don't."

"PalmerRuby is canon."

"It is not canon—"

"The evidence speaks for itself, Palmer. Ruby confessed. To you. In front of witnesses."

"This is a world line anomaly! This isn't supposed to happen!"

"Isn't it, though?" Miracle smiled that enigmatic smile. "You know, in this world line, Ruby started smiling more after the Arima Kinen. And the person she was watching during that race was you."

"She should have been watching Helios!"

"But she wasn't. She was watching you run, Palmer. You, breaking free of the pack, leading from the front, defying every expectation. That's what moved her."

Palmer opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Then opened it again. Then closed it.

"Look," Miracle said, her voice softening slightly. "I know you want HelioRuby. I get it. It's a good ship. But has it occurred to you that maybe the reason it's not working is because—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"—because the universe is trying to tell you something?"

"I said don't finish it!"

Miracle raised her hands in surrender. "Fine. But think about it." She glanced at Helios, who was still standing in the same spot, looking like someone had stolen the sun from the sky. "And take care of her. She needs you more than she needs Ruby."

He left.

Palmer turned to Helios. She was staring at the floor, her bangs hiding her eyes.

"Helios—"

"It's fine, Palmy." Her voice was steady. Impressively steady. "M'lady has good taste. You're, like, mega amazing. I totally get why she'd fall for you."

"I don't want Ruby to fall for me. I want her to fall for you."

"Haha. Yeah." Helios looked up, and her smile was so bright and so false it physically hurt to look at. "Wouldn't that be nice."

"Helios—"

"I gotta go. Training and stuff. You know."

She left before Palmer could stop her. For the second time in this journey, Palmer watched her sun walk away, and the world went dark.

That night, Palmer sat in her room with the clock in her hands, trying to decide what to do.

The 3-world was different, all right. Different in the worst possible way. In the 2's, at least the only casualty was Helios's pride. In the 3's, Palmer was somehow becoming the main obstacle to her own mission.

What would happen if she went higher? To 4? To 5? Would the situation improve, or would it spiral further into absurdity?

She thought about the old woman's words. The clock responds to the user's true wish.

Her true wish was HelioRuby.

—Wasn't it?

She pushed the doubt away and jumped.

World Line "3.2115"

This world's Palmer was a model. Like, a fashion model. There were posters of her in the mall.

She did not have time for this.

She found Helios. She was fine. She was in love with Ruby. Everything on track so far.

She found Ruby. She was—blushing when she looked at Palmer.

"Not again," Palmer muttered, and jumped before things could escalate.

World Line "3.4508"

This world's Palmer had a fan club. A literal, organized, meeting-on-Thursdays fan club with membership cards and a newsletter.

Helios was the club president.

"I mean, yeah, I love m'lady, but Palmy is Palmy, you know? Palmy is, like, the ultimate best girl. I can have TWO faves, that's totally allowed—"

Palmer jumped so hard she nearly dropped the clock.

World Line "3.6772"

In this world, Ruby and Palmer were apparently childhood friends. Their families had a longstanding connection. They'd played together as toddlers. There were photographs.

Ruby greeted Palmer in the hallway with the warmest smile she'd ever seen on that face and said, "Good morning, Palmer. Shall we walk to class together, as always?"

The "as always" hit her like a truck.

Palmer spent the entire walk trying to subtly redirect Ruby's attention to Helios. "Have you seen Helios run lately? She's amazing. Truly inspirational. Sun-like, even. You should really pay more attention to her."

"I suppose she is rather energetic," Ruby said politely, then spent the rest of the walk talking about a violin recital she wanted Palmer to attend. Just Palmer. Not Helios. Palmer specifically.

"How does this keep happening?" Palmer asked the empty corridor after Ruby had gone to class.

No one answered. She jumped.

World Line "3.8901"

This world was the strangest yet.

In this world, HelioRuby had already happened—and then fallen apart.

Palmer discovered this when she found Helios sitting alone in the garden, staring at her phone, looking not sad exactly, but—peaceful. Melancholy in a gentle, resolved way.

"Helios? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Palmy. Nothing's wrong. Just—thinking."

"About?"

"M'lady and I dated for a while, did you know?"

Palmer nearly fell over. "You—you did? You and Ruby? You dated?"

"Yeah! For like, three months. It was awesome. She held my hand once and I literally ascended."

"Then—what happened?"

Helios's smile went soft and distant. "We broke up. Mutually. Because—it wasn't right."

"What do you mean, it wasn't right? HelioRuby is perfect—"

"Palmy." Helios looked at Palmer with an expression she'd never seen before. Mature. Certain. Clear. "I love m'lady. I'll probably always love m'lady. But being with her—like, actually being her girlfriend—was different than I thought it'd be."

"Different how?"

"Like—you know how when you really really want something and then you get it and it's great but it's also not quite what you imagined? It's like that. I was so busy being in love with the idea of m'lady that I didn't notice we're, like, fundamentally different people."

Palmer stared at her. This was not how this was supposed to go. She had crossed dozens of world lines to make HelioRuby happen, and now Helios was telling her, with complete sincerity, that it didn't work.

"She needs someone who can keep up with her pace," Helios continued. "Someone who gets the duty thing, the mission thing, the whole 'I carry the weight of my name' thing. That's not me. I'm too—" She waved her hands vaguely. "—me."

"There's nothing wrong with being you."

"I know, right!? That's what I realized. There's nothing wrong with me, and there's nothing wrong with m'lady. We just don't fit as a couple. And that's okay."

"How can that be okay?"

The question came out sharper than Palmer intended. Helios looked at her, surprised.

"Because I figured out something else," she said. "I figured out who I actually want to be with. Like, the person who makes me feel like—like I can just be me, you know? Without trying? The person I want to come home to?"

"Who?"

Helios looked at Palmer very intently.

"Palmy."

"Yeah?"

"It's you."

The world went very quiet. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing in Palmer's ears.

"I—what?"

"It was always you, Palmy. In every version of every story, it was always you."

Palmer stared at Helios. Helios stared at Palmer. A bird sang somewhere.

And then Palmer did what she always did when confronted with a truth she wasn't ready for.

She jumped.

World Line "3.9504"

Palmer landed hard this time. Gasping. Her chest felt tight, and not from the physical impact.

It was always you, Palmy.

No. No. That was one Helios in one world line. It didn't mean anything. It was an anomaly. A fluke. Helios loved Ruby—she loved Ruby in every world, in every timeline, with a constancy that defied the fundamental randomness of parallel universes.

Except.

Except in world line 3.8901, Helios had dated Ruby and discovered it wasn't what she wanted. And what she wanted was—

Palmer pressed her palms against her eyes, hard. The old woman's words echoed in her skull like a bell.

The clock responds to the user's true wish. Not the wish you speak aloud—the one in your heart. Be sure they're the same thing.

What if they weren't the same thing?

What if the wish Palmer had been speaking aloud—HelioRuby, HelioRuby, always HelioRuby—wasn't the wish in her heart at all?

But if not HelioRuby, then what?

She thought about Helios. Not about her love for Ruby. About her. The sound of her laugh. The way she burst into Palmer's room without knocking. The warmth of her beside Palmer on the rooftop. The weight of her head on Palmer's shoulder. The way she said "Palmy" like it was the best word in any language.

She thought about the way her chest tightened every time Helios smiled at her.

She thought about the way her stomach dropped every time Helios talked about Ruby.

She thought about the time Helios leaned against her on that track in world line 2.9268—or was it 2.9281, she'd lost track—and said "That's what I love about Palmy," and Palmer's heart had done that stupid little skip.

She thought about a rooftop in world line 1.0000, and Helios crying in the moonlight, and the thing that broke inside her.

Oh.

Oh no.

Palmer pulled the clock from her nightstand and looked at it. The screen glowed gently. "3.9504."

The clock responds to the user's true wish.

She had told it: take me to a world where Helios is happy. A world where she ends up with the person she loves.

And every single world it had taken her to—every single one—had brought her right back to the same place. To Helios and Palmer. To the gap between them that she refused to see. To the answer that she refused to hear.

"That's not—" she started, and couldn't finish.

Because maybe the clock had been answering her wish correctly all along. Maybe it had been showing her, over and over and over, that the world where Helios was happiest wasn't a world where she dated Ruby. It was a world where—

No. She wasn't going there. Not yet. She wasn't ready.

Palmer put the clock down and went to find Helios. Not to matchmake. Not to scheme. Just to see her.

She was in the common room, watching TV, her legs curled under her on the couch.

"Palmy! Come sit! They're showing reruns of that drama where the two girls are childhood friends and one of them is totally in love with the other but the other one is completely oblivious—"

"I hate that trope."

"Haha, it's kinda frustrating, right? Like, HOW can she not NOTICE? The signs are RIGHT THERE!"

Palmer sat down next to her. Their shoulders touched. The TV played on.

"Hey, Palmy?"

"Yeah?"

"You've been kinda weird lately. Like, more than usual weird. You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar." Helios poked her cheek. "Your ears do this thing when you're lying. They go all—" She mimicked a drooping motion.

"They do not."

"They totally do. I noticed, like, ages ago."

She noticed. Of course she noticed. Helios noticed everything about Palmer, the same way Palmer noticed everything about Helios. Because that's what they did. That's what they'd always done. Not because they were besties—

—but because—

"Helios."

"Hm?"

"Why do you love Ruby?"

Helios blinked. "That's random."

"Humor me."

"Um—" She scrunched up her face, thinking hard. "Because she's beautiful? And elegant? And she carries herself like a queen? And when she runs, it's like watching something divine? And she has that little smile that she does sometimes that makes my heart go—" She pressed her hand to her chest. "—like, whoosh?"

"Whoosh," Palmer repeated flatly.

"Mega whoosh."

"Okay. Now tell me—when you think about the future, like, years from now—who do you see beside you?"

The answer was immediate. Helios didn't even hesitate.

"You, obviously."

"—What?"

"Like, if I imagine myself ten years from now, you're there. We're probably still being besties. I'm probably still dragging you to karaoke. You're probably still pretending you don't enjoy it."

"I genuinely don't enjoy it—"

"And we're happy. That's, like, the main thing. We're happy."

She said it so simply. So naturally. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Where's Ruby in this future?" Palmer asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hm? I dunno. Around? Being elegant somewhere? I love m'lady but she's got, like, her own whole life going on. She doesn't need me in it."

"But you—you need me in yours?"

Helios looked at Palmer like she'd asked whether the sky was blue.

"Duh, Palmy. What kind of future wouldn't have you in it? That'd be, like, the worst future."

Something in Palmer's chest cracked. Not the kind of cracking that breaks—the kind that opens. Like a seed splitting to let the first green shoot through.

"Palmy? You're making a weird face."

"I'm not making a weird face."

"You're totally making a weird face. A mega weird face. Are you gonna cry? Oh no, Palmy, don't cry—"

"I'm not crying!"

She was a little bit crying.

Helios flung herself at Palmer, wrapping her arms around her neck and pulling her into a hug so fierce it nearly toppled them both off the couch.

"It's okay! Whatever it is, it's okay! Helios is here! Your bestie's got you!"

She smelled like strawberry shampoo and sunshine. She was warm and solid and here, and Palmer held onto her like she was the last fixed point in a universe of shifting world lines, because she was. She always had been.

And she thought: Oh. This is it. This is what the clock was trying to show me.

Not HelioRuby.

Not any ship at all.

Just—her. Just Helios. Just the sun, right here in her arms, where she'd been all along.

Palmer reached for the clock one last time. Not to jump. To go home.

"Take me back," she whispered into Helios's hair, so quiet she couldn't hear. "Take me to the world where this is real."

World Line "1.0000"

Palmer woke up.

Same bed. Same ceiling. Same clock on the nightstand, reading "1.0000."

Home.

She lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling she'd seen in a hundred different worlds. It looked the same in every one, and yet this one—this particular arrangement of plaster and paint and old water stains—was the only one that mattered.

Because this was the ceiling she'd stared at the night Helios first burst into her room without knocking and declared they were besties. This was the ceiling she'd studied while listening to Helios's voice on the phone at 2 AM, talking about nothing, talking about everything. This was the ceiling of the world where their story—hers and Helios's, the real one, the only one—had begun.

She got dressed. She checked her phone. Five days of missed messages from Helios, then silence. The same silence that had driven her to pick up the clock in the first place.

But the silence didn't scare her anymore. Because she knew something now that she hadn't known before.

She knew what the wish in her heart actually was. And it wasn't HelioRuby.

It was—

Well. She'd say it to her face. Helios deserved that much.

She found Helios in the garden behind the dormitory. She was sitting on a bench under the oak tree—their bench, the one they'd claimed as theirs back in their first year—and she was staring at her phone with an expression that made Palmer's heart ache.

"Helios."

Helios looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed. How long had she been crying? How many days, while Palmer was off gallivanting through parallel worlds, had Helios been sitting here, alone, hurting, waiting for her?

"Palmer—? Palmer—!"

Her voice cracked on the second syllable, and then she was on her feet and running toward Palmer and crashing into her with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.

"Palmer! Palmer Palmer Palmer—!"

She was crying. Sobbing. Clutching at Palmer's uniform jacket like she might disappear if she let go.

"I'm sorry," Palmer said, holding her tight. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

"Where did you GO? I kept texting you and calling and you didn't answer and I thought maybe you hated me because of what I said—"

"I could never hate you."

"I was so scared, Palmy. I thought I'd lost you."

"You didn't. You can't. It's literally impossible."

Helios pulled back enough to look at her, her face blotchy and beautiful, her eyes swimming. "Promise?"

"Promise. Mejiro Palmer's honor."

Helios laughed wetly. "That's, like, mega serious."

"I am mega serious."

They sat down on their bench. Side by side, shoulders touching, the way they'd sat a hundred times before. But something was different now—or maybe something was the same, and Palmer was just finally seeing it.

"Helios."

"Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest."

"Okay." Helios wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Shoot."

"On the rooftop—that night when Ruby and Miracle had just started dating—you said something. You said I didn't get it. What didn't I get?"

Helios went very still.

"And you said you got rejected twice in one day. Ruby was one. Who was the other?"

Silence. A long, heavy, loaded silence.

Then, very quietly:

"—You, Palmy."

"Me?"

"When you said—when you said you'd be by my side as my bestie—just as my bestie—" Her voice wobbled. "I was trying to—I wanted you to—" She squeezed her eyes shut. "Palmy. I wasn't crying about Ruby."

The world tilted on its axis.

"I was crying about you. Because the person I love most told me she only saw me as a friend. And it wrecked me, Palmy. It wrecked me worse than m'lady ever could."

Palmer stared at her. Every world line. Every jump. Every meticulously engineered encounter between Helios and Ruby. Every time she'd held Helios while she cried and assumed the tears were for Ruby when they were actually for—

For Palmer.

"But—but you love Ruby—"

"I admire Ruby. I think she's the most elegant, most beautiful, most incredible person I've ever seen. But that's, like, stan culture, Palmy. That's not the same as being in love."

"Then—all those times you talked about her—the sighing, the pining, the confession plans—"

"What confession plans? I never planned to confess to m'lady."

"You—you didn't?"

"Palmy, I was planning to confess to you. I kept asking you for advice on how to confess to someone and you kept turning it into a Ruby thing—"

The world didn't just tilt; it flipped completely upside down and started spinning.

"My two faves dating each other"—Palmer whispered the memory aloud. When Ruby and Miracle started dating. Helios hadn't been heartbroken. She'd been happy—because her favorite person (Ruby) was dating her other favorite person (Miracle), and that meant Ruby was off the table as a perceived rival, and—

And Palmer had hugged her and said "I'll comfort you through your heartbreak" and Helios thought Palmer was rejecting a confession that she hadn't even made yet because Palmer had assumed she was in love with Ruby when she was in love with PALMER this ENTIRE TIME—

"I am the densest person in any universe," Palmer said.

"YA THINK?" Helios half-yelled, half-sobbed, and then she was laughing and crying simultaneously, which was a very Helios thing to do. "I was DYING, Palmy! Every single time I tried to hint at it, you'd go, 'Aw, Helios, I'm sure Ruby will come around!' and I'd be like THAT'S! NOT! WHO! I'M! TALKING! ABOUT!"

"I—I thought—"

"You thought I was in love with m'lady!"

"You're always talking about how beautiful she is!"

"Because she IS beautiful! I can appreciate beauty without wanting to DATE it! She's like a painting, Palmy! I don't want to date a painting! I want to date YOU!"

Helios was standing now, hands on her hips, face red, ears twitching wildly—and she was so beautiful, so absurdly, incandescently beautiful in her indignation, that Palmer did the only thing that made sense.

She pulled Helios down onto the bench and kissed her.

It was clumsy. Their noses bumped. Helios made a sound like "mmph!" that was more startled than romantic. But her hands found Palmer's face and her lips softened against Palmer's and the world—every world, all of them, every last parallel universe—narrowed to the point where they met.

When they broke apart, Helios was the color of a fire truck.

"P-P-P-Palmy—"

"I love you," Palmer said. "Not as a bestie. Just—I love you. And I'm sorry it took me crossing an absurd number of parallel universes to figure it out."

"You—wait—parallel what—"

"I'll explain later. Much later. Probably never."

"Palmy, you can't just say something like that and then—"

"Helios."

"—mmph."

The second kiss was better. Less clumsy. More deliberate. Helios's arms wound around Palmer's neck and Palmer's around her waist and somewhere in the background a bird was singing the same song she'd heard in world line 3.8901, and she thought: Some things are constant across every universe.

Like this. Like them.

They sat together on their bench for a very long time after that. Helios's head on Palmer's shoulder, Palmer's arm around Helios, the afternoon sun painting everything gold. Helios chattered on about everything and nothing—how she'd been planning a confession involving sparklers and a customized playlist, how she'd almost confessed during the Takarazuka Kinen but chickened out, how she'd made Miracle promise not to tell and Miracle had kept the secret despite apparently having her own opinions about which ship should be canon—

"Wait," Palmer said. "Miracle knew?"

"Everyone knew, Palmy. Literally everyone."

"Ruby?"

"M'lady figured it out in, like, five minutes. She told me I should 'pursue my heart's desire with elegance and conviction.' Which is m'lady-speak for 'go get her.'"

"The training camp—when Ruby said I was 'a good friend to her'—"

"She was rooting for us, Palmy."

Palmer put her face in her hands. "I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid! You're just—romantically challenged."

"That's a polite way of saying stupid."

"Hehe."

Helios kissed her cheek. Light, quick, casual—as if she'd been doing it her whole life, as if she'd been waiting her whole life for the chance.

"Hey, Palmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm mega ultra super duper happy right now."

Palmer looked at her—at her sun, her constant, her Helios—and she was glowing. Not metaphorically. Well, okay, metaphorically. But the glow was real, the kind of radiance that came from a happiness so deep it rewrote the fundamental laws of physics.

"Me too," Palmer said.

And for the first time in a very, very long journey, she meant it completely.

Palmer put the clock away. Deep in the closet, behind the winter blankets, in a box she labeled "DO NOT OPEN" in permanent marker.

She considered returning it to the old woman, but when she went to her house in the shopping district, the old woman just smiled that knowing smile and said, "Keep it. You never know."

"I'm done with parallel worlds," Palmer said firmly.

"That's what I said too, dear. Right up until I wasn't."

Life continued.

Ruby and Miracle were still dating, and still disgustingly adorable about it. Helios squealed every time she saw them together—"My faves! Being in LOVE! The CONTENT!" And Palmer no longer felt the urge to commit arson about it.

Miracle, upon learning that Helios and Palmer had gotten together, simply nodded and said, "The correct ending." When Palmer asked him what she meant, she said, "In every story worth telling, the sun always comes home."

"That's cryptic."

"It's poetic."

"It's the same thing."

He smiled and walked away, and Palmer had the lingering feeling that K.S. Miracle knew far more about parallel worlds than she let on.

Ruby cornered Palmer one afternoon outside the training facility. She stood with that impeccable posture, her hands clasped, and studied Palmer with those inscrutable eyes.

"I hear congratulations are in order," she said.

"Ah—yeah. Thank you."

"Helios is fortunate to have someone so devoted."

"I think I'm the fortunate one."

Ruby's lips curved—the real smile, the rare one, the one that made you understand why Helios spent so much time staring at her.

"Palmer. I want you to know—I was cheering for you both. From the very beginning."

"You were?"

"Of course. Helios speaks of you constantly. Has done since the day I met her. 'Palmy this' and 'Palmy that' and 'isn't Palmy the greatest.'" Ruby shook her head with fond exasperation. "It was quite obvious where her heart lay. To everyone except, apparently, you."

"I am—becoming aware of that."

"Good. Then you understand why I could not accept her confession."

Palmer froze. "—What?"

"If she had ever confessed to me in this world—which she did not, I should note, contrary to whatever you seem to have believed—I would have declined. Not because she is lacking, but because it was clear that her heart belonged elsewhere. To accept would have been unkind to us both."

Palmer stood there, blinking, while a dozen world lines' worth of assumptions collapsed like a house of cards.

"You knew," she said. "This whole time. You knew Helios was in love with me."

"Everyone knew, Palmer."

"So I've been told."

Ruby placed a hand on Palmer's shoulder. "Take care of her. She shines brightest when she is with you."

"I will. I promise."

Ruby nodded once, decisive, and walked away—elegant, untouchable, and absolutely, definitively not in love with Palmer.

That evening, Helios burst into Palmer's room without knocking. As always.

"PALMY! Karaoke! Right now! I already reserved the room and picked out, like, fifteen songs and—"

"Fifteen is too many."

"Ten!"

"Five."

"Seven and I get to pick the duet."

"—Deal."

She grabbed Palmer's hand—bold as anything, grinning like the sun itself had decided to take a human form just to dazzle Palmer specifically—and pulled her toward the door.

"Hey, Palmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

She said it like it was nothing. Like it was everything. Like it was the easiest, most natural sentence she'd ever spoken.

"I love you too," Palmer said.

And she didn't need a clock, or a parallel world, or an interdimensional wish-granting device to know that this—this world, this moment, this girl and her ridiculous karaoke habit and her hand in hers—was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Some things, it turns out, are constant across every universe.

Like the sun always rising. Like Helios always shining. Like the answer being right in front of you, all along, if only you'd stop looking somewhere else.

From somewhere deep in the closet, behind the winter blankets, the clock's screen glowed faintly in the dark.

1.0000.

It had never needed to move at all.