Archive of Our Own

Mob knew not of his mother, and not much of his father. He only knew that his father was a scientist who often worked in a lab for long, long hours. Nothing more, nothing less. With not much familial warmth in his life, he envied the children at the playground with their siblings or with their parents, playing in the sand.
He didn't have any close relatives to comfort him; They had distanced themselves away from his father, calling the man 'deranged'. At first, he found it absurd- Maybe it was the fact he did nothing but hole himself up inside of a giant lab all day long, or maybe it was making Mob live with him and the researchers at said lab his entire life, rather than being in a proper household like a normal kid.

No. It wasn't that.

He found the exact reason why when he witnessed his father watch a child squirm, growling in excruciating agony through a one-way window with a frozen expression. Not one of fear, maybe one of neutralit, and something far more twisted.

Mob’s first meeting with said child was when he was dropped off in the blue common rooms of a corner of the lab as a makeshift daycare. Despite being the same age, the boy was taller than him by a head and seemed to speak with much more wisdom. Mob questioned his own emotional maturity compared to the other.

The lab where his father kept the experimented children in was huge, but alas, artificial. It didn’t matter to Mob how authentic the experiments' lives were, or how real the results that came out of it was; It was fake, that was all that really mattered.
Fresco painted walls of clouds and trees, giant overhanging lights, and dozens of glass walls that couldn’t be seen through from where he stood to corridors that stretched in a prisoner-like way, with carefully calculated dimensions to even the clothing of the staff and the children alike. It felt like he was where he wasn’t supposed to be- Strangely dystopian, yet also utopian.

Mob had never seen a place so lifeless yet vibrant at the same time.

Well, he couldn’t say much either. Life felt different to Mob. Other than living in metallic walls covered in pipes, he went to school like any other normal human being. Except the ‘constantly surrounded by researchers rushing down the cold walls, wiring and grail’, he was pretty normal.

Lying down on fake, prickly artificial grass, he stared at the flaxen glare that imitates the sun, Mob hears a voice that causes him to prop himself up.
Golden hair, soft skin. He wore completely white, with the hem of his shirt falling slightly below his hips, and pants that didn't cover his ankles. A sewn-in badge of a smiley face sitting on the back of his shirt caught Mob’s eye.

"Hello! I'm Verity!" he speaks in a rather chipper tone.

Mob nods, returning the greeting, "I'm Mob,” He hesitantly adds onto the sentence “My father’s, uh…Important around here.”

"I know!" he laughs, "The researchers love talking about you."

Verity was a face that Mob had recognized from day one. Aside from being the same kid his father often was seen dragging around, that wasn't the only reason why he was ingrained in the boy's memory. Nor was it his hair that swayed in the wind under the harsh lighting like a movie scene; It was his mechanical-like smile constantly plastered over his face. The feature was constantly noted in Mob's head when he first saw him. Of course, it definitely not the blond hair that was slightly overgrown, nor was it the black eyes that constantly watched. It was that eerie smile.

A door opened behind them, loud whirring and carefully controlled air rushed into the room.
Mob's father patted his son on the head, "I see you've met Verity, Mob."

"I have." His father spoke without any warmth to his own blood. He had gotten used to it and his tone of voice.

"That boy is your age, just a couple months before you."

"Okay."

"He's the greatest achievement in my life." His father's mouth turns upward, wearing an expression Mob has never seen before, "Some would say he's the perfect human being.” The man laughs to himself, obviously riding on his own ego, “It takes precision to make a human from a bunch of cells, you see."

The boy knew his father obviously prided in his projects in child experimentations. He didn't know or understand much of the situation, but when he snooped around, he only knew that it was related to some governments of sorts- Being funded by the state and many private investors, his father took every bit of the project seriously.
He had taken years curating the perfect combination of cells and DNA, had hundreds of thousands or maybe even billions of dollars spent raising these children and whatnot, probably just to go down the drain in a couple year’s time.

Mob found it to be cowardly. Mob found his father to be cowardly.

His father turns around, his sterile coat flowing in the wind as the doors open once more, "You two talk. Ask him anything, he knows a great amount." The sentence to Mob wasn't a request, it wasn't a suggestion for him to interact; It was a command.

The two children watched the man leave, the doors opening on cue before he fully disappeared. Verity turned back to Mob, with the smile still plastered over the golden boy's face, "Ask me anything, I know everything- And I tell the truth, and only the truth!"

Mob blinks, sighing before asking a basic math question, not really taking him seriously, "...What's two plus two?"

"Four!"

Okay, maybe geography instead? Mob scours in his brain for a question before landing on one, "What's the capital of France?"

He expected him to fall for it, a little trick question of sorts.

In the 2020's, A photographer named Camille Seamen, photographed various icebergs and displayed projections of differing lines over various cities. Ranging from New York, to Amsterdam.
Her exhibition was to warn mankind regarding international water levels, how dozens of cities, if not countries, would sink due to the rapid warming and climate change. It was predicted that in the year 2050, cities like Limerick, New York City, Amsterdam, and even Tokyo would sink.
The country of France was currently suffering from that issue, with many cities, such as Saint-Malo and Nantes, already half-way underwater, causing the government to scramble from all over the country to discuss whether to move the capital or not. Mob only knew about it when he snooped around his father's office, something about a national secret.

"Paris!" The boy responds in a french accent, the words roll off of Verity's tongue, before he switches back to his normal voice, "However, the government has been planning for its location to be changed due to the sea levels. Possibly the city of Strasbourg."

Mob nods his head, only commenting with that he found it interesting.

The boy sits up, brushing the back of his pants and his hands, and begins walking off. He quickly stops in his tracks before turning his head to look at the still-standing Verity, watching his every move. The smaller boy walks towards Verity, extends his hand and whispers, "Can you go around with me?"

Verity nods, his fingers holding onto Mob's tighter, scared to let him go, "Sure!"

Like a tour guide, Verity told Mob about everything he knew about the area, along with some research-related stuff. The left hall was all the sleeping quarters of the children here, and that the right hall was a place where they ate, but, not much eating happened, more like messing around. Mob commented on the amount of toys for toddlers or infants scattered around the place, and Verity chuckled, only responding with 'that's how long we've been here for', in which, Mob noted mentally.

"What about the middle one?" Mob turns around, seeing the empty white hall on the East wing that reads: ‘DORMITORY’, while the one on the West says: ‘CAFETERIA’. Other than those doors, there were two massive doors that were on the Northern and Southern wall, with the one in the Southern being the one where Mob entered through.

His fingers pointed to it, the door, reflective, with oranges and no other labelling or anything at all, "That giant steel door?"

"That's the education sector." Verity responds briefly.

"Can I go there?"

Verity sees Mob approaching, and he yanks him back lightly in response, "You may not."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you." Verity's shoulders shrugged, and Mob gives him an unamused face.

"Is it a bad place?"

Like a broken radio, Verity repeats himself, "I'm afraid I can't tell you."

The words keep flowing out of Mob's mouth, like a nosy child digging into something he shouldn't be doing, "Are you happy in there?" he continues to ask, the words barraging out, reminded of what he watched his father do, "Is that where they stick needles into you? Are you tied down to a table, surrounded in a white, padded room? Or do you just sit in a classroom and learn? What type of education is it?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you."

Mob scowls at the repeated answer, "Why can't you tell me?"

"I'm forbidden to."

"Coward." The smaller huffs, turning away and walking around the common room with Verity, hand-in-hand.

Mob was shocked when he saw a boy slightly shorter than him jump out from nowhere. Black hair, clean, pure white clothes, just like Verity; He wore a striped, black-and-white knitted scarf around his neck, with a little embroidered smiley face, also in black-and-white on it. His face lit up as he approached the two hand-holding kids.

"Oh! A new face! Hello, hello! I'm Twixxel!" The boy observed him up and down, taking in his 'unusual clothes', consisting of denim jeans and a black t-shirt.

He stayed silent, glancing at Verity, who urged him to respond back, "Mob, you should reply to him. Don't leave him waiting."

"...Hi. I'm Mob." The words hesitantly came out his mouth, Verity smiled wider when he did respond.

The energetic boy chirped back again, "Hi Mob! I'm Twixxel!" Twixxel turned to Verity, who was watching Mob's every move, as if he was judging Mob based on his actions, "Is he a permanent stay here?"

Verity shook his head, "No. He's the Lead Researcher's son." 

That was weird. Mob never told him that, but he assumed he was just observant.

"Aw..." he pouted, "I thought we were finally getting a new addition. Jamal and- Well, just Whispy... has been bored out of his mind."

"Isn't Cups and Fils plenty of entertainment? I see them tussling all the time. I'm more surprised when they're sitting down."

Twixxel's shoulders shrugged, "I guess not." he continued, "Whispy said fighting them's no fun if he always wins, and Jamal said he's sick of having constant headaches." the boy noticed the look on Mob's face, confused, "Oh, that's our friends! We have lots of friends here, but... it gets boring, you know? It's always nice to see a new face around here!"

Verity's grip on Mob's hands tightened, "Do you want to explore the other places? Not just the common room?" he begins to list out, "There's the cafeteria, where I guess you could meet the others. I think they're still eating... or you could go into the rooms."

"I'm fine." The scientist's son comments, "I don't want to bother anyone."

The boy with the scarf sat down on the grass, taking one of Mob's hands. Mob is hesitant, before giving in, letting the boy make him sit down. Verity makes himself comfortable right besides Mob, their fingers slipping apart, but his fingers close into his palms repeatedly. Twixxel talks about some random topic Mob can't bother to listen to, yawning at it, while Verity nods with every sentence. It wasn't long before Twixxel got called over by a group of researchers. Four of them- Coats, masks, and clipboards. He gets up, waves the two goodbye as he heads down the education sector.

Mob and Verity sit in silence, who both haven't moved since the leaving of Twixxel. The shorter tugs at the fake grass, the taller observes him struggle with yanking it out.

He continues to grunt, stripping the artificial greenery of its only life-like feature. It's hard to focus when your father's favorite lab-rat has his eyes fixated on you, and the two both know it is glued onto him. They won’t deny it. The shorter occasionally glances at Verity, whose eyes meet his and continues to stare. Mob breaks the silence first, "Your smile is uncanny."

"Really?" Verity touches his face, not realizing his smile was bothering.

"It makes me want to punch it off of your face." Mob pulls out a handful of strands, revealing a darker green patch of plastic underneath, "Are you those ‘never upset’ people or something? Or are you just a freak of nature? I wouldn’t believe you even if you said you were ‘happy’."

Verity feigns a thought, letting out a comedically long stretched hum, "Guess."

"I'm not guessing jackshit." Mob tosses the fake grass onto Verity's hair, who accepts it. He picks out a couple strands that fall onto his clothes and drops it into Mob's hand.

"We can find a compromise." Verity suggests, offering no more clarity other than just stating he'll find a way for him to not feel uncomfortable by it. Mob nods at the idea, and Verity sits up properly, fixing his posture.

His head tilts, the blond stares at the bright lights above their heads, looming over them. His eyes pierce into the glass windows, as if he can see people behind it, "The next time we see each other, I'll find a fix.... Is tomorrow okay?"

"Okay." The shorter nods, his black hair drops over his face slightly with the shake. He grunts, pulling out more grass and dropping it onto Verity's white pants.

Verity's pinky sticks out, "Promise?"

"Promise." Mob returns the gesture.

Their fingers intertwine with one another, before their thumbs stamp, pressing against each other's skin.

The giant door where Mob's father came through opens once more, and a female researcher comes in. She calls for Mob, and escorts him out. Mob waves goodbye to Verity, who sits there, still littered in grass.

The smaller barely mouths a 'goodbye' before the door shuts on his face.

Mob doesn't see Verity the first thing the next morning. In an attempt to find him, he looks through the entirety of the common room, poking his head through cracks that surely couldn't fit a human, and looking around at the more obvious places. He suspects Verity's in his room in the leftwing, but he doesn't dare enter, nor does he want to ask the others around the lab. He peaks his head into the cafeteria, where a couple of boys throw around a snickers bar, stealing it from one another's hands, with no Verity to be found.

He sits underneath a giant pillar in the middle of the common room, painted like a tree, and waits.

He watches the educational sector doors, hoping that he was behind it and would come out soon. He watches a couple kids come in and out of the hall that Verity speaks so ill about, with smiles on their faces, all wearing different pins, but greatly different clothes than Verity. He even spots Twixxel, coming out waving his arms as the smaller boy rushes towards him and sits beside him. He asks if he had breakfast yet, to which he nods. Twixxel asks if Mob wants candy, and he nods. Twixxel hands him a handful of skittles for the two to share.

"Are you waiting for Verity?"

Only a simple nod comes out of him as he chews through the skittles. He looks at the lemon-flavored fruit candy melting in his hands, with its colors mixing into the red, green and purple one he has left. He glances at his companion, who had thrown all of his portion in his mouth.

"Verity won't come out soon." Twixxel states, chewing through the sugar, "The researchers take him out for a long time on these days. They send him back all tied up and whatever. Sometimes they drop him back in here, super fussy and all. They just stick a needle into him, so he ends up sleeping out in the common room for a couple hours because of it."

Twixxel takes a big gulp, swallowing all the sticky 'food', "Sometimes we throw our extra blankets on him when he's like that." He elaborates on his logic, "So he doesn't feel too cold out here." Mob asks why they don't give him pillows as well, and he clicks his tongue, talking about how he 'should've thought about that too'.

Mob copies Twixxel, throwing the candy in his mouth as well, but he chews rather slowly through the skittles, not rushing through the bunch, savoring the fake fruit flavoring. The boy with the scarf digs his nose into it, keeping him warm, "You don't talk much, do you?" Twixxel stands up, cleaning his hands with his pants, "That's okay though. I'll still be your friend even if you're quiet."

Mob stares back dumbfounded, "Since when were we friends?" He said after swallowing.

"Since I said so." the boy in full white giggles, "Okay, I gotta go get some food to eat- I'll talk to you later!" He bounces off towards the dining hall, shouting back, "...If I have time!"
The chattering inside gets louder. Mob ignores it as he continues to stare at nothing, thinking, waiting for Verity.

The lights dim down around a couple hours later. Well, Mob assumes it's been a couple hours, since he had gotten so used to the fluorescent lighting. He can't tell the time nor forgot how long he's been sitting in there for. He counted one too many sheep, and lost track of them to care. The boy watches Twixxel enter the educational sector and exit it three separate times, and every time he arrives back to spare him a couple minutes to converse.

"Aren't you bored?"

"Kind of, but not really." Mob admits, "I think about stuff when you're not here. Life, and whatever. School."

"What's a kid like you gotta think about? ...How old are you even to begin with?"

"I'm thirteen. ‘35."

"Really? I was born in ‘35 as well." Twixxel blinks, "Wait! I'm getting off track- That's not my point! Anyways, you shouldn't be so... mopey and stuff. What are you, a divorced middle-aged man? Thinking 'bout 'life'?"

The boy sits beside Mob and slides him a book with a faux-leather cover, along with a couple sheets of paper with neat handwriting on them, "That's what I usually do when I'm gone- Studying. I'll just give you whatever I learnt for the day and... you could read it, I guess."

"Okay then. I will." Mob picks up the sheets, scanning his eyes, reading a pretty well articulated essay, and very well-organized notes. Various details regarding astronomical bodies, the solar system, and many other things.

The book doesn't have engravings on the cover- As if it was hand-made, customized for the children here. Mob cracks open the first page to see a bunch of silly illustrations from Twixxel. He sighs for even hoping the boy had an ounce of emotional maturity. The book was similar to a textbook, the font size large enough for him to read without an issue, spaced well for little notes as well. Mob's fingertips traced over the letters that were highlighted with a bright, neon pink.

His eyes land on the large title of the page: Halley's comet.

Also known as Comet Halley, or 1P/Halley, it is a short-period comet that is visible by the naked eye, estimated to arrive every seventy-four to seventy-nine years.
The comet and its returns to the solar system had been recorded since around 240 BC, but in the 1700's, Astronomer Edmond Halley discovered that its appearances and re-appearances were from the one, same comet. Thus, earning its name as Halley's comet.

"Oh, you're interested in that flying rock?"

Mob nods, Twixxel leans in and begins to teach him more about it, "The last appearance of the comet was around... The 1980s, I think- I'm not sure though. Sixty-something years ago... Sorry, I don't really remember that very well." he clears his throat, "Anyways, that's not the point. The thing's pretty interesting, huh? A comet, forever circling and coming back to the Earth..."

The boy admits, "I like astronomy."

"Really?" Twixxel's face lights up, hearing a preference coming out of Mob's mouth, "I'll get you all the astronomy and astrology stuff you want! I even have books on horoscopes if you'd like!"

Mob simply nods, lying down on his sides as he flips through the pages. The boy with the scarf teaches Mob, talking on and on for ages about different topics. Mob nods with every interesting fact, and his face lights up hearing about more notes, more books, and more about space. Twixxel turns his head around when he hears his name being called out by a couple researchers, who flinch at the sight of Mob sitting under the pillar. The boy gets up and waves a quick goodbye to Mob, promising to be back in a bit.

Mob lies on his back as he reads when Twixxel's footsteps grow quieter, his eyes not daring to be torn off the pages for just a second. He mentally notes on how Twixxel's handwriting is actually quite tidy, and the drawings in his notes looked nice.

After finishing about half the book, the pages perfectly still crisp with only small dog ears created from his fingers twiddling with the pages, he perks his head up to hear a giant door open.

Coming from the education sector, a group of researchers hush and push someone in. Clamoring echoed through the common hall, and Mob poked around to see if anyone was nearby. It was just him and that group who just entered then.

There stood Verity, tussling in a straitjacket, screaming and raising his voice to a concerning volume. His voice, aggressive, gruff and unlike anything Mob had seen from him. Verity, who before had always worn a smile on his face, was emotional, destructive and angry.

Verity was capable of other emotions. Noted.

The researchers all collectively sigh before tightening the belt around his body and shoving him to the ground. They leave through the giant steel door, while Verity, who was still on the ground, cursed at them.

"I'll fucking kill you! You- I fucking swear! I'll kill you! You hear me?" That behavior quickly stopped when he noticed Mob standing around the pillar, his voice going gentle and his expression softening with every second spent staring at the boy.

"...Mob?" He murmured out, and the shorter approached him.

The young boy crouched before Verity, taking a look at the straightjacket and its components, after a silent methodical gaze, his fingers slipped through the buckles and undid the binding outfit. Verity's arms fell to his sides, like he was paralyzed, unable to move, before touching Mob's hands, carefully inspecting it.

"Why'd you touch it?" Verity avoids addressing the straitjacket.

"You don't know what it touched." Verity's long fingertips traced over Mob's fingerprints, "Have you been waiting? S-Since when?"

"Nine in the morning, I think."

Verity's eyes widened slightly, "It's... three in the afternoon." Mob was quickly bombarded with questions on whether or not he had lunch yet, to which he shakes his head in response. Verity swears he'll get him a bit of food later, which he found strange.

Mob paused, not speaking for a second before answering, "Well, I waited for you that long."

"I promised the 'next time'. Today's 'next time'." Mob's hand takes Verity's as he stares back, "Is it not?"

Verity laughs, his hands drop from Mob's as he buries his head in them. His laugh sounded more like sighs of relief rather than amusement. The blond hushes under his breath before collecting himself, "You're the first to come back." To which, Mob ignores.

Verity stands up on his feet easily, as if the straightjacket wasn't just on his body mere minutes ago. Mob watched as his feet kicked it in front of the door before taking a long sigh. Verity's soft hand extends, reaching out for Mob to grab. The smaller boy grabs it, and the two approach the sleeping quarters located in the East wing.

Mob notes that the halls are empty and long. The walls are cream-colored due to erosion, with only a dark-colored oak flooring as a sense of color. Even the lights above their heads were the same, cold, fluorescent white. It wasn't long until Verity took Mob to a corridor filled with doors and signboards, where he notices Twixxel's name at the end of the hall, but Verity takes him to the opposite hall, where only a singular door with Verity's name on it existed.

On the mahogany door, an engraving of the blond-haired boy's name in gold, accompanied by a small smiley face, with a handle he had never seen before, Mob peaks down the hall to see the other doors, however, with normal knobs. Verity's was special. It was hard to describe, but Mob decided not to put his mind much on it.
The door opens to a room in complete white. No decor, just a white bed, a lonely shelf and a desk with a night lamp that was hanging onto its last wire. The shelf, at least, was adorned with many books, ranging from Shakespeare to textbooks. On Verity's bed, sat a plastic astronaut's helmet, in an odd shade of yellow, with a painted on sharpie-drawn-looking smiley face on it.

Verity put on the helmet, the yellow thing fit well over his head, covering his face, and way too big on him, "Is this a successful compromise?" His head tilts, the stupid smiley face cracking a laugh out of Mob's mouth.

"Yeah. It is." he giggles.

"I'll wear this when you're here from here on out." Verity pauses before correcting himself, "No- Actually. I'll wear this around from now on."

"You're the first person to see this helmet on me," Verity knocks on the top, letting out a hollow sound, "and you'll be the last person to ever see my face under this cheap plastic."

"...Okay then."

He shouldn't have done it, yet he did. Some craving of education, or whatnot dragged him back.

Mob entered the common room of the lab like it was any ordinary place to be in. Though, his Father, the head researcher, couldn’t care less, nor did any of the other researchers bother to begin with, he just waltzed into the place. The boy sat down on the artificial greenery, his back leaned against the cold pillar as he shuts his eyes.

In some ways, the darkness was comforting rather than scary. The idea of the darkness is only feared due to what lies behind it- 'Is it something beyond our comprehension? Is it something we fear hiding there?'

Mob's eyes opened to a projection of stars on the ceiling, breaking his train of thought. They twirl around, circling.

As an imitation, it didn't hold the same beauty of the real stars that dance in the inky Milky Way. His hands extend to grab it, but it's too far out from his grasp. Those same fingers find the leather-cover book that was still there from when he left. He picks it up, tracing the indents made from someone's nails, before he lays the cover on his lap. The pages spread open, with only the sound of paper cutting the air, accompanied by whirring air conditioners surrounding him as he sat there. Mob finds a sticky note left behind on the page he left off on, in a small handwriting from Twixxel.

A bunch of colored sticky notes were slotted between pages for him to mark the pages he was reading. Mob's fingers traced over the penned writing and the little doodles Twixxel had left behind on the yellow note, with some drawings and an unfamiliar writing from someone named 'Whispy' and 'Fils'.

Mob's head whips over when he hears approaching footsteps, he barely sees their clothes, a child in clad white approaches him, and when Mob's head lifts up to see the person's face, a giant helmet obstructs his view of it.

"It's a little late, don't you think, Mob? It's way past midnight" Mob attempts to suppress his laughter hearing Verity's muffled voice. The smaller boy could hear the smile Verity wore under the helmet.

The helmeted child sits down beside him, looking at what he was reading, Mob wonders if he could even see through that thing, "...Why are you reading about astronomy, this late into the night, and specifically here?"

"I like it." He states, his fingers tracing over the prints of the stars, "I like the topics in here."

"Whose notes-" Verity quickly corrects himself, "No, book is that?"

"Twixxel's."

"Oh, Twixxel's? Figures. He's the only one who draws in his books like that." Verity's fingers brushes against Mob's for a quick second as he skims through the little etches he left behind.

Mob inquires, "Do you?" He quickly finishes the sentence, "Draw in your books, I mean."

"No." Verity's head shakes, "I don't highlight them like him or anything. I just read through it and take notes in a separate book. I don't like ruining the natural state of it."

The two let the buzzing silence sit through them, Mob focused on absorbing all the information from the leather-cover, while Verity watched Mob read. The same piercing gaze broke through him, the both of them couldn't help but occasionally exchange glances. Mob, from being observed as he read, Verity, from not taking his eyes off of the strange child.

"Can you breathe under that?" Mob inquires, his eyes not prying away from the thin paper sheets.

"Not really."

Mob scoffs, his fingers slip between pages and flip to a new topic he's never seen before, "Can you see under that?"

Verity repeats his words in the exact same tone, "Not really."

"Do you sleep with the helmet on?" Mob's eyes jumps to look at Verity for a split second before going back to the book. Verity's clothes rustle a bit, before giving an affirmative noise. He claims he'll never take it off ever again. The boy laughs at the absurdity, "How are you supposed to sleep with that helmet on, if you're never taking it off?"

Hearing the silence from the taller, Mob sighs, "Take it off then." Mob finds himself smirking thinking about Verity sleeping with a plastic helmet on his head, unable to hold it back. His fingers touch his lips trying to hide it.

Verity sounds upset, "I don't want to." Mob can hear his frown from under the helmet.

"Why?"

"Because that doesn't fulfill our compromise."

"You're so stupid." Mob comments, "Coward."

"How does that make me a coward?"

"Because you're scared of breaking a promise." Mob pauses, finally looking at the helmet-covered boy, "That's something only a coward like you would do."

"Should I be scared of breaking a promise? Or should I not be?"

"I dunno. Just whichever is drawn to you better."

"...Okay."

Mob takes a translucent, yellow sticky note and presses the sticky face onto the pages before shutting the book and setting it to the side. Verity tilts his head in confusion, watching the situation play out as Mob attempts to remove the helmet from his friend's head, to which the boy panics, holding the plastic down as Mob attempts to take it off his head.

"Take it off." Mob demands.

"N-No..."

His hand grips down on the plastic and tries to pull up, "Off."

Verity backs up when he sees the change in force, "No! That breaks our promise!"

Mob lets go and attempts to take off the helmet through words, "So you won't take it off ever?"

"...Yes"

"What about to eat?"

"I'll learn how to fast. Or I'll eat under the helmet."

"That's stupid." Mob quickly corrects himself, emphasizing on the vowels, "You're stupid. Coward."

"I'm finding us a compromise."

"Okay, but I don't want a compromise right now." Mob frowns, "You cannot be content with that stupid helmet over your head."

"...I-I'm not very happy with it, but I am able to endure it."

"Take it off. I want to discuss a new compromise."

Verity hesitantly removes the helmet, his hands move to reveal his golden hair, his face slightly slick with sweat. Mob flicks the boy's forehead before calling him stupid once more, and he takes the insult. Using the long sleeves of his t-shirt, Mob wipes the sweat off of Verity's cheek before moving around his face. His hands move towards the wet neck to remove all water from it.

"You're so stupid." he reiterates once more.

Verity laughs softly at himself, "I know."

"You can take the helmet off when you're with me." Mob states, "I don't want to accidentally kill you because I indirectly told you to wear a helmet to hide your stupid face."

"You're not killing me. I've always been told my expression made others feel... uncomfortable."

"What changed with me?"

Verity doesn't respond instantly, but slowly utters an 'I don't know'. Mob accepts the response, "Or you can take it off when you're alone. Just don't let anyone see your stupid, dumb, cowardly face then." Verity assures him, saying only Mob will be able to see his face ever again. Mob tells him not to do that, because he's the one who wants to avoid it to begin with. The blond responds with acknowledgement before brushing Mob's black hair away from his emerald eyes.

The blond sighs, "You're always calling me stupid, aren't you?" he picks the helmet back up, checking for any peeling paint, "And you love to throw around the word 'coward'."

"You are though- I'm just stating facts... And no, I don't." Mob firmly denries it.

"You do."

"No I don't."

"You do."

Mob scowls, breaking the chain, "I hate you."

He earns a laugh from Verity, "No you don't." Verity rolls up Mob's sleeves, "If you did, you wouldn't have come back. If you did- We wouldn't be here."

"Will you stay here tonight?" Verity inquires, knowing that it was still quite late. He knows it's probably nearing one o'clock by now.

"Probably not, I should go since I have school tomorrow."

"Are you tired?"

"Not at all, because I got worked up over your stupid helmet." Mob knocks at the yellow thing, earning a clang from his knuckle.

"I want to stay a little longer though." Mob admits. He leans against the pillar before making a demand to Verity, "Keep me company."

Verity places the helmet on his thigh as he stares at the artificial projected stars the researchers had left for them, he hums before responding with a fact relating to the stars that Mob cared about so much, "You know, there are birds that use the night sky to navigate."

"...You mean, use it like a map? For what? Migration?"

"Yes." Verity responds, hands resting on his helmet, "They're called Indigo Buntings."

The blond begins to explain, with his words sounding like he was reading a textbook, word-for-word, "A man named Stephan Emlen in the 1970s researched their migrational patterns. By raising them in captivity, making them certain star patterns and rotations using a planetarium, along with many other variables, he found out that: The birds begin migrating and navigating with a different star, opposed to the usual Polaris."

Mob watches the way Verity's mouth moves, the way his golden locs fall slightly with every movement, and how his eyes look like they're glimmering when he speaks. But without that shine from the fake stars, they don't form any light. Deep black orbs with blond lashes, drawing Mob in like a blackhole. Listening to every comment about Cassiopeia, or the Big Dipper carefully, but also noting things about Verity.

Like an Indigo Bunting, Verity was raised in captivity. Probably taught about the wrong stars, taught about anything but the rightful Polaris he was supposed to. It was pitiful how similar they were.

The words come out of his mouth as Mob blurts, "Isn't that like you?" ]

Mob quickly panics, covering his hand with his mouth realizing that he just blurted out the insensitive thought in his mind.

Verity turns his head to the one besides him, and he bursts into a laugh. "Maybe." he said, through his chuckles.

Mob struggled to figure out what was so funny about it.

Mob came back into the lab. He had been swamped with school as of late, so he couldn't make it to the lab. On his way inside, he was greeted by researchers who were bringing Twixxel away for a health checkup in the main building. On Twixxel’s way out, the boy told Mob about how the stuff hadn't been moved at all, so he could go there and all the books would be untouched.

Mob walked towards the pillar, and there sat his books, like Twixxel said, from where he sat with Verity and talked about Indigo Buntings together. Mob made himself comfortable in the grass, before he could crack open a page, a boy talked to him.

"Are you Mob? The researcher's son?"

Orange hair... and the smell of squash?

Mob's eyes followed the boy, who decided to sit in front of him and his books. Mob didn't respond at first, he was contemplating on what to respond with. A 'fuck off' or a 'what do you need' seemed inappropriate.

"Yes."

"Is that Twixxel's stuff?" The boy's fingers touch the notes, Mob notices a pumpkin embroidered into the hem of his t-shirt. Unlike other kids he had seen and interacted with so far, the mysterious ginger was the most insufferable. Mob tried not to be obvious with his opinion on him, but the way he'd speak to Mob made it extremely hard to conceal.

'Are you a nerd? Why'd you like reading?' or, 'Wow. So quiet.' or even poking at the stuff made him extremely hard to ignore. He quickly turned around when Verity, with his yellow helmet, stood behind him.

"Whispy?"

The boy named Whispy held a hand over his heart,"Holy sh- Verity! D-Don't... don't sneak up on me like that. It genuinely scares the living shit out of me."

Mob watched the two interact. They were similar to one another, oddly. Mainly in their voices though, Mob would’ve found it hard to distinguish if not for the muffled noise from the helmet. Whispy left when he was called by two researchers over, and he waved to the two of them before leaving. Verity paused for a minute, before he plopped down besides Mob, like that was his seat here he belonged.

"You didn't come for a couple days."

"Yeah, sorry. I was busy."

Verity nodded, his legs stretched out, "Were you late to school that day?"

Mob huffs, "Yeah." A soft giggle coming out of him, "I thought I'd make it, but, guess not."

The two sit in silence, Mob read his book and read through Twixxel's detailed research about Halley's comet that Mob was so interested in. Like how it was expected to hit in a couple of years, when they'd be adults, and the looming date was so close, yet felt so far away. Verity observed how Mob's his every move; Mob noticed, and he let him do it. He heard hushed whispers talking about his every muscle twitch, every touch of the finger, every clearing of the throat. It was hard to ignore when his those eyes of his were practically only used to stare at him the entire time.

The soft humming of the air conditioner, the silent clattering from the dorms and the cafeteria staff chatting were the only things that was heard between them. With the occasional sound of rustling paper, the two sat under the giant pillar.

Sometimes the quiet like that was nice.

"Hey Mob?" Verity broke the silence, glancing between Mob and the giant one-way windows.

His head lifts up from the book, his finger atop the sentence he was on, "Yeah?"

"Do you..." he pauses, the soft grunt of thinking under his helmet, "Think of me when you're not here?"

Mob moves his sticky note onto the page he's on, marking it at page five-hundred and twenty. He hums, trying to find a response to Verity.

"I guess I do." He adds onto his statement, "You're kinda hard to forget."

"...Okay." He whispers something under his breath, but Mob can't seem to catch it.

Calling Verity 'normal' would be a strange descriptor to give him. Calling him 'weird' wouldn't be an adequate one as well.

If Mob was speaking cognitive-wise, Verity probably was much more intelligent than the average thirteen year-olds they were. But he often asked about things that felt... well, oddly personal. Like Verity was dissecting all of Mob's interests, features, and facts.

Mob remembered the day like it had been just yesterday. He sat in the common room of the children's lab, eating a Kitkat that he shared with Verity. He read the books Twixxel gave him as he bit from the chocolate wafer. Verity occasionally took a bite from the candy from under the helmet somehow, but Mob didn't mind as long as he wasn't being disturbed.
"Do you live alone?" The voice came under the helmet. Mob turned his head over to Verity.

Mob watched Verity remove the item, "...Like, do I live with... other people, here- at the lab?"

It was well past midnight, and they two sat in the common room together once more. Verity safely ate the Kitkat from Mob's hands.

"...Yeah."

"Yeah, I guess. Well, not really. I live in the lab like the other researchers, but I have my own private space."

Verity nodded, and they continued their silence. Mob felt the candy bar be taken away by Verity, who took another bite before placing it back in his hands. The blond's fingers lingered far too long on his palm, far too long for comfort. When Mob looked over, Verity's hand was already back on his own lap, resting as he looked through Twixxel's notes with Mob. When he pointed it out, the taller child called him paranoid.

A couple minutes later, Verity asked Mob again, "What's your favorite place in the world?"

The shorter child shrugged, without a proper answer, he randomly blurted out, 'my room'. Verity nodded once more, and went back to reading the notes, continuing their silence for another hour.

"I'm kinda hungry." Mob commented, sitting up and hearing his neck crack after sitting so uncomfortably for the past couple of hours, "I have to make dinner tomorrow. What do you think I should have?"

Verity hummed, "Maybe a salad, you had pizza yesterday."

Mob's fingers froze as they lay atop the cover of Twixxel's book. His head turned over slowly. The boy had never heard his heart pound so hard against his chest, like a rumbling. Mob sharply inhaled, the feeling like knives to his throat, "...I never told you I had pizza last night-?"

The blond turned his head over, Mob didn't know what Verity looked like under that cheap, plastic. Mob didn't know the true intention behind his words or his voice. The child under the helmet only responded with a hushed 'No, you did'. But Mob was sure he hadn't. He was dead sure.
When Mob asked Twixxel about it, Twixxel said he doesn't remember hearing Mob say anything. However, he told Mob to take his words with a grain of salt, since he had a hard time hearing over Cups that day.

Mob sat cross-legged in the common room. Whispy came around and joked about how this was his first time seeing Mob without his head in his ‘stupid space books' or without Verity glued to him. Jamal punched Whispy in the stomach and told him to be nice.
Jamal handed Mob a cup of iced water, "You okay, man?"

Jamal was slightly older than the rest of the kids by a year or two, being much more empathetic compared to the rest. He quietly nodded at the question Jamal had for him before he took the cup from the boy’s hand, taking a small sip from it to quench the dryness in his throat.
Despite being called Jamal by the others, the researchers called him Jamsteo. When Mob inquired why, the other kids just shrugged, saying the name came naturally. When Mob asked about Fils and Cups, everyone responded that that was what everyone called them. The kid, of course, found it odd. But he didn't bother asking more about it.

Verity approached from the dormitories and hovered over the older kid. For some odd reason, Verity had always been taller than the bunch, a couple inches taller than Jamal. The older boy jumped, his heart almost running from his chest when he turned his head to see the giant yellow helmet.

"Oh my go- ...Verity," The kid exhaled, he ran a hand through his hair, taking the empty water cup from Mob, "You should say something instead of standing behind us with that stupid helmet on. At least we knew it was you without that... thing on."

The boy nodded, his helmet shaking slightly with each second Jamal lectured him about speaking up about things rather than just standing there. Mob pressed his lips together, suppressing a giggle, which earned a sound which sounded like a reaction to a betrayal. Jamal patted Mob on the head before leaving, telling him that if he needed anything, just find him in his room. Verity audible scowled before sitting down right besides Mob.

"You don't need him to give you stuff." Verity whispered, "I can give you stuff. I can give you anything."

The boy continued, his hand covering Mob's, "Ask me."

Mob licked his lips, a little nervous, "...It's not about getting stuff, Verity. It's-"

"Do you always have to look for others to give you things? Do you always have other people? Is there a need to go look for other people?"

Mob was too dumbfounded to speak, the words stuck at the back of his throat. His hand snakes up to speak, but Verity only continues.

"You don't need other people," Verity's voice draws off, "right? You have me, don't you?" Verity pleads, "Don't leave. Please. Ask me. I can-"

"Veri-"

"You have- me."

He couldn't respond. He felt like a fawn, standing in a snowy forest with only bear traps surrounding him and his every move. The hunter that he befriended aimed a rifle at him, the scope at his forehead, the trigger about to be pulled.

"You don't need Twixxel's notes. I can give you as many notes as you want. I can get the database to print you as many books- As many passages you could ever want."

Mob snatched his hands away from Verity, noticing the warmth that was there squeezing too tightly. His hands meet his chest and ribs, clutching at the fabric in front of it. His chest heaves to an uncomfortable amount.

The smaller boy whispers, "I don't want that." his head shakes, the words finally pouring out a little too late, "No... No- Verity. I don't... want that."

He instructs, "Please don't do that ever again. That's- It's fucking horrifying. Please don't say something like that." The words tremble onto his tongue, his hand's grip loosen on his clothes, "Like you'll... You'll rip everyone away from me."

“I don’t want to live like… I don’t want to be- Distanced... like that.”

Verity audibly panics, his hands move towards Mob, but he pulls it back. The blond boy's hands drop to his sides, he backs away slowly before muttering a hushed apology.

"I'm sorry. I-I really am. I'm really sorry. Please, don't be scared... Please don't be mad." His voice shakes, and Verity backs up further, "I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't- So please. Please don't be like that. I..."

Verity adjusts the helmet, "I don't know why I did that. I really shouldn't have. I'm really sorry. I'll do anything to show you I'm sorry."

"Please." Verity begs, not daring to look at Mob out of shame, "Don't leave. Don't... don't abandon me. Don't leave me too."

Mob's fingers tighten into a fist. The two both heave, Mob's heart still pounding like a drum against his ribcage, Verity's hand shakes as they clasp together. The world went quiet, with no sound between them; No mutter, no whirring, no screams. Mob's fingers inch back towards Verity's, their fingers intertwine with one another before the warmths radiate into one another.

The smaller boy exhales, muttering, "I won't."

Mob blurted out, knocking on Verity's helmet, repeatedly, "I think I hate you, and you're stupid." Verity comments that he'll break the thing if he keeps tapping at it like that, but Mob ignores him and continues messing with the thing that lied carelessly on the floor.

"Do you really hate me though?" Verity tilts his head, his blond hair seemingly growing longer.

The black-haired child frowned, his fingers touching the well-kept golden silk. His fingers comb through as the hair shines under the fake light projection of stars, "No. I don't." Mob leans his head onto Verity's shoulder, frowning and grumbling, "I don't hate you. And I don't think you're stupid."

"Mhm. If you really hated me, you wouldn't come here almost everyday. You wouldn't sit here with me for hours straight and talk to me about stupid stuff."

Mob's fingers reach for the astral projections, before he clasps his fingers over them. When he opens his fist back up, nothing comes out. Verity calls him silly for doing something like that dozens of times, yet to no avail, knowing nothing will come out of it. But he just simply shrugs, "If I hated you, I think I would've punched your stupid smile off your face right now."

His fingers touch Verity's cheeks, the muscle still soft. Mob's fingertips brush against his pink lips that were curved up, like the crescent moon. The boy realizes his actions before the fingers draw off, and he sits up-right and clears his throat.

"And... If I hated you, I wouldn't have come back."

Verity giggles softly, his hands take Mob's and place them back on his face. He buries his nose into his palm, letting Mob's unusually cold digits grace his muscles and cheeks before letting out a hushed statement, "And if I hated you instead, I wouldn't let you be the last person to ever see my face." The blond whispers, his hot breath hitting the boy's fingertips, "And I don't let just anyone do this to me."

"I hate you."

"Do you, now?"

"...Not one bit."

Mob had grown acquainted with all the kids in the lab. He found out that the portion of the lab they lived in was called 'Sector: Stellar', which was a handful to say, but he found out the part of the hall he lived in was called 'Sector: Solar'. He laughed at the absurdity, finding it kind of hilarious regarding the absurd amount of alliteration there was for an institution that was supposed to be so serious. Twixxel stared at him like he was insane, Verity didn't really say anything.

The black-haired hadn't forgotten about what happened back in August. It had been a couple weeks, sure. It had been almost two entire months, actually. But he still thought about that sometimes. He asked Verity about it, but he refused to say, saying that he was ashamed to mention the topic again, and how Mob would 'hate him to death' if he told him the truth. Mob knocked on the top of the plastic helmet in response.

Mob sat under the pillar, no books, no nothing. Just him and Verity.

"Tell me about it. Tell me about you."

"...Sorry?"

"It's always about me." Mob states, his eyes glancing at nothing and the fake stars that hung above their heads. He pressed his head against Verity's shoulder as he spoke, "It's never about you."

Mob continues, his nails cleaning the dirt under one another, "We always talk about what I like, but not what you like."

"Hm... I like... I like whatever you like."

"That's not a proper answer."

"Well, it is, isn't it?"

"You're just basing everything off of me. Not about you- But me. You act like you're not real," Mob takes a quick glance at Verity, whose eyes haven't been pried off of him since who-knows-how-long, "you're a human being as well."

"Sometimes I don't feel like one." The blond admits, shrugging his shoulders.

"Tell me about that feeling then."

He shakes his head, "No."

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Just do it. I'll listen, I'll sit." Mob hushes, "I'll stay."

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

Mob didn’t know if this act was intentional, or it was a way for Verity to ease himself, making a promise that would make the guilt hurt less. He didn’t know. He just let their fingerprints touch one another, placing it onto one another’s skin. Their pinkies once again linked together, intertwining before their thumbs pressed against the other’s, like a judge's seal finally stamped on paperwork.

Verity seemed to gaze at the star that Mob was looking at, before placing his hand on Mob's head, feeling the soft hair on his hand. He hesitates to speak, and Mob waits. He audibly opens his mouth, starts a sentence and draws off. He turns his head for assurance, and Mob gives him that.

The blond takes off his helmet, and finally manages a mutter, "I dream of worlds wherein you left me." He hesitates to continue, glancing at Mob, who only returns the gaze back. Mob's eyes shut, and his head continues to rest on the shoulder, "I dreamt that... you left me for something- someone else. You were angry- Looking for something. You... you didn't want to stay with me anymore. And then, you left. And I was..."

Verity's hands hide his facial expression, the fingers spreading as he sharply inhales, trying not to lose his words, "I watched you leave." His usual calm, cheery voice breaks slightly.

"I couldn't do anything about you leaving." The child wipes tears away from his eyes. Mob could see the water droplets that remained on his hand glimmer under the dim lighting.

"I had to sit there- And watch. As you turned your back away from me. As you... Pointed your finger at me. Calling me a..." Mob's hand holds Verity's, the only way he really knew how to comfort the blond. Verity let out a small hic, burying his face in the collar of his white t-shirt. "I was really scared. That- I thought it was real. And... I thought that it was real-! I thought that day, you were going to, get up, and never turn back. Never come back here to face me again."

"Is my face that uncanny?" He whimpers, "Do you hate it so much? Do you want me to hide it forever?" his voice shatters into a half-crying, half-rational state, and he can barely manage out a proper sentence. Mob's fingers tighten, and Verity's grip on Mob's hand tightens back in response.

The words a whisper, "Because I can." He declares, "I will."

"If you don't leave- I'll do all of that." Verity wipes the tears from his face, murmuring, "For you."

Mob turns to wipe the snot and the tears with the hem of his own shirt, cleaning up Verity's face. He stops the pour from his eyes as the dark-haired silently cleans his face. The blond feels his face being cupped by Mob, who notes about the puffy eyes and the red cheeks. He hugs Verity, whispering in his ear affirmations.

"I won't leave you." He pauses, before adding onto his words, "It was just a dream. It's not real- But I am. I'm real, telling you this."

"You won't have to watch me leave you like that again. I wouldn't dare call you whatever 'he' did. That's not real. That wasn't me- Because I will never call you that." He tightens the embrace, the two's both heat flowing into each other, and the touching of their skin leaves fire dancing between one another, "I want to face you, I like being here, with you- For you."

Mob confesses, "I don't hate your face that much... I like it, I guess. I'm the only one in the world who gets to see it now." He retracts his body to glance at Verity's face another time, wiping away the remaining, leftover water from his red eyelids.

"You don't have to do all of that-" Mob holds Verity's face, their foreheads touching, "Because I won't leave."

"Ever?"

"Never."

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

Mob's and Verity's hands find each other, and they meet at a clasp. Verity, through small hics and unfinished tears lets his smallest finger wrap around Mob's, whose warm hands allow him to feel real. Their thumbs press together once more, stamping, sealing their oath. A burn stung Mob's heart, and so did it scorch Verity's chest. But at least that pain would be alleviated, as Verity will never have to watch Mob leave him like his nightmares, and Mob won't reenact them ever.

Twixxel crashes into Mob's arms, squeezing him tight. He lets the vowels of his words stretch out longer than they should, "I missed you!"

Mob responds with a short, 'I missed you too', and Twixxel hands him a little box.

Still a struggling student in school, the boy had informed Verity that he’d be away from the lab due to finals and school, finding it was difficult to balance the two. Forgetting to tell everyone else about his indefinite hiatus, the day he told the blond, he expected Verity to be upset or what not at the idea that he'd disappear for so long. Though, to his surprise, he didn't react much. He gave an understanding talk about how 'he'd wait', and how 'Mob'll return when he wants to'.

Twixxel comments, "Verity hasn't come out of his room much since you left, we've been all so bored!"

Oh. Verity's moping. Mob didn’t quite understand how to deal with that information.

Twixxel leaves to go get some lunch, a 'quick bite', he said. Mob decides that while waiting for him, he'd go visit Verity.

Mob felt somewhat conflicted, his heart tense yet relaxed.

What was Mob's and Verity's relationship like? They weren't just friends, obviously. But the title of anything else seemed too far-fetched. They had only known one another for around half a year, yet they've spent more hours together than asleep. Mob was fine leaving their current relationship label as friends. He didn't need more than that, but friends didn’t do what they did. He began to comment; Friends don’t hold hands in secret like they do, nor do they silently pass the time by just staring into one another’s eyes, describing its shade. Mob knows friends don’t make promises that sound like a confession.
And he knew that Verity surely would eventually bring it up- Bring up the aching feeling he described that was apparently both in their bodies. Eventually. One day. Some day. Until Verity told him he wanted to, that he needed to, he would wait. Mob could be as patient as Verity needed him to be- To open up about his feelings, to open up about life. Verity could wait for Mob to come back, and he could wait. Or he couldn’t. He didn’t actually really know.

He undid the door himself, no need to knock or ask if Verity was alright with it. It swung open with a gentle push, followed by rustling from the bed, and there revealed Verity, hiding papers behind his back, scowling, no helmet on.

"Whispy-!" He exclaimed, shielding his face with his arms, "I told you to stop opening the door without knock-...ing." Verity turned to see Mob before the door, with his head tilted.

He got up from his bed, the papers scattering around to the floor as his feet thudded towards the black-haired, "...Mob-? Is that you?" His hands reach to grab him, but he retracts them, "You- You're back?"

 Verity exclaimed, "...You're- Real?"

"The real thing. Here. Alive, breathing."

Mob watched as his fingers curled into one another, but straightened, only to curl back into a fist. He seemed indecisive of his next move, not knowing what to do. After a couple seconds, Verity rushes towards Mob and crashes into a hug, pulling him close to him. Mob shuts the door behind him as the hug remains, tight, growing tighter with every second. It wasn't hard to breathe, nor was it uncomfortable. It was warm, like the fireplace cracking amidst the pouring rain, or a puppy when its owner comes back from a work trip. The two stand in silence as Mob wraps his arms around Verity too, the hands snaking around before gently resting. His eyes shut to hear nothing but beating hearts- Both at the same speed, the same sound. The noise bounced around the walls of their ribs, or rather echoing in their heads. Their eyes opened to see each other, sending jolts of electricity down to their nerves.

Eyes- Dark. Like a blackhole, devoid of light, swallowing everything that stands besides it. Or rather, swallowing all the oxygen in Mob’s lungs.

"Merry Christmas." Mob mutters, digging his face further into Verity's neck, who laughs in response. His hot breath heats up Mob's collarbones, even under his thick, gray sweater.

Did friends really do this?

Verity sits Mob down on his bed, at the very corner. He kneels down before him, handing him a pile of papers, neatly labeled with red, green, yellow, pink and blue sticky notes, with color-coded paperclips. The title of the first page read: "Halley's comet", in the cleanest cursive, written as if it was penned with a feather rather than a regular fountain pen, or probably one of those cheap ballpoint pens that Mob gave Verity.

"Merry Christmas, Mob." Verity begins to mutter, huffing. He struggles to get the words out of his throat, and his feet seem pale, slightly cold.

"On this fine day, I want to offer you the things that you hold closest to your heart.” He audibly gulps, “I'm not as good at words as you are, but I do know how to sit around and wait for you like a dog. I do know how to sit at my desk for hours, penning every paper perfectly for when you arrive back to me."
Verity slides a book over to Mob, the cover, made from leather, with a clasp on it. Engravings of the horoscopes and stars are imprinted on the cover, with each star practically hand-carved by Verity himself. As Mob picks up the book, the blond lays his head on Mob's lap, holding him by the waist, "I binded a book for you. It was hard, but I did it. I made it so it’d be filled with all of your favorite stars, space theories and most importantly, the ‘flying rock’ you and Twixxel talked about so much."

Friends definitely don’t do this.

"I-I... Verity, you really, shouldn't have done-"

Friends definitely wouldn’t say that.

"But I wanted to. And I did." Verity interrupts Mob's sentences. The boy cracked the gift open, watching each off-white and cream page fly in the air, carrying that soothing smell of cardboard and ink. And it was really true- The first page read about Polaris, the Northern star that shines above them, even though Verity was unable to see it glisten in the night through his own eyes, he still wrote about it like he knew every bit of its chemical composition. A small drawing of a bird was in the corner, with the heading: 'Indigo Bunting- The bird that tracks the Northern Star', dissected to the smallest details, from feathers to beak angle.

The bottom of the section read a letter, written in nothing but black ink, but carefully penned. Long, reaching at least a couple hundred words, but most importantly: Each stroke was written with a longing Mob couldn’t understand.

Mob and Verity were not friends. They were more than that- But were they lovers?

His eyes carefully scan through each word in the love letter, his fingers trace through the direction of the pen, as he feels his heart flutter through each second that was labeled by a word that sounded like ‘yearn’.

This is not what friends do. It’s really not. It’s quite the opposite- This feels like the heavy tenderness the lovers in movies carry. Like those scenes where the rain falls, as one runs from shelter to crash into the one standing in the downpour.

Mob feels a heat creep up to his face, water quickly accompanied by it in his eyes.

Rain.

Pouring too, just from his eyes.

The black-haired quickly wipes it away, before Verity could wipe it for him. The words he wants to say are lodged in his throat, swelling to a size he had never felt before. It was like his heart, heavy, pulsing in his throat as he tried to speak, and every quiver he attempted became a hiccup before forming into an ugly sob.

"Stupid..." He whispered, "So, so, so stupid."

The only words Mob could get out was that. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, what they meant- What the world was like through Verity’s lens. He didn’t even know that the world could be described so beautifully just through the perspective of one human when they bore this type of longing.

Verity chuckled, standing up and removing Mob’s heavy arms from his face and wiping it with a soft tissue, not wanting his face to grow red from the rubbing of the sweater, "Yes, I'm stupid."

"You're so fucking stupid-" he hics again, his throat bobbing, "...and corny."

"Yes, I'm corny."

"I hate you."

"Do you?"

He swallows, "...No. Not in the slightest."

Verity plants a soft kiss on Mob's forehead, and Mob snakes his arm around Verity's waist, pulling him in and keeping him caged in his arms. "You're such a lovesick fool. You're so... so- Freaking..." Mob sniffled, earning another kiss from Verity.

Only lovers do this. Only lovers could do something like this. They weren’t lovers though- And could they be? Could they? If they were- Would this be their lives until the moment the world ends?

"All the pages are like that."

Mob pries his face away, flipping to a different page of a book. The page that talks about Sirius is similar. A penned 'letter' at the end of the section, comparing Mob to it, calling him the brightest star that Verity has ever seen- The most breath-taking, comparable only to the most vibrant Aurora Borealis. The heaviness in his heart worsens, and the concept of breathing felt difficult. The next page, talking about the stars of Perseus and Andromeda, how their love story began, what the stars are like; most importantly: How Verity wished they could be engraved in the sky like that as well.

Engraved like what?

The boy wipes the new tears from his face, and Verity gets on his knees, wiping them for him.

"How much do you remember about Halley's Comet, Mob?"

Mob slaps Verity's hand away, however, with little strength, "If you put the corniest lines in there, I'll kill you." the black-haired declared, grabbing Verity's face in his wet hands.

A chuckle comes out of his mouth as he grabs Mob's hands, pressing them into his face, "I didn't."

"Good."

"I've memorized and rehearsed them instead." Verity announced. Mob felt his body freeze, his nerves betraying him.

Friends really don’t do this either. Because Mob knows that this was the equivalent to a wedding vow to his heart.

Verity laughed at the dumbfounded reaction and planted a soft kiss on Mob's palm. He props himself up on one knee, holding Mob's hand in his, as he begins to recite like a preacher at the pedestal, "Halley's comet is a comet that has existed, being recorded since 240 BC. In the 1700's, astrologist Edmond Halley realized that its sightings were from the one, same, comet. Over, and over again."

"Seen by the Vega program, it was recorded to be made of many volatile ices-" Verity briefly pauses, catching his breath between near tears, "And if you, my dear, made my volatile emotions stew into something so everlasting, so be it."

The blond boy lets out a cracked plea, the water entering his eyes, "I want to love you like Comet Halley. I want to come crawling back to you, every once in a while in my long, long, life." The two both sniffle, with Verity continuing his speech, "Am I allowed to live out my life like this-? That I can't help but orbit around you, over, and over-" his voice draws off, "...and over- and over, and over again?"

"Can I?" Verity barrages Mob's hand with kisses, planting them in every crevice and joint, holding him like he's porcelain about to break, "Can I choose to orbit you and the entirety of the planets that live around you?"

"...You may." Mob whispers, wiping away more tears, "You're allowed to. You may be the most fearful star in the Milky Way galaxy, as long as you're willing to crash into Earth's arms."

Verity smiles through all the tears in his face, crashing into Mob into the tightest, warmest embrace the two have ever shared.

"Merry Christmas, Verity." Mob whispers in his ear, and Verity responds with a muffled, yet affirmative pleased sound.

Throughout all the asterisms that exist in the universe, to the supernovas of broken stars and those red dwarfs to the dying white ones- Love could be a comet that comes back to every once in a while, never daring to hit Earth, but willing to meet it through passing. Verity never will strictly put a status on their relationship, nor will Mob. And that would be okay. Just the act of living didn’t require words- Or did the sequencing of death and everything between and before that.

No pouring of the stars, nor the remnants of leftover monsoons, the glimmering world exists as it bears witness.

"Do you have to be here everyday?" Verity sighs, seeing Mob early in the morning, lying on his bed, reading his Christmas gift he had given him.

Mob jokes, "Can I not?"

"...You can." Verity kneels down besides Mob, "You can be anywhere in my room whenever, wherever you want."

He sighs at the sight of Verity on his knees again, "Get off your knees, coward." Mob sits up and takes Verity's hands, who pulls him towards him. Verity laughs before crawling into the bed with him, laying on the soft, white, plush mattress. "You're such a loser."

"For you."

"Mhm. For me."

Is this what lovers did?

Verity giggles, tangling his feet with the dark hair's, who hissed, saying that his lover's toes were cold, to which he responds, saying Mob's fingers were cold as well. Reaching for the blanket, Mob drapes the cloth, high above their waists, and lies in the plush bed, with the lights hanging over their heads.

"You're almost taller than me now, Mob." Verity runs a hand through Mob's hair.

The other nods, touching the soft, yellow hair of his significant other.
Mob inches closer to Verity, and Verity squeezes in together in the single bed. His arms wrap around the blond, tight. Sharing hushed whispers and sweet talk, Mob asks about the educational sector. The other responds to his every question.

"What happens in the sector, nowadays?"

"Nothing much. It’s the usual. I sit, I study."

"Remember when we first met, and I asked you about it, and you refused to answer?" Verity wraps his arms well around Mob's neck, as he watches his mouth move.

"You called me a coward for it."

"You are a coward."

The blond chuckles lightly, "Stop throwing that word around so much." Mob plants a kiss on Verity's forehead, giggling out a refusal.

The taller one explains, "They used to stick needles in me all the time. But, since you came around... They've basically stopped." Verity lies on his back, staring at the empty ceiling. His chest moves slowly as he continues to speak, "Isn't it strange? How when you came into my life, it's been so different? Maybe that's what I was missing, you."

"Don't be silly."

“You’re always calling me stupid, corny, silly, or whatever… And you keep saying you hate me. It hurts my feelings.”

“No it doesn’t. You know I’m not being honest. You love it, because you end up hearing me admit that I don’t hate you- And that I could never hate you.”

The blond snickers, hugging Mob tight as their arms wrap around one another, before their fingers slot in between one another, “Yeah, you’re right. I do.”

“I never know how I feel around you.” Verity admits, “Isn’t it funny? In fairytales, love always began with a kiss from a prince to a princess. But we are neither prince nor princess.”

“You look like a prince. Your hair is like the silk they speak of.” Mob runs his idle hand’s fingers through Verity’s hair, combing through without struggle, “You’re… Pretty.” Mob touches Verity’s cheek, and it’s warm. The rosiness increases, as he notices the freckles on his skin.

Mob whispers, planting soft kisses on each dot, “Stars.”

“Stars?” A laugh comes from Verity, flustered. Mob notices the redness appearing on his ears.

“Yeah. Stars.”

“I didn’t know you were such a romanticist."

Verity watches Mob giggle, his hands caressing his cheek, "Hey, Mob?"

"Yeah?"

"They said they'd be sending all of the kids here to high school. A normal, public, high school. I think I’ll be going to the same one as yours."

Mob sits up, excited at the idea, "W-will you be living out of this place? Will you...?"

"’Will I ever get to live out a normal life'? Maybe. I'm not sure. I’ll still be here, in the lab though." Verity holds Mob's hand, "I don't really want nor need to be 'normal' when I have you."

The shorter flicks the pale-haired's forehead, he gives an unconvincing wince before Mob cups his face, "You’re serious, right? You’re not lying and leading me on, right?”

Verity nods, and Mob finds his hands to his lover’s, imagining scenarios together, “I want to talk to you on the way to school every morning. I want to walk down the halls of the place, holding books in my hands- Just… Just like the movies." He pauses, thinking about reality, "But, I know I can’t. Verity, I can't hold your hand when I... I can't tell people that I like you. Is that okay?"

Mob presses his forehead against Verity's, as he gives one hushed 'okay'.

"Do you know the story of Tanabata?" Mob asked, pressing a soft kiss on Verity's cheek.

"You mean... Qixi? Chinese Valentine's day?"

"I said Tanabata, not... Chinese Valentine's day." Mob flicked the blond's forehead, grumbling, "Tanabata's Japanese, dumbass."

Verity leans in to kiss the same fingers Mob had used to flick his forehead, "Originally, the tale's the Chinese version though." A bashful reaction comes from the boy, earning another flick from the dark-haired.

Taking in a long, exasperated sigh, the shorter began to tell, "There was a cowherd and a weaver, represented by the star Vega, and the lesser known, Altair. They lived across the river, the Milky Way from each other."

He slips under the covers slightly, and Verity matches his height, "The two fell in love together, but shortly afterwards, they forgot about their duties. The weaver didn't make clothes for the Heavens, and the cowherd didn't keep the cows in, letting them roam Heaven."

"Upset, the weaver's father tore them apart." Mob's hands squeezed Verity's tightly, "When he saw the weaver mourn the loss of their lover, he felt extremely ashamed. He promised that on a certain day, the weaver could meet the cowherd again, as long as their duties resumed."

The dark haired paused, licking his lips and swallowing the saliva in his throat, "But, the day came. And there was no bridge to cross and meet the cowherd. The weaver cried so hard that a bunch of magpies came, and acted as the bridge for them to meet on that one day." Mob glanced at Verity, and planted a kiss on his cheek, "They say that, if it rains on the day they are allowed to meet, the cowherd and the weaver must wait one more year."

Verity comments, "That's unfortunate."

"It is." Mob giggles from under the sheets, his hand snaking to find Verity's, "Yeah, it is. But we're not going to be like that."

Mob pulls the string on a cheap party cracker he found. Nothing pops out like it was advertised to, the string snapping off from the contraption, so he just punched a hole in it with his fingers and threw the confetti in the common room, where Verity sat in the corner, with a giant cloud was painted above their heads. Due to the lack of response, Mob frowned and punched the plastic helmet on Verity's head, causing a wince to come out of the blond.

"Are you dumb or just stupid?"

"Stop hitting the helmet, Mob... it's cheap." Mob can almost hear the frown coming under the helmet, "It won't last if you keep trying to break it."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"...The seventh of July?" Mob smashes his fists against the helmet, yearning an even louder yelp from Verity, talking about how he’s hitting the top of his head.

"You have one more chance. Get it right or I'm ripping this stupid thing off your head."

"Is it the day where..." He pauses, seeing the stern expression on Mob's face, "I-I'm afraid I'll get it wrong."

Mob pouts, his anger growing worse, "I swear, I'll take this helmet off and punch you."

"D-don't!" Verity backs up, but his back hits the corner, the blond fumbles with his words, "The day where we... first met?"

Mob gives a grin and sits down besides Verity, "Yup."

"Is something so insignificant like that, a specific date where me and you first met, so important to you?"

"It is. If it isn't, I'll kill myself and then you."

"...Wha-?"

"I said, I'll kill myself, and then you're next."

"But you'd be dead, how are you going to kill me? Shouldn't it be 'I'll kill you then myself'?"

"No." Mob shakes his head, "I'll kill you with grief."

"Maybe I will die like that then."

“You will. You have to. That’s not a maybe.”

Mob sits down besides Verity, his body plopping against the ground with a thud. He comments on Mob's height as the two grow more similar, with Verity, again being slightly taller. The shorter pouts, saying he'll definitely outgrow him in two years time. The other shrugs, pretending to doubt it.

"...Do you know the story of Tanabata?"

"The Japanese version of Qixi, which you got mad at me for pointing out? If so, of course I do."

"Mhm." Mob's head hits Verity's soft shoulders, "On the seventh day of the seventh month, the lovers, Vega and Altair are able to meet each other once more, when the magpies bridge them towards each other, across the river, the Milky Way galaxy."

Mob's fingers stretch out, aiming to grasp at the fake stars that still project onto the ceiling, his forehead pressing against Verity's body harder, "Is it raining tonight?"

"No. Clear skies, all day today."

"If we can, let's go see them together from now on, every year."

"Okay." Verity's fingers extend, "Promise?"

"Promise."

"You ignored me at school today, Mob." Verity audibly frowns from under his giant yellow helmet. Mob blinks, taking a sip out of the glass that Jamal gave him earlier.

"You..." The words draw off, "You talked to me at school? I didn't even know." The dark-haired takes an excruciatingly long sip from the glass.

The blond only gets more upset, "You're so popular, Mob."

He can't really understand what Verity means by that.
Alright, he did track and field, so he was away quite often and many of his teammates and seniors approached him, but he seriously wasn't that famous or anything. Mob kept to himself most of the time, he didn't really speak much nor make much sound, he kinda was just there. Verity, however, drew people in, but shoo'd them away with his demeanor. Mob assumed that the reason why people flocked to him was to ask about his lover, but he wasn't quite sure about that too much.

"I wouldn't really say that." He shrugs, admitting it.

"Not just at school, it feels like everybody loves you. I feel like..." He whispers, "I feel like I'm not the only one."

Verity adjusts his yellow helmet, his voice still low, still quiet, "I sometimes think... Do I really deserve this? Do I deserve, well- Being able to..."

Mob interrupts him, "Who gets to decide that but me?" The dark-haired reaches out to adjust Verity's hair that sticks out of his helmet, "Only I get to choose if you do. And I say you are, so you are."

He knocks Verity's helmet one last time, earning another wince from him, "...Okay?" he demands a response, "You hear me, Verity?"

"Okay. I hear you, loud and clear."

A brush of the knee underneath the table at the library. The two exchange glances- One, half dazed by the work before him, the other, only wanting a response. The silence hums between the two, with nothing but whispering of the assistants, the beeping of checked-in, checked-out books, or perhaps the sound of paper fluttering through the air like a butterfly in full metamorphosis.

The keyboard of a laptop clicks, and follows the sound of a mouse. The mechanical rapid typing, whirring machinery and long, arduous sips of coffee is all that one can hear. The blond watches as the other etches on a sheet of paper, continuing with his desired plan. But he occasionally exchanges small glances as his head hangs down low. The eyes never move, like the Sphinx before the pyramid of Giza, or perhaps the freedom that Lady Liberty carries along- Even the unwillingness of the storm upon extraterrestrial planets seem to finish quicker.

Fingers snake under the table, and one lands atop another.

Mob gulps, his throat bobbing when he feels the heat on his cold legs, Verity allows his limbs to tangle him in wires just to feel skin. They see each other's chest heave, oxygen moving in and out like a rocking seesaw. Cheeks flash a small flush, some shade of a light red, a warm pink. The emerald glow breaks the darkness, and before their lips could part to even mutter, or huff out an exhale- The fingers retract, back onto the table, back to their sides.

They settle for tangled feet under the table, between the red wiring for the extension cord, between the white cables for monitors and the projector. Only between the two of them, will the secret be taken to the grave.

"Coward." The dark hair whispered, not directed at anyone.

Cups squints hard at Mob, like he's trying to dissect what's happening in his brain through pure visual anatomical means. Mob lets him, chewing through a stale glazed donut that he reheated in the microwave for thirty seconds before being impatient, taking it out with thirteen seconds remaining. It tasted like shit, definitely too old and not best for consumption, but he couldn't bother to find or eat anything else.

As he finishes up the pastry, Mob takes the book Verity made for him on Christmas and places it on his lap, with Twixxel's newly made notes atop it. He skims through the little footnotes and doodles of stars and whatever Twixxel felt like drawing, whether that be cats, dogs, or for some odd reason, a bunch of daily, inanimate objects. Mob tries not to focus on the still staring Cups, way too close for comfort.

"Do you like Twixxel?" Cups asked, "Like, do you like all of us? Jamal, Whispy, and Fils?"

Mob nods, "Yeah, I do. I like all of you guys."

After knowing everyone around the lab for a while, he had gotten used to them. Of course, there were a couple of kids that he knew and saw around, but they never really bothered talking to him either, so he didn’t want to pry.

"Do you like Verity?" Cups asked, lying besides Mob, kicking his feet in the air as he tried to pry the artificial grass out of the ground.

"I do."

"Between me and Twixxel, who would you save if we were burning in a house?"

"I'll save you both if I can."

"Between Twixxel and Verity, who would you save from drowning?"

"Probably Verity. I think Twixxel knows how to swim pretty well. Not sure about Verity."

"Between Jamal and Twixxel, who would you kill if you had to?"

"No one, preferably."

"Okay. If Jamal and Whispy were fighting a civil war, and you had to choose only one to side with, who would you choose?"

"The neutral faction."

"Okay... If Verity was fighting in this war, let's say, against... Fils, who is much richer and is going to win, would you side with Fils or Verity?"

"Verity. Maybe I can turn the tides and make it neutral."

Cups squints one more time before making a bold declaration, "When I get the Holy Grail, I'm gonna make you like us all equally. You're so biased."

"I do though? I like everyone equally."

“Do you now?”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

Jamal comes up from behind Cups, confused at the current conversation, cutitng in before Mob was able to respond, "The Holy Grail isn't real, Cups."

"It is! Then why were so many people trying to find it, if it doesn't exist?" Whispy rolls his eyes hearing the boy’s response, shoving Cups into the grass with a force Mob didn't know he was capable of.

"Dumbass." The ginger murmured.

Cups kicked Whispy back, "Shut up, fatass!"

Mob watched the two roll around, wrestling and calling each other nicknames before Twixxel came over, a glass of water in hand, "It does exist though? Isn't that the thing blind people use?"

"That's braile, Twixxel." Jamal sighed, "Not grail."

“Oh… My bad, I only heard the ‘ail’ part of the conversation.”

Mob noticed Verity watching the group from afar, standing in front of the East wing. He notices the group of kids, all tangled up together and messing around, and decides to ditch them to spend time with the blond in the helmet.

Verity does nothing but watch Mob do his homework that he missed out on due to his schedule.

After going into high school, the dark-haired decided to take his studies more seriously, but dabbled in all sorts of sports. He tried everything- Cricket, baseball, softball, tennis, basketball... Hell, even both of the footballs, or also called 'soccer'... or 'rugby', which Verity annoyed him about. He eventually settled on track and field, not a bad option- If Mob excluded the fact that he missed out last period over hundreds of times due to his practices or matches.

He scratched his head, exasperated, trying to draw the parabola correctly without it looking 'too sharp', or 'too round'. He gave up after the supposed symmetry went flying out the window with his pencil.

Mob turns his head to see Verity, lying on his side on the ground, while Mob was kicking his feet in the air, in Verity's own bed.

Before he could get up and say a word, Verity broke the nothingness between them, "Sometimes, I wish you weren't like this."

"...Sorry? Like what?"

"...Closeted."

Mob didn't respond.

"Sometimes I wish that you were open, or should I say... the world was open. To us." He corrects himself, not wanting to offend the other. He props himself up, sitting cross-legged on the ground, "I want to kiss you goodbye before you leave for another four hours that feel like a hundred years."

"I want to hold your hand in the hallways like the lovers do. I dream of getting to hug you, shower you with all the love that I've built up in me in the dimly-lit street like the romantic stories that I get told." Verity's hands find Mob's, "Sometimes I really do wish that we weren't trapped in this forever loop of hiding, putting it behind the label of favoritism."

Oh.

So that’s why Cups said what he did. He thinks Mob is playing favorites. But is he playing favorites? Is he not allowed to love Verity more than anyone else?

Mob sits up, inching closer to Verity, his heart feels heavy with ache, or with sympathy, wanting to do the same. His words don't leave the tip of his tongue, and they stay there. Verity notices the look that Mob wears, beginning to change the topic.

"But, because of that- We get to do things like this." He stands up, falling onto the bed together with him and embraces him, "I get to do things like this with you- And only you. I get to keep it all to myself. I'm greedy, I know. But, this greed is keeping me satisfied."

The words still stuck, he barely managed to utter a sentence, "How satisfied are you?"

"Enough to make me feel full."

"Okay. Got it."

"I kinda want to grow old and get married. With you." Mob lies on the fake grass outside, yanking it out and dropping it all over Verity's face, who is lying beside him, helmet discarded, rolled down around somewhere.

The two don't respond nor talk to one another, letting the idea sink in. The smaller really doesn't think too much about it. Rather, he only likes the idea of getting married. Like a couple, getting married happily ever after, exactly like the fairytales and movies. Isn't that a non-selfish, desirable fate for him to have? Verity looks at him with hurt in his heart. He looks dejected, like a big dog with its tail and head down low.

"Mob- You know..."

"I know." He exhales, his chest that was so high dropped down, "I know. We haven't told anyone yet. I... I know that- I know... I know we haven't told the others. When I read books, or watch some movie where... the couple that is told- I mean, the... The two lovers- The two men, who aren't allowed, or, well, aren't supposed to be with each other, end up happily living together afterwards... It makes me envious, you know?"

"Can't I feel envy?" He whispers, his heart also hurting.

Mob thinks about those movies that he watched from some vintage film collection. Something about finding love in the smallest of things. ‘Love is like a wave that rushes into them’, or something like that. ‘The universe has never been so gorgeous’, or ‘I see you in everything I do’... Mob wanted to have a love like that- Where in the end, he stands at the altar and gets to plant one singular kiss that shows the world how much he cares.

Verity sits up quickly, the grass on his face falling off as he stares back, wide eyed, "No- No... That's not what I-!" Mob sees how the blond's fingers squeeze, like it's supposed to be his heart, "That's not what I meant. I meant... I don't think I'll live until then. Until we can get married."

"Are you dying in a year or something?" He says, trying to play it cool, to play it off, to not admit the hurt that's still settling in the back of his throat and in the pit of his stomach, "Some 'perfect human being', they said."

"No." He shakes his head, laughing, "I didn't think I'd make it this far. Artificial child and all, you know?" the taller falls right besides Mob, somewhat relieved. His lips part for a moment, but he puts them back together. He hesitantly admits, staring at the astral beings all over the walls, "Before you came into my life, I thought I wouldn't make it anywhere. But, where I am now, here I am, right beside you; Loving you."

"You're corny." Mob sighs, hand clasped over his significant other, as he changes the topic, not wanting to get solemn so late into the night, "What do you want to do for university? ...Or college, or whatever- What do you want to do after high school?"

"What am I allowed to say?" he giggles, pretending not to know.

Mob instructs, "Nothing about leaving me behind."

"Hm... I guess engineering? Computer science?" Verity begins to blabber about a couple of ideas in mind, all computing or too complex for Mob to care about.

The dark-haired thinks, humming a soft noise, "I think I want to do anything space related... Astrology, you know? But, that won't make any money... So I guess Bioengineering works. I heard it pays well these days."

"You mean the flooding discussion? It's possible. You're good at science, strangely."

Mob sighs, thinking about all the flooding issues as of late, with the city’s drainage system getting worse over the years, "I hate it though."

"You said you hated me as well, so do you really?"

"I hate you."

"Do you though?"

"I will if you do keep dragging this on... But I don't think I will. I can't ever find myself to hate you." he admits begrudgingly.

Mob gathers the courage to speak, barely audible behind his embarrassment, "I think I want to live with you in the future."

A pleased look appears on Verity's face, and Mob giggles, seeing his excitement, "We don't have to get married. We can just live together. That's all I need- That's all I want."

Yeah. That'll be okay. They'll just pretend like always, behind those closed doors. They'll always be more than just friends, they'll probably be lovers. And that simple, complex label would be alright. Sometimes lovers, sometimes best friends, or often times, just childhood buddies. 

"Let's do that. I’m okay with settling for that."

The two pretended there were the sounds of buzzing cicadas, fluttering fireflies scattered in the skies when the projector bugged for a second. Their fingers only tightened, and their bodies only moved in closer. Mob could feel the warmth left behind in the grass where he had laid and Verity cared nothing more but the heat moving into his skin, or the heat that creeped up behind his lover's ears. The two share what they imagined a kiss would be like, soft lips pressing on each other's skin, and nothing more.

Verity smiles like an idiot, his fingers squeezing tightly against Mob's, "How do you think the world was created? 'God created the Heavens and the Earth'? Or what?"

A cute chuckle comes out of Mob's mouth, finding the estranged Verity randomly bringing up religion out of all things, "Of course not, no..."

"I think I know how the world was created."

"Tell me."

"Do you know the Big Bang theory?"

"Of course, who doesn't? That's the one I logically believe in."

He smiles, "When helium and hydrogen particles collided.. it created the 'Big Bang'," Verity continued, their other hands met, the two rolled up between each other, tangling legs, before their fingertips met gently, "When your fingers graced mine, my world was created. My Earth."

The blond declares, whispering it softly into Mob's ear, "You are as important to me as Earth is to us humans." The taller plants a soft kiss on Mob's forehead.

"You're silly." The boy sighs, his fingers quenched, trying not to flick the blond on his forehead.

The dark-haired boy settles for sitting up, his lips also meeting Verity's forehead, "Crawl back to me like Halley's comet. Orbit back to me."

"Like the dog I am."

Mob sat hunched over his plastic seat, chewing slowly through reheated mashed potatoes, with mystery meat and gravy as he watched everyone play and mess around in the cafeteria. He finally understood why Verity and Twixxel were hesitant to take him into the room for ages when he first met them- Because almost everyone had no table manners.

Jamal, as the oldest, was taught very carefully and favored by the staff, teaching him not to eat with his elbows on the table, chew with his mouth closed, and not to eat while talking. Verity ate very little oftentimes, claiming he wasn't hungry, but when he was, Mob watched him eat more than enough food to feed an olympic medalist. Twixxel ate whatever and whenever, usually just finger foods or a small bowl of soup.
Whispy, Cups and Fils however were the epitome of mess. Whispy actually had basic manners of not putting his elbows on the table, but could not keep his mouth shut while chewing for the death of him. Fils liked flinging food around onto Cups' face to piss him off, and Cups, who hounded as much food in his mouth every moment he got, would cause a mini-riot. And of course, the mischievous Whispy would rile the two up more.

Mob's eyes watched a bread roll be thrown across the cafeteria five times in a span of half a minute.

Used to it, Twixxel and Verity would escape to the corner after they finished their meal, finishing up whatever work they had left given to them by the researchers. Jamal would constantly try to break the fight, but only further gets caught in the mixed up wires scattered around his feet.

Verity glances over at Mob, quietly staring at the way his mouth macerates his food finely, gulping when his throat muscles bobbed as he swallowed the meal. It doesn't slip by him, as the dark-haired feels the gaze. The soft clicking of the tupperware lid goes on top of the glass box, and Mob leaves his empty container in the room before exiting. The blond quickly follows behind.

"Is that amount of food seriously enough for you? Half a bowl of pasta?"

"I think it's a pretty good amount. I don't want to be too full."

"You're still hungry?"

"It's enough to make me feel full." Verity commented, his hands behind his back, "Plus, I can't eat properly in this helmet. It's okay though, I have the sandwich you made for me this morning."

Mob's hands find Verity's fingers, before he settles on holding onto his arms, locking it tightly, "You shouldn't have kept it. It has mayo and cheese in it." The black-haired tugs at the hem of Verity's shirt, causing a pleased humming to come out under the helmet, "I don't want to give my lover a stomachache."

"...Say it again." He wants to whisper the word ‘lover’.

"Maybe you do deserve a stomachache."

Verity lets out a long whine, before the blond attempts to rebut, a loud yelp comes from the dining room. They exchange a round of silence, and another scream escapes the hallway. The two decide to delay their conversation for now.

Verity slides Mob a couple sheets of paper as the school bells rang. Mob takes them, thanking him for the detailed notes. The blond shrugs it off, telling him it was nothing. Mob waves him goodbye as they part ways in the hall, heading towards the field to warm-up for track. After leaving track practice, he attempts to make his way towards his lover, but a handful of girls approach him, asking about what Verity looks like under his mask, since he wears it all the time.

To compensate for the helmet situation the two had on their hands, Verity told Mob that he was content pretending to be a 'constantly ill child' who must wear his blue, surgical, totally-not-bought-from-the-supermarket-on-a-deal mask at all times. He doesn't eat in front of other people, often disappearing to who knows where during lunch, which was strange because it was mandatory to eat in the school's cafeteria- But Mob ignored that. The blond wears it even in P.E, which Mob calls him a madman for- And he definitely never does anything after school except wait for Mob, or walk home with Mob.

"Verity?" He anxiously searched for a response, as he was barraged with questions "I guess he's whatever under the mask."

"Oh, come on. You guys walk home together almost all the time. You gotta give us more details."

Where would Mob begin if he did? How his rosy cheeks flushed when Mob complimented him, or how his lashes flutter over those faint freckled-spotted imperfections on his skin? Maybe his soft lips that pressed against his almost every night, day and noon, or the eyes that only shone when Mob leaned in for intimacy?
No, no, no... A hundred-percent not. Those details were his to keep, forever.

He pulls an excuse out of his ass, "Verity's got a… a partner- A girlfriend, man." he makes an obviously loud exhale, "Girls like you could never compare to his... girlfriend, or how he talks about- her, like she's... everything."
The dark-haired athlete gulped as he watched their dejected faces walk away, and a giggling Verity standing a couple meters across from Mob himself.

When they walked home later that afternoon, with the dimly-lit street lights illuminating their way on the pavement, Mob asked, "How many people do you think died from that conversation back at the field?"

"The one with my supposed 'girlfriend'? I guess sixteen. Including me."

"Add me to the list." Mob instructed, "We are never mentioning that topic ever again."

"Whatever you say." Verity giggles aloud, taking quick glances to see Mob's red ears. He chuckles a bit more as he touches them with his cold fingers, which causes a reaction out of the other.

"Gosh, I can't believe I got myself a girlfriend. I guess I gotta leave to go see her now."

"I'm gonna kill you." Mob hisses, "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"...No. No, I don't. I won’t ever hate you."

Christmas day- ‘The jolliest day of the year’, according to Twixxel.

Everyone began handing out gifts to one another. Jamal gave the younger kids mittens, while the older ones got scarves. Twixxel was extremely happy, replacing the one he had been wearing for the 'past few years'. Whispy didn't have much, handing one another cupcakes that Cups advised Mob not to eat, with Fils gagging as his tongue licked the frosting. Twixxel handed out little boxes filled with trinkets, except for Mob as he gave him his stack of notes, pretending as if he didn't run out of cash to buy him a gift. If the dark-haired boy looked over, he'd probably see a pair of fists from a certain blond lover who was trying his best not to punch an individual across the face. Fils and Cups chipped together money and got the entire group of kids a projector for them to watch videos on, but with no laptop to connect it to, it left everyone dejected.

Verity left the common room, turning back to his own abode, and everyone watched him leave.

"Does he not give you guys gifts?"

"Mmm... No, not really. He's not a gift-giver nor a receiver." Jamal points out to the yellow thread in Verity's shirt, "You know how there's a little design in his shirt? I embroidered it for him two years ago, and he removed most of them. There's a couple shirts he missed or was too lazy to remove, so that's why you still see them hanging around."

Whispy nodded in agreement, "He also throws out most gifts, saying he doesn't need it. Well- By 'throw out', I mean reject it and leave it outside our doors." He thuds onto the ground as he opens Twixxel's box of stuff, wrapping Jamal's pink scarf that he knitted for him around his neck. Mob takes note that all the pumpkin on his shirt is probably also the work of Jamal.

"He gives us stuff when we ask though." Cups sniffs at Whispy's cupcake, he gags and hands it to Twixxel, who surprisingly also rejects the food.

Mob drops off his gifts to everyone before he leaves to give Verity his.

He barges in, the doors to Verity's room swinging open, who he catches organizing the books on his shelf. Mob closes the door behind him, dropping the gifts he received onto the ground.

Before the two could exchange words, Mob tore the yellow plastic helmet off of Verity's head, planting a kiss on his cheek. He smiled, picked up his stuff and began reaching for the handle, preparing to leave after just a peck, before the short-circuited Verity returned back to reality and pulled him into another kiss.

Mob giggled through each second of affection, the warmth on his face lingering. Mob expected life to be like the movies: Wild, skipping class, causing fistfights in the hallways and even breaking laws; He never thought about tangled legs in bed, doing nothing but holding each other- Or even being pressed up against the door, cornered, doing nothing but exchanging light kisses across one another's face.

"Happy one year anniversary- and Merry Christmas, I guess..." The words escaping from his short breaths, laughter evident.

"I thought our one year anniversary was on the seventh of July?"

"That's our first meeting anniversary. It's different."

"Okay."

Mob pauses, ready to take his gift for his beloved out from a brown paper bag, before Verity gets down on one knee, panic visible on Mob's face as the blond begins to recite a speech once more.

"Halley's comet is a comet that has existed, being recorded since 240 BC."

Verity smiles through the words, his heart seeming to melt into his own flesh in mere seconds, “In the 1700's, astrologist Edmond Halley realized that its sightings were from the one, same, comet. Over, and over again.”

“Seen by the Vega program, it was recorded to be made of many volatile ices- And if you, my dear, made my volatile emotions stew into something so everlasting," The taller continues, his tone as tender as the day he first uttered the sentences aloud, as lovely as a preacher's hymn, "so be it."

"I want to love you like Comet Halley." He declares once more, "I want to come crawling back to you, every once in a while in my long, long, life. Am I allowed to live out my life like this? That I can't help but orbit around you, over, and over, and over- and over, and over again?"

"Can I? Can I choose to orbit you and the entirety of the planets that live around you?" Verity's lips press against Mob's hands again, just like a year ago, his words come out as hushes as his lips do nothing but love every inch of Mob's skin.

Lacking the tears like before, lacking the heavy tension of a confession, but retaining the love- Mob falls to his own knees, his joints bucking as he smothers Verity's face in more, reciprocated love, "You may. Orbit me- Love me. Crawl back. Any time you want. Be it seventy or eighty years." He whispers, "Just come back."

The two crash into a tighter embrace, arms snaking across one another's back, feeling the bones that hide beneath flesh under fabric. Mob absorbs every detail about Verity- His cheekbones, the paleness of his skin but the rosiness of the setting sun. His heart, beating aggressively like the echoes that reverberate like a choir in a church- Or the way his cold fingers balance the heat on Mob's face.

Verity returns the grace, drinking up every bit of Mob he could- His soft hair, like silk passing through. The way his eyes curve into a crescent shape, accompanied with the verdant hue, like a peridot in someone's eyes. The soft huffs and long inhales, the heaving chest and clenched fingers... Or even the fire that lingers into frost when skin caresses skin.
"Merry Christmas, Verity." Mob breaks a long silence that hangs between them, his eyes looking at only his lover.

Another gentle kiss lands on Mob's body, "Merry Christmas, Mob."

The shorter pulls out his gift, he places it directly into Verity's two hands. He mouths a 'for you', as Mob wants to watch every reaction. His fingers slowly crack through the paper bag, afraid to break something, as if Chinese porcelain awaits him. A soft, plush box with four wooden legs, with a crank, painted gold. The size of his hands. The blond's fingers crack it open, revealing a night sky and a bird.

Mob's fingers reach for the crank, before it turns around.

Chirping comes out, rhythmic, balanced. Two birds are singing to each other, the octaves obviously differ. The dark-haired begins to explain, "Indigo Bunting's song; If you couldn't tell."

"I-... I could. I... I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not reacting much. I'm just so... shocked."

"This is taken during their migratory season." Mob hummed, "I think my lover said something about how he's like this bird. How he learned that... instead of Polaris-"

"I learnt you." Verity repeats, cutting Mob off, earning a laugh from him. He scratches the back of his neck, flustered, his face red, "I didn't do much for you this year. I feel... embarrassed about it."

"What is it?"

'I... Binded another book for you. New and improved- New lines, same content."

"No... No you didn't."

"Yes I did." He chuckles, handing what he was hiding behind his shelf. Mob received the book from the blond, it sitting in his hands.

"I did, just for you. It's always just for you. You're my only exception to life." Verity presses against his face once more, kissing again.

"Merry Christmas, Mob. Happy one year anniversary."

"Happy New Years," Mob plants a kiss on Verity's forehead as they sit together in the common room, under the poorly-drawn-on pillar with paint that's slowly chipping and peeling away, revealing the white plaster and dark gray cement underneath, "Any resolutions this year?"

"...To feel a little fuller." The blond lover responds with hesitance, "And, to feel... A little more... less- You know?" his voice draws off, not fully pronunciating his words.

The astral projections still whirr around them, the wind bustling, Mob attempts to inquire more about what he meant, but Verity brushes off the queries, "Do you remember the story of Tanabata?"

"Don't steal my own pick-up lines on me."

A chuckle comes out of his mouth, he laughs dryly, before resting his head on the dark-haired's warm neck, "I love you." he declares, the words turning into a whisper, "I really, really, really do. So much that sometimes it hurts me,”

"And this ache makes me feel like I must inflict it onto others just for you to see how much it truly shakes me." The kid admits, staring off into the distance of the world.

"It's okay. It'll be okay to hurt... me, if you want. If that- Fulfills… your desire."

"No. Not you." His expression twists into a pained grimace, "Everyone other than you.”

“I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be feeling like this- I know I can’t be having these thoughts, you know? …I wanted to rip those notes Twixxel gave you away- I wanted to... destroy the things the others gave you. Those hand-knitted items that Jamal gifted you still sit in the corner of my closet. I wanted to throw it out- But I didn’t. I don't know why.”

Verity laughs, trying to change the topic of his feelings, “We have only so much time in the world together- By so much, I mean only a couple years. That's how much time we have left… So much, which is actually so little."

"We have until we die."

The child was acting like he’d die tomorrow. And that scared Mob. That made him fear in his heart that something was going to happen to either of them the minute the dawn broke.

"...We do, and I'm afraid that's enough time for me." he gives a dry laugh, "Do you know what they say about 'young, youthful love'?” Verity likes his lips, “They say you meet early, because we won't- …We won't live 'til we're old together. We won’t be able to die together. That's why we've met so young. That's why we won't be able to love past our twenties."

"Then let's prove them wrong... Do not let the magpies dictate whether we can meet. Let's trudge over the river's water together, even if it hurts to do so."

He smiles, his face still painted with a hurt expression ever so slightly, "When Lyra, Vega's constellation, and Aquila, Altair's constellation is connected with another star in Cygnus, called Deneb- We call that formation the 'Summer's Triangle'." Verity's fingers press over Mob's beating heart, the sound faint, but rapidly hits with every inch that the blond stands closer, "Let you be the weaver, child of the heavens, the loveliest of all, Vega- And let me be Altair, the mortal son who must do the dirty work of herding cows; The world that surrounds us can be Deneb, watching us connect annually... Or at least, attempt to, once the rain that comes clears up. Is that okay? Can we settle for that?"

"Rain or not- I want to see your face, hear your shouting from across the river. I won't settle for anything other than you." Mob's hand grasps Verity's, with each chest movement, he feels a pounding hit his ribcage to the point it hurts. The dark hair's lips meet the joints on his lover's hand, feeling the soft, supple skin, leaving behind wetness of the mouth. He plants another kiss on the cheek.

"Even if I'm riddled with all this dirt? Even if the cows kick the mud onto me, would you still wait for me beside the river, hollering out for me when it pours- When it's humid, or when the skies are clear?"

"Everyday, all day, all night." He giggles, "I want the dirt- Because that dirt is a part of you now. I don't want it any other way. I want it your way. I want you in its entirety, not a made-up version to fulfill me." Mob brushes his hair behind his ears, "On this new year, I want to spend as much time as I can with you. And I will find a way for us to have the fairytale-like happy ending we both want."

"Don't be so... Childish. We can't-"

"Coward."

"I am a coward."

"It's okay. I like it like that."

A couple days prior, Mob decided to plan a beach trip with Verity, heading out to the seaside together to stargaze in all its beauty. Hearing about this, Twixxel suggested he give them a couple of items for said trip.

Mob entered Twixxel's room to find the basket he had apparently prepared. The boy had prepared for the couple sunscreen, beach towels and whatnot. When the door slowly opened, he expected the basket atop a desk neatly, or perhaps on his bed. Not another boy in Twixxel's room, who he was scolding at. Twixxel's face went pale, seeing Mob in front of the door, mouth slightly agape, as Twixxel's fists seemed bunched up, grabbing this person's collar.

Now, Mob had never seen Twixxel mad, or upset for that matter. He had always assumed he was quite a cheery person, hell- He even thought he was incapable of any expression other than his stupid smile on his face; So seeing his face grimaced, red, and his body assuming a rather violent stance made Mob stagger.

"Mob, it's not what it looks like- I-" Twixxel's voice stuttered, trying to play off the idea, "This is... Uh-"

"Ungrateful." The mysterious boy muttered, strangely soft-spoken. Twixxel whipped his head back, about to raise his voice, but remembered of Mob's presence.

The boy had dark, red long hair. He was probably the same age as Jamal, possibly older. He was quite tall as well. His expression was blocked by the messy, red locs, but Mob could tell there was somewhat a scowl there.

A sigh comes out of Twixxel's mouth, dragging Mob inside and shutting the door behind him. Looking carefully at the room, he had never noticed there were two twin beds, one on each side. No wonder his room was at the end of the hall- It was made for two, not one. The boy spoke, shoving the red-haired onto the bed opposite to his.

"Where do I even begin explaining... Okay, Mob... This is Creator. He's my... Roommate- Let's just say." Twixxel heads towards his closet, digging through clothes and pulling out the promised basket he had prepared. He handed Mob the basket gently, the twine sitting comfortably in Mob's hands. "Let's forget about Creator, okay-? Let's go outside!"

The one who went by 'Creator' hissed, "Twixxel, you-"

"Creator!" He shouted, causing Mob to flinch at the sheer noise. The red-haired also seemed to scowl at the yell, "I- Just... leave me alone! I'll talk to you when I get back." Twixxel's hands sit on Mob's back, effectively shoving him out of the room and quickly shutting the door before a response could come out of his roommate's mouth.

Twixxel smiles "Let's not talk about this, okay?" Attempting to get Mob to ignore and forget about the existence of a whole human being living together with him, Mob only quietly nods as a response. "For your beach... trip- With Verity, I packed all the essentials for you. Don't forget not to get sunburnt, okay? Especially Verity."

A nervous laugh comes out of his mouth, "...Oh, uh- Okay. Will do." Mob digs through the twine, seeing even a bit of cash at the bottom, which he returns to Twixxel, saying he doesn't need it, but appreciates the thought. Mob had enough cash to spend through anyways, and Verity could just rely on him to pay.

Mob heads down the hall, where the door clicks open to hear another round of shouting and arguing from behind Twixxel's door, or it was the yelps of Whispy and Fils, who were forced by Cups to watch a horror film in Jamal's room, who was also trying to sleep at the same time. He ignores it all, making his way towards the lonesome door with his lover's name engraved in it.

Without a knock, the door opens, as if Verity could tell Mob's exact location at all times. He smiles seeing Mob, and yanks him inside, just to pummel him with lots of kisses.

"Why the rush?" He says, as his face is being pressed against with lips, He returns a few of them, and they giggle.

The two boys have their fingertips meet, their hands clasping into one another, "I'm getting my fill of you before I can't." Verity admits, planting one last kiss before picking up a backpack from his bed.

"You'll have plenty of me," Mob cups Verity's face, feeling the soft skin in his hands, "you've got your entire life to prepare you to be sick of me."

"Me? Sick of you?" He replies, offended, "I could never."

"If you are in the future, I'll make you eat your words: I swear."

"Swear on whatever you want- I won't. I promise."

The two take a bus to the beach. The old engine gurgles as black, puffy smoke explodes out of a nozzle. The seats weren't clean, nor were they dirty. Trash left behind, wrappers of candy and bread in the seats besides them, or even empty soda bottles. Verity's head rested against the window, the vibration jittering slightly. Mob watched how his eyes shut behind fake glasses, comforted by this shake. Their fingers don't meet, afraid of piercing eyes. But the heat that they left behind was enough for them. After lots of taxi calling, getting lost due to Mob's bad sense of direction, and many minutes trying to pinch on pennies- Their bare feet touch the hot, beige sand after many hours.

Mob inhales, a familiar salty scent hits his skin, and his hair flows, pushed by the breeze. Verity giggles, and Mob throws a bit of the gravel into his shirt, which falls off of his body instantly.

The two lay Twixxel's gifted beach towel beside the water, but near the roadside. In an attempt to hide from the blistering heat, they set their stuff suspiciously near a nearby restaurant, trying to get as much as the shade and artificial winds.

A beach ball, water soaker, and a small toy shovel sits nestled in a red, plastic bucket. Mob filled it up with water and sprayed the blond, who was applying sunscreen to his skin, earning a gentle scowl.

"Do you not have a swimsuit?" Mob's head tilts, sitting down besides Verity, who's applying a thick layer of sunscreen on his face. Even after insisting that Mob doesn't need sunscreen, Verity forced him anyway, "There's no point to the beach if you're not going into the water."

The boy shook his head, taking Mob's arms and rubbing it with the white lotion as he began to lecture him, "You applied so little sun lotion. Do you think UV damage is fun? You'll get a bad burn later if you're not careful. It'll hurt a lot."

"But, you'll deal with my whining if it hurts, right?"

Verity nods.

Mob giggles, "Then that's okay."

Verity sighs with a bit of amusement in his voice, taking out spare change of clothes in bags from his backpack, "We can always rinse the sea water out of these, right?"

The dark-haired smiles, standing up before yanking Verity towards the tides with him. The clear water was muddled with a golden hue, painted by the burning star. Glimmering white sea foam gathered at their legs. Mob couldn't tell if the sun's glare was blinding him, or the glittering that reflected in the waves. Either way, he pulled Verity towards the shallow sands, for then to dance in.

Birds cawed overhead, the salty taste lingered on Mob's tongue as water dripped from his hair to his lips, Verity caught a couple small crabs that were amongst the shoreline, and clipped its claws on Mob's tracksuit that soaked his body wet. He returns the favor, chucking a glob of hard, wet sand onto Verity's pristine, white t-shirt, and the mud-like ball drips into his jean's pockets.

It was like a scene straight from a vintage camera- or like a VHS tape that the movies would slot into, playing out a scene with a click. The water seemed to swallow everything- Careless and ruthless, it ate anything that stood its way. Not because of hatred, or because it could- It was because it couldn’t.

Like the tale of the sun loving the moon so much, that if the lonesome rock had accepted the sun’s proposal, it would die, exploding from happiness- Like Sirius, angry without his lover, burning brightly so that even dogs grew tired of him, the salty tides don’t eat because it wants to, but because it wants to.

Wet sand that flows with the water will seep between the cracks of their toes, and the glimmering of the world will overtake them. To the water, that bears not only just life, but also death, rebirth, and everything in between.

As their bodies dragged deeper towards the end, towards the buoys and the fishing ships, Verity holds Mob's hands underwater, hiding it from any watchful eyes, as their locked fingers are shielded by the ocean's foam.

"Are you hungry?" Mob asks, scrunching his wet face, unbothered to move the hair that blocks his eyes.

Verity nods, but plants a gentle kiss on his lover's lips. He stares into the emerald eyes for a little too long, "Salty." He comments, before claiming he wasn't hungry anymore. He giggles when he sees a visible blush, not from the pink skies.

From the asterisms of the world, ranging from the seasons of the freezing winters, the blooming spring and the humid summer, maybe they could bear the secret of the two young boys forever.

"It's quarter past two now, I think." Mob clears his throat, "Let's go eat."

"Okay."

The two rinse the salt off of their bodies, squeezing their clothes dry, but still ended up deciding to wear it, with Mob, saying he was raring for another go in the sea. At their beach towel, Mob unwraps a sandwich and hands it to Verity. The blond's mouth opens to bite into bread, egg, cheese and his teeth sink into meat and vegetables. Mob watches him, wiping off any crumbs off of the side of his mouth, earning a flustered look on Verity's face.

Tearing off half of the portion, he feeds Mob, who happily takes the offering. Through slow chews, the dark haired inquired, "Is it good?"

"About the trip, the view, or the food? Because I like it all." Verity's hands brushes against Mob's slightly, "Especially this one."

"You're silly, and corny.” He sternly reminds him, “Very, very corny."

"Maybe I am."

The two finish the sandwich, their backs hit the warm sand, staring at the still bright sky. Mob tries to catch his breath between waking up early and the many activities, while Verity seems completely unfazed, content with anything if his lover's presence is there. They don't exchange words, only hearing the murmurs of passersby, chirping animals and the gentle, swishing waves- The tides moving in, drowning out the revving car engines, but not the chiming of a bicycle, where the elderly sell ice cream to the children with their families.
Mob whispers to Verity, "Are you tired?" Seeing his head shake, he sits up, dragging him to play a bit of beach volleyball with him.

"With two people?" Verity tilts his head, seeing Mob ready to set the ball.

"I mean," he giggles, "it works, doesn't it?" He throws the inflated plastic up high, before hitting it towards the other in a smooth motion.

Returning the ball with a set, Verity hollers, a distance away, "I guess."

Being passed around for a while, the ball flies high in the air, landing between the two. Mob attempts to spike it down, but Verity's more nimble than he expected, being able to pass it back without much struggle.

"Do you still wanna stay until night?" Verity inquires, "What about curfew?"

"Fuck the curfew- Fuck the rules." Mob passes the ball back, but it quickly comes back to him, "It's just a one time thing, right? So it'll be okay."

The two both chuckle, "What if your father gets mad at me?"

Mob's hands point high up to the sun, and his hand slams down on the beach ball, effectively smashing down against the sand, creating a dust cloud in return, "Impossible- We'll just sneak back in. No arguing, no punishment. Well, maybe the punishment is a dent in our wallets, but that's not the point."

Verity picks up the ball and giggles. He grins as he begins opening the plastic nozzle, blowing in more air to puff it up. Mob licks his lips, chapped from the dryness- Swallowing the slight salt that still remains.

The inflated ball is passed back, and Mob sets it once more, before the wind blows it far towards the shimmering water, calling to them, like a siren’s song- As if that was where they belonged. The two share a glance, and head towards the sea, Mob chasing after the ball before it flies away, Verity lagging behind him.

When night begins to fall by the seaside, the entire world is painted like a true movie. Warm hues: Wine reds, soft peachy oranges, a blazing sienna-pink and that hint of purple that soon eats up the sky, just like the same waters that eats up his body as he trudges down. Verity's gaze visibly softens as he watches Mob's smile under the moving sun. He tells him how his hair, flowing back, like ribbons embraced by the skies- Or his emerald eyes are colored so gorgeously that his heart completely shatters from the sheer tenderness his heart turns into, or how his skin glows like a painter's avant-garde.

"Loving you aches my heart. It hurts, really, really bad. Just seeing how you are." Verity begins to blabber, his eyes curving into a crescent-moon shape, "Fuck... The way you are makes me... It makes me want to love you so deeply, I must die. Memorizing each and every one of your face's curvature, every blink of your eyes, each ragged breath taken in, a single hitch coming from your lungs, and the octave of how your voice crescendos into joy... It makes me want to go to war for you."

Mob's voice softens, a giggling whisper, "You're such a hopeless romantic."

"I am." His fingers, hidden by the sea foam, stained by the sun's running glow, with it soon to be the light that reflects from the moon, snakes to entangle itself with Mob again, like it must be there, "That's the Summer's Triangle. It glows quite bright, even in the Spring, don't you think?"

Deneb; Vega; Altair.

Cygnus; Lyra; Aquila.

They stand out more than anything to Mob- Maybe due to a hint of bias. The violet overtook the sky- Just like how it does every night. Like the imitation of space in their mortal world, Mob reached out to grab a celestial body. His hands felt close to it, but once again, he’d miss. The star he’d often chase, the sprinting sun, had never felt so far.

"Mhm. It does."

"Mob, let's be like the stories of the mortal blood loving the divine child.” Verity beckons, his heart filled with seawater, "Please. Let me, the dirtiest of them all, the tainted human who loves such a beautiful, burning star like you."

"Divine or not, I'll let you love me anyways. Whether I want it or not- I think you'll still chase after me, but you'll just wait; You'll just pretend you don't love me."

"Like how Artemis' lover, Orion, chased after the noble Merope, I'll wag my tail, waiting for your reciprocation."

"You're so dumb. You don't need a tail for my attention. You've got it all now."

Mob squints, watching how Creator is hiding behind the door as Twixxel takes back the basket of goodies he gave the two for their beach trip. The towel, thoroughly washed, the water soaker emptied of the salty liquid, along with all the other items clean. Mob had bought a couple souvenirs for the guy, those giant conches that apparently made the sound of waves and sea shells.

"Ignore Creator," Twixxel comments, sighing as the red-haired boy murmurs behind him. Mob quietly nods, "he's just... a little sensitive today!” He pretends to laugh over his roommate’s words, “Don't think too much about it. The researchers just took him out and he came back all angsty." Twixxel's words were harsh, emphasizing on every negative word, earning more chattering from Creator, which only ticked him off even more.

"Uh, okay." Mob peaks inside slightly, but Creator is nowhere to be seen. "I should mention that... the last day of school- The closing ceremony? I'm leaving right after, so don't pull me into any group photos please..." Mob comments about their assembly in a couple days, not wanting to appear in any photos of Twixxel's extremely large friend group. He's talked to Twixxel's friend, Idaios, a couple times, but he'd rather not. Preferring to scurry home to do absolutely nothing.

A giggle comes out of Twixxel’s mouth but shortly after, he kicks someone, an audible yelp coming from his mouth, followed by a thud. Mob swallows, the words lingering in his mouth, but a sound resembling the words 'ungrateful' comes from behind the door. Causing Twixxel to slam it shut, yell for a solid five minutes and open the door back up, "Sorry, there's an issue on my hands right now- But noted! I'm sure you want to..." he lowers his voice into a whisper, "go on a... hangout- With Verity, right? It's okay, I'll tell everyone that you guys had to go home early."

Mob knows that Twixxel is trying to hint at his relationship with Verity, but he doesn't say much. He whispers back, "If you're trying to imply my relationship with Verity, I'd appreciate it if you don't tell anyone."

A smile comes back out, and he gives Mob a stupid grin with a thumbs up, "Okay! Got it!" He giggles before shutting the door gently, and the screaming match between he and Creator resumes.

Mob heads towards Verity's room, where he exits at the exact same moment Mob is a couple steps away from the door. His helmet, shielding his face, is as stupid as ever. Mob flicks at it, expecting the paint to wear off someday, but it never seems to do so.

"Verity," Mob's voice, soft, "lets go somewhere together." He whispers into his ear, "A date."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere." Mob’s heart screams: ‘I just want to be with you in this very moment and instance.’

"...Okay- Why not here? Is there something wrong with being here?"

They exchange glances, Mob's green eyes blink rapidly, he looks around, before they lock onto Verity's deep, black ones. They are unyielding- They stay. Not moving in the slightest. Glued onto him. Waiting, and patient. Mob's lips part, he mouths the words 'I want you all to myself'.

Verity laughs, whispering back, "You have all of me, ready, at your disposal."

Mob hushes back, "It's not enough." he blushes slightly, trying to hide his face with his hands, "I want more. I need more. I don't want to muffle our giggles behind the door to your room- Hide it from everyone who might be listening in. Let's go outside- Where if we hold hands, people will stare at us- But only once. They'll see us once; then we'll be gone like the wind."

"Can we?" He asks, slowly approaching closer, their hands only brush against each other, knuckle to knuckle, joint to joint, but their twiddling fingers settle on the seams of each other's shirt hem.

"Whatever you wish for, Mob."

The two sneak outside the Sector: Stellar grounds. Well, Verity did. Mob left the place, dragging his blond companion in a cheap convenience store mask and glasses frames on and got him out into the world. Immediately after stepping in the sun and seeing the clouds, Mob began fixing up Verity's clothes, adjusting the collar.
Verity had been wearing a white t-shirt, a blue jacket and baggy, gray sweatpants dug out from the corner of Mob's closet. The outfit, thrown together in a hurry, was going right in all the wrong ways. First, the t-shirt was backwards, and the pants were pulled up too high on Verity's waist. Not to mention the jacket was half-worn, half flying around because Mob was pushing him out before they were caught.

A small laugh came out of the boy's mouth as he watched Mob police him, fixing every bit of his outfit. To making him tuck it into his pants, or lowering the waistband a little, Verity smiled as he tucked Mob's hair behind his ear, commenting about how he looked good wearing a jersey. To which, he blushed.

"Your waist is so small." Mob commented, his hands landing on Verity's ribs before making its way down to his sides slowly, trying to forget the earlier compliment. He clears his throat, "Uh, not in the- Not in any weird way... Just a passing thought-!"

"You're-"

"I said: It's just a passing thought!"

"You sure?"

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I..." His words draw off, Mob licks his lower lip before pressing it with his upper- Going silent.

His companion giggles, changing the topic of the conversation, "You're getting as tall as I am. You're probably a couple inches short."

Verity's fingers fall onto the sewing lines of Mob's jersey, tracing the ones near his shoulders up and down, earning a hitch of the breath from Mob, "People are beginning to come over, I think... Let's go somewhere-!" Mob snatches Verity's hand as he drags him away towards the city, and the other lets him.

Through the paved stone, through the mossy trees, the sunlight barely breaks through each cluster of olive-green leaves. Their skin, painted in light hues of oranges and yellows, and their fingers, intertwined, hidden in this color. Each step causes the leaves to move, crunching or parting from one another with a long stride. Some cicadas chirp on the trees, their wings vibrating at high speeds; Ladybugs make their way up and down the dewdropped heart-shaped leaves, wrestling with aphids.

Along the trackpath, Mob pauses, glancing towards a pigeon fluttering their large wings. Verity points out the dove behind it, flapping away at the sound of humans.

"Do you think those birds are lovers?" Mob jokes, seeing the two land back next to one another on a power line, their beaks entering the bundle of feathers on one another's bodies, "I've always thought doves stuck with other doves, and pigeons well, breed with other pigeons."

"They can crossbreed."

"Really?"

"Yes; Though their children come out... Well-"

"No need- I understood the memo."

The two watched the birds chirp, their long tails occasionally bumping against one another. Gray feathers mixed in with white ones, and a couple loose ones fell from bundles of sticks and twigs. The couple watched the avian couple nestle together; Mob's shoes touches the fallen piece of a bird's wing.

"Should we take one home? I take white, you take gray?" Mob giggles, bending down, about to touch it, before Verity pulls his hand back, telling him about potential bird diseases. He shuts him up with a kiss on the nose.

The blond eventually crouches down besides Mob, hovering over the feathers on the ground. A gray, black streaky-patterned one and a pristine white feather. Mob feels a couple glancing looks from Verity, but brushes it off.

"I don't know if I feel like a bird or want to become a bird." Verity confesses, pressing his forehead against Mob's shoulder blade. The dark-haired could feel the fake glasses slip off slightly. Mob's hands find Verity's head, taking long, combing strokes through his golden locs, "Mob, do you think... we're like those birds up there?"

There was probably a reason why the two birds were so far away from the main city, or not in a pack. There were probably many reasons why these feathered friends found their way to one another, and chose them. The two boys wondered if there were eggs in those baskets. Verity's expression was heavy, with something lingering in the back of his head. Mob noted of it, asking himself whether those birds were happy or not.

"I dunno." Mob admits, "What about you? What do you think?"

"I think... In a way. Probably. Somewhere in our relationship, we could be like them."

"How so? Are we too misfits; or is it because we must lie to ourselves as well?"

"...I guess." He admits to the question, his blond hair falling over his eyes, "Probably because... Nah. Nevermind... I don't want to think too much about it." Mob watched as Verity's index finger drew in the dirt-sand mixture below their feet. Mob is etched as a circle and lines for hair, Verity makes himself just a ball, which earns a laugh from his partner.

"What's that?"

"Me."

"Why am I that, and you're... this-?"

"Portraits in the ground aren't my strong suit..."

"It looks like shit- Who'd even have their 'strong suit' in... this?"

Mob draws a smiley face on the ball, adding the addition of a couple hair strands. Bursting into laughter at the absurdity of the situation- The two kick a pile of leaves over the temporary engraving, hiding it from the world. Verity watches Mob get back up first, brushing the sediment on his dirty finger off with his pants. Verity cleans his with a tissue, before handing a wet wipe over to Mob.

The dark haired boy gave his lover a smile, his words coming out slowly, "I think we're lost, by the way."

"I could tell."

"You do the navigation from now on."

A giggle comes out, "Alright."

Verity takes Mob's hand and retraces their steps, and this time, they actually make it to their desired location: the city. The bustling noise, heels clacking against pavement and engines zooming down the asphalt streets. Verity looks up to the blinking lights, and bright LEDs that still persist despite it being early day. Mob tugs at his companion's sleeve, trying to get him to snap out of the daze.

"Do you remember what I said about the Indigo Buntings?" Verity whispers, his face turned to Mob.

"Do you think... I'm still in captivity, in that planetarium, having never escaped from the ones who kept me- Or am I free, wings spread out? Is this just a facade for me to forget about the needles and the life I've lived before you?” The blond questions, he feels his breath growing short as his lungs collapse, “Am I still dreaming? Have I finally soared the skies, or am I in a long, long dream of happiness?"

"...Mob," his voice softens, it sounds like a heart shattering, "do you think I'm still... trapped-?"

"I don't know."

"...Okay. That's okay."

"Is it, though?"

"...I think." He pauses, collecting his thoughts, silently admitting his emotions through the long stretch. "Mob, I feel like... I'm a dirty pigeon. I'm not as beautiful or as complex as something like an Indigo Bunting. I'm disgusting." His voice shatters, like glass after a flick, "I live off of crumbs on the street- And... I dare take your white feathers, your- ...purity. I dare mix your divine blood with the filthy one I carry."

The silence goes heavy. Or rather the pause between them grows more tense, like the weight of the skies upon Atlas' shoulders coming before them. Mob notices pressed lips, scrunched eyebrows, a light grimace. Like an attempt not to let the water get to him. Mob just watches, waiting for an answer- Waiting for him to continue. A sharp inhale enters the blond's mouth, and a gruff exhale quickly follows behind.

"I'm the mortal who stains your blood of the heavens." He blurts out, "We're... Fucking-" a breathy clearing of the head, "Nevermind."

His face turns away, or rather, he begins turning away from Mob. A bad attempt to hide from the truth, the world, or whatever they have.

"What are you talking about-? Verity, you... You can't just-" Mob breaks into a forced laugh, he whispers back, "Do you really think of us like that? Like... we're-"

Mob stops himself. He goes quiet, waiting for a word to come out of Verity's mouth. Nothing comes out. Just buzzing bees and the electricity glitching in and out of an advertising board. The dark-haired scoffs, his hand running through his hair, chuckling like a deranged man; as if he found out something that proved him right all along.

He's scared.

Of something. Someone. And Mob could never help him feel better. No matter how hard he tried, there would be that constant buzzing paranoia eating at him.

Verity snaps out of it, whatever scenario playing in his head stopping, like a TV set on pause. His usual, constantly smiling face was stoic, the look fluttering by for just a second. Verity turns to Mob, who was waiting for his lover’s eyes to meet his again, with a pair of black eyes that seemed to burn through the walls of the universe. Mob’s fingers trace over the blond's joints, slow, gentle strokes from knuckle to knuckle, "You don't have to worry about a life like that. We're not like that."

"...Then what are we like?"

"I don't know. Young, blissfully ignorant, and stupid?" He tries to play off the situation, trying to ease that heavy look on his lover's face. Mob gently tugs him away from the world, away from the sun that looks down on them, "What's so dirty about you and what makes me much cleaner? I don't mind getting myself mixed with mud and dirt, as long as we're doing it together."

He drags Verity along into the dark alley, riddled with trash littered on the ground, spilling out of black bags, and stray cats chasing mice. A drip from the gutters of a house and the water flowing down the brick walls are their only words, as Mob touches Verity's facial muscles.

"I'll stay." Mob leaves a peck on his left cheek, rubbing his eyebags.

He plants another one on the right this time, Mob whispers through the kiss, "I won't leave." His hands make their way to Verity's soft hair, letting his digits entangle within.

"We'll see the stars together." He leaves a kiss on his lips, his head tilting sideways to feel every inch of love.

Verity returns the kiss, his hands scrambling for more love, the softness of flesh pressed together.

Heat. Just heat.

Sometimes the heat is all that you need. From the fire that crackles in the brick fireplace amidst the stormy nights, to the texture of hot sand sinking into his skin as Mob runs across the shoreline- That was what he needed, or he wanted.

From the cold digits to the sweaty palms, or from the humid sun's breeze- That's all they could feel. That temperature spike from lungs attempting to catch a breath, that gentle heaving on their faces, to the kiss-drunk, empty stare. The sweat beads dripping down from temple to chin, wiped away by one another's sleeves, or that sensation when eyes closed was like bliss. From the fluttering finger tangling love, to the flashes of intimacy and tenderness from the world.

Two boys. Nothing more, nothing less. They were just two children with the world ahead of them to love one another in.

"I love you." Mob whispers through the kiss, the small gap where their lips part.

Verity shuts him up, trying to get more of him, trying to get more love. Mob gives him the intimacy he desires, the tenderness he needs. If he craves for the affection to be embedded in his soul deeper, Mob would do that for him.

A breathy murmur comes from Verity's mouth, his words breaking as his eyes try not to water, "I... I-I love you." He whispers into Mob's ears, soft, loving, and through heavy heaves, "I love you so, so, so much. I fucking... Hurt, loving you."

The blond takes his lover's fingers, taking his hand and pressing it against his heart, "Can you hear it?" Verity hics, "The sound of my heart crushing, it breaking, for loving you every second?"

Mob gazes back, feeling the thumping heart. It beats like a man about to lose it all. It beats like the reverberations in a valley, with a man screaming out his name amidst it all. He replies with a kiss, another, deeper love. He brings Verity's hand to his lips, stamping down his possession.

"I hear it." He declares, "Loud and clear."

The dark haired beloved brings the kissed-stamped hand onto his chest, the aching also there, also hitting against ribs and meaty flesh. He feels Verity's cold fingers atop the fabric of his heart, and that icy feeling pierces into his skin- But he accepts it, because that's the frost that must come with love.

They don't speak. They let the sound of one another's hearts speak as their words. Mob's vibrant verdant eyes pierces into Verity's pitch-black ones, and their sweaty foreheads press against one another. The noise is like music- Like a siren's song luring in sailors. It's like the radio for broken-hearted fools, it's their equivalent to the sound of church bells toiling in the back.

'Mine too.'

'It's also like that.'

The boy wraps his fingers around Verity's left ring finger, his nails tracing around the base of it, where it connects to his palm. The blond lover's face digs into Mob's neck, his nose brushing against the dark hair and the heat between his ears. They let the silence speak more, only whirring air conditioners and dogs barking.

A trashcan falls down in the corner, and a stray, black cat runs out following the sound. They both jolt, breaking their grips apart. With the breaking sun still out, only having risen further up. The two share a quick glance before heading out of the alley.

"Maybe later." Mob feels his face flush. Verity only nods.

He walks away, trying to remove the embarrassment off of his face, inhaling and exhaling to calm his own heart. Mob grips at it, feeling the thumping still stronger than ever. Verity's fingers slip between Mob's fingers, tugging him back slightly. He turns around to see the blonde hair flutter in the air, his eyes the most heart-melting he had ever seen. The sound of his heart only grows louder. He whips his head around, and begins marching.

"Mob, that's the wrong direction."

"O-oh... Yeah, I knew that." Mob notices that he's standing further in the alley, which leads to a dead end- Which he knows about.

"...Let's just go home for now." Verity's fingers clasp tighter, his arms snaking behind Mob and wrapping around his waist.

"...Okay."

Mob pressed his forehead against the helmeted Verity's back, who was currently tinkering with something. He tells Mob to kill time by talking, or even reading his English assignment, or of course, the binded Christmas gifts Verity made for his lover.

"I start crying when I read it, so I don't wanna." Mob admits, his face pressing harder against the back.

He could smell the faint floral soap that Verity had on. The familiar scent of dandelions that was oddly comforting to him. His arms wrap around Verity, he feels his broader shoulders, and they seem bigger than he remembered, despite it being exactly the same as always. Verity laughed, saying maybe it was because Mob never hugged him much anymore, to which he responded with a tighter embrace.

"You're a corny man."

"I know, you always say I am."

"You're also a coward."

"Yes, I am."

"And I hate you a lot."

"You don't though."

"You're right, I don't- And I hate how you always point it out."

"Because I love you; I don't want you begin lying to yourself, it's not healthy"

"I love you too."

"I love you lots."

"Me too."

Mob feels the vibrating giggle come from Verity, and he smiles, knowing that he loves him to death as well. He draws constellations from memory on his lover's back, his fingernails digging against the fabric, as they begin guessing which ones Mob'd draw.

"Is that Ursa Major?"

"Mhm."

"Do you remember the shape of Ursa Minor?"

"Nope. Not at all. Guess this one."

"Andromeda."

"Mhm."

"And that one's Perseus."

Verity hummed, "Do you know the story of Perseus and Andromeda?"

"Tell me." Mob mumbles, despite knowing the tale.

"Andromeda's mother once declared that she was much more beautiful than any goddess, or sea nymph. So in a fit of rage- Poseidon, sent a sea monster to her kingdom, demanding her beloved daughter, Andromeda, as a sacrifice. Perseus, the great hero, saves her, and the two get married soon after. Afterwards, the two, princess and hero, would become stars, in the world forever." He pauses, his body seems to freeze in an instant, "Isn't that lovely?"

"Mhm. Shame we'd never be like that."

"Why?” Verity coos, “I think you're plenty beautiful, Mob. You rival the stars themselves."

"No. Because we'll never be able to get married."

The two sit in silence, as Mob continues to draw the constellations, and Verity continues to tinker, letting the truthful reality seep in between them. The two accepted the fact that they wouldn't be anything more than just lovers- It hurt like hell, knowing that the world rejected their ability to marry; Yet sometimes that brought a somewhat bittersweet taste to their mouths.

Marriage was a topic they consistently brought up, despite being so young. The odds they’d remain childhood sweethearts were low- but to imagine marriage even felt steep; But it also felt oddly realistic. Yet the song of silence rang between them as they always remind one another that what they desire is not yet legal.

"What are you drawing Mob?"

"Coma Berenices... You wrote it in the book you made for me- Like Perseus and Andromeda."

"I did." Verity chuckles, "The Goddess Aphrodite has an oath sworn to her, that if Queen Berenice's husband came back from war, unscathed, she'd offer her long, beautiful hair."

He recalls the contents in the book, giggling softly, "You said you'd be like her, you'd 'offer anything to keep me safe', you said. Arms, legs and even head, you said." Mob plants a soft kiss on his back, where he draws one last star, "But if you had no head, no body, no arms nor legs, who'd hold me?"

"I'll hold you in spirit..." He sarcastically remarks, causing Mob to burst out into laughter.

"Corny."

"Yes, yes I am corny."

Verity stops all movement, letting Mob draw to his heart's content on his back. Mob kisses the back of Verity's neck, causing the blond to be tempted to turn around and kiss his lover silly, but is forbidden to by Mob.

Verity feels the familiar pattern, "Is that Orion you're drawing?"

"Mhm." Mob nods, planting another kiss on his back, "Orion is such a wonderful constellation... So many stories to tell. The fool who chases after a love who won't be returned to him, to the arrogant huntsman who is shot down by his own lover, Artemis."

The boy couldn’t begin to list out the history of Orion. From his belt that contains the brightest nebulae to the brightest star to the naked eye, it was a star that seemed to be in the center of the universe despite being cast aside so often.

Verity giggles, "Didn't you learn that from the book I made for you?"

"I did." He nods, pressing his forehead against Verity's back as he begins reciting from memory, "'Even after his death, becoming a star, Orion continued to chase Merope in the night sky; But she'd be forever out of his grasp- Unattainable, no matter what'." The boy licks his lips, giggling as he continues Verity's heartfelt love letters, "'Mob- Even if you hate me- If you don't want me. I'll follow behind you. I'll do whatever you want- Whatever you please. But I'll just lag behind you like a lost dog. Until the day you reciprocate this feeling, I'll wait. Like Orion, forever chasing Merope. No matter how long it takes- Be it days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia'..."

He laughs, "I'm surprised you remembered so much of it..." Verity's hands try to find Mob's, and their fingertips grace one another, "But you're forgetting another part: 'Until you want to lay in a flower bed with me, until we dance between dandelions and poppies- I can wait. So please- You don't have to worry. Because I'll do whatever, and I'll sit around forever, just for you'..."

"Do you seriously remember everything you wrote for me? That's at least a couple thousand words in that book..."

"Because it's for you, I remembered it."

Mob pauses, as they continue talking about more useless stars, fun facts and myths.

"Do you think we'll ever fall out of love?" Mob mutters, not really thinking but rather just spewing words out.

"From Vega to Altair- From the outer rings of the solar system, like Halley's comet: I'll crawl back to you, like the dog I am." Verity declares, "So, my answer is: No. I don't think I'll ever stop loving you."

"You're so corny. It makes me want to hurl."

Verity laughs, before Mob spins him around, revealing the wires and circuits he had connected to a couple batteries and such. The dark-haired took Verity's hands, tracing his palm and the natural lines on his fingers. The blond attempts to open his mouth and inquire, but he is shut up by his lover, who gives him a soul crushing gaze.

"Do you know the story of Tanabata?"

"I'd be a fool to forget." He whispers a hush, "Tell me. Tell me so I'll be able to recite it even moments before I die."

Mob giggles slightly, before he continues speaking, "Vega, the child of the heavens, a weaver of clothes, married the cowherd Altair." He kisses Verity's hands, his cold fingers on his warm lips. He smiles through the tenderness, "Their love, so strong, made it the sole reason why they were torn apart."

"Forever to live near each other," The two entangle their fingers, Verity listening to every word that escapes Mob's mouth, seeing the way his muscles twitched with every syllable coming out of his mouth, "but just an arm's reach, as they lay on opposite sides of the Milky Way- The weaver wept. The weaver's father, seeing his child weeping at the loss of their lover, permitted the two to see each other on just one day of the year: The seventh day of the seventh month."

Kissing his lover's hands one more time before he speaks once more, he plants as many as he can as he continues, "When the day came, there was no bridge to cross. It was said that the magpies noticed the weaver crying, and allowed themselves to be the bridge- Letting the two galactic lovers reunite; but on the days that it pours, the magpies cannot come and let them see each other, and they must wait another year."

"Has the clock hit twelve yet?"

"Yes." Mob smiles, seeing Verity lean in, "Happy Anniversary." He slips a plastic flower into Verity's hands, it was one that caught his eye when he was out for school supplies. Yellow: Like Verity's stupid helmet. Yet he plucked it from the shelf, buying a red flower that came along with it as well. He wraps the artificial green stem around Verity's ring finger- Vena Amoris. The finger that was said to have veins, connected to the heart.

Mob takes the helmet off, revealing a teary grin from his lover. Verity leans in for a hug, a kiss, any sense of Mob he could get. The dark-haired gives him what he wants- A hundred pecks to the face, the tightest embrace ever.

"A dandelion and a poppy..." Verity stares at the red flower on his finger, fully expecting the yellow one instead. He presses a kiss on his forehead, pushing back the hair that covered it, "Do you know the meaning behind this garnet plant you've gifted me?"

Mob whispers into his ears, "Tell me."

"It is said to be a weed- Like the dandelion. From being used for opioids, to flowers to honor those who have passed; The poppies are said to be medicine- Bringing back Ancient Egyptians from the dead." Verity wraps the yellow flower around Mob's ring finger as well, "Mob, you are the drug to my soul. You drive me back from the dead, healing me of all mortal pains. I love you to death- And I hope that this love that I bear for you will be reciprocated so that you'll love me beyond death, and heal me once more."

"What about this one?" Mob brings the yellow flower to Verity's lips, smiling at the sheer glint in Verity's eyes. Mob laughs, seeing how the flower grazes his cupid's bow, "Tell me about this flower. Let me hear your voice for longer."

"Hope." The blond holds Mob's hand, uttering the words as his lover wishes, "Transforming- Magic-granting." Verity removes the flower away from his lips. He begins drawing soft strokes along his lover's hands, "It's a dandelion, said to be able to grant wishes. When growing, its white petals are fragile- Blown by the wind. But when given enough time, enough growth, it becomes this budding yellow on your fingers."

"I thought I was nothing before I met you." Mob confesses, hearing the explanation of the flower from his lover, "When I lived in the lab, devoid of everything... I thought I was gonna live alone and die alone. But you gave me something, like this flower: Hope. You made me want to think there was a tomorrow to go to."

Verity laughs, planting kisses on Mob's forehead, "No- You… I should be saying that to you. You made me think- No... No, not think- Hope. Hope that there was someone to return to me." He digs his face into Mob's neck, "A face where I could... Hah- A person, something... To call my home."

Verity begins to cry, or something like that. He’s really trying to hold back his tears, but the little glint of water appears in the crack of his tear ducts.

The dark-haired lover slides his dear something mechanical. A dark, blocky machine. A flip phone. Mob opens the screen, showing the numberpad and the dark-green screen, illuminating in the dark. There was only one number saved in his contacts: Mob's.

"Remember what you said to me? How you want to shower me with all the love you can before I leave for what feels like centuries?" Mob awkwardly laughs, "Well, I can't kiss you in front of everyone- Nor can I let you kiss me like that. But I want to hear your voice as much as I can. I don't want to keep whispering with you across the loud, bustling halls." He smiles, placing the phone into Verity's hands, "This is how I'll compromise with you: For hiding our love. Is this okay?"

"I'll send you hundreds of voicemails until you're sick of hearing me-" Mob scratches the back of his head, trying to hide his face in embarrassment as he continues to speak, "I don't care what you do: You have to return these voice notes, no matter how long, how far you are from me."

"No matter what I do: I'll reply to them. I swear. On my life."

"If you don't: I'll kill myself, and then you."

Verity laughs at the absurdity, "You're gonna kill me how?"

"Like I said- With grief."

The two sit in silence and share tight embraces, rebutting kisses with more love. The artificial grass that they sat on had never felt so forgettable- With Mob only being reminded of the grass after minutes of tussling in it.

Mob wiped the sweat from his face, the water droplets on his chin slightly salty. The setting sun had painted the entire track field flowery pinks and oranges, before it would be fully enveloped in the darkness of a purple. His bottle lid twists open, his lips cover the mouthpiece as cold water enters his system.
His hands reach for his phone, where a missed call from Verity comes. Following a couple text messages.

Texting became a common occurrence, to somewhat fill that void of silence between the days they couldn't meet. Mob dialed the number that belonged to Verity's, despite him knowing that he had switched off the cheap flip phone, he let the line dial, letting out a long beep before the automated message came through.

‘The number you dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again. Or: Leave a voice note after the beep.'

There was a silence before the familiar, high-pitched, sound came from the phone, and Mob opened his mouth to speak, as if Verity was there on the phone with him as well, "Hey, Verity. I know you said you were switching off your phone, but I still tried to call you anyways."

"I don't know why." Mob licked his lower lips, chapped from the billowing winds. The dryness disappearing with a slight bit of saliva, the boy continued to speak, "I just did. It's stupid, isn't it? Anyways, knowing you, you're probably getting me my favorite right now, aren't you? Large soda, large fries, and the double-patty burger, extra cheese, extra lettuce, no pickles... you get the idea."

He hums, hearing the silence from the other end, "Do you think I sound like a madman talking to myself right now?" Mob watches as the sun dips further, the water bottle in one hand, his phone in the other.

"...Who cares, really?"

The mouthpiece of Mob's water bottle hovered over his mouth, resting on his lips as he figured out his next words, "Let's do something stupid today- Something dumb. Like run down the streets, almost get hit by cars, feed the park geese, even if you're not supposed to-" Mob giggles to his own ideas, "Let's do things that remind us that we're just kids in high school."

"We should get shitty, cheap ice cream together-" He thinks about getting clearance ice cream that definitely tastes like cheese, or some abomination of flavors that do not fit, "We should do something insanely dumb, like play in playgrounds not made for us."

"Isn't that a fun idea? Just a..." Mob stops the words on the tip of his tongue- The words not meant for an outsider's ear, not meant for the world. He chuckles dryly, "Yeah, you get the point. I'll meet you later tonight."

Mob stood in a small silence, the wind playing a violin's song directly to him, his hair swayed by it; He watched his teammates lie on the grass, arms all slick with dirt and the pricy mineral water that they washed themselves off with and laughed to themselves about their personal records. The dark-haired boy tried to find the words to say, before he ended his voice message with a hushed question, "Do you know the story of Tanabata?" The athlete laughed to himself, like he made an awkward, bad joke, "Nah, nevermind... See you at five-thirty."

His voice goes into a whisper, Mob's mouth directly at the phone's speaker, "I miss you." before his thumb presses on the red button.

"Mob! Come here!" A voice called out, his coach, waving him to a spot under a lamppost with all his teammates, "Briefing! Move it!" The boy quietly jogged over, as he waited for the clock to hit. Twenty-five more minutes.

That's all he had to wait- Twenty-five. And he was already getting impatient.

Mob began counting down from the very first second. He took a sharp inhale, the wind cold in his nose and cutting at his skin, the world barely illuminated by sparkling light pollution. Fifteen more minutes until he could see Verity. One lap around the field turned the two-digit numbers to just eight more minutes. A water break until the countdown ended- And when the clock hit exactly thirty, Verity stood at the bleachers, watching from afar.

The athlete jogged over to his lover, who handed him a plastic bag. Mob pries it open, seeing a large orange-flavored soda, large fries, and a burger. Verity chuckles, handing him a towel to wipe away his sweat, "Double patty. Extra cheese, extra lettuce, no pickles."

Verity connected wired earbuds into the tiny cylindrical socket on his flip phone. He brings one side to Mob's ear, and the other side to his. The dark-haired takes the left side, slotting it in his ears.

'Let's do something stupid today- Something dumb. Like run down the streets, almost get hit by cars, feed the park geese, even if you're not supposed to-'

He yanks out the earbud, flushing at the sound of his voice. Mob stammers, the word caught on the tip of his tongue, earning a chuckle from Verity, who turns off his phone and slips it in his pocket.

"Wha- I thought!"

The blond chuckles, "You thought wrong." He grabs Mob's wrists, originally aiming for his hands, but opting for the next best option, "Let's go home."

"Ve-! ...Nevermind."

Mob unboxes his burger, extracting it from the packaging and taking a bite out of it. He chews through the burger, occasionally reaching for the fries. Verity slips his mask under his chin, taking a bite. Mob feeds him a couple fries, and he nibbles from his lover's hands.

Verity grimaces at the taste, Mob laughs at the scowl he has, "Those are way too salty." He bites down on his lower lip.

“Then don’t eat it.”

“I don’t want to.”

The athlete chuckles, saying that the blond was just too shy to admit that he wanted to eat the fries out of his hands, to which Verity flat out stated that that was indeed his intention, leaving the heat behind Mob’s ears creeping up.

The two walk down the busy yet empty road, Mob jumps around the curb, balancing between the road and the pavement itself. Verity held his hand, worried for his balance. Asphalt and smoothly carved stone were barely split between a small patch of green grass, which Mob refused to step on as he noticed the flowering dandelion sitting beside a poppy. Listening to honks while watching motorcycles puff out black smoke even under the bright, cheap, flickering street lamps, Mob enjoyed the feeling that maybe only he and Verity existed in the world at this singular moment, and that brought him some sense of peace.

"Do you remember the tale of Tanabata?" Verity stops in his tracks for a second, before his head turns to Mob. His heart yells something, something loud, obviously, and Mob's heart also screams itself raw, burning with the other's skin.

The dark-haired watched as his lover held his hand, tight, warm, looking like a painting. He laughed to himself, imagining how their lives were like the vintage sci-fi movies they had heard about from their classmates.

Mob thought about the premise- The perfect human being falling in love with an ordinary boy... It was cheesy, it was some romanticist-way-of-life. But it was a dream he got to have.

"Today, on the seventh day of the seventh month, the lovers of the stars Vega and Altair will meet, as the asterisms of the universe demand their connection." Mob giggles, as he points to the sky, the faint pale light, joining the two nodes together, "As the mortal child of Altair, and the divine, heavenly Vega, defy their status along their duties, just for a brief moment of touch for one single day of the long three hundred days,"

He watched Verity, his perfect human being, stand in the world as if he was under divine blessing- The way the cherry red skies turned the sun into a warm glow, it carried its color onto the darkening purple skies. Oranges colored his pale hair into a tangerine-like shade, the golden locs really flowing like silk in the soft breeze. His rosy skin turned into a hot pink, and the pale freckles even seemed to have its own special shade of red as he is painted into an artist’s avant-garde. When the purples break into the world, his eyes twist into its own shade, glimmering more gorgeously than any other he had seen before. If Mob was a scientist- He'd capture that color and name it after him, just to encapsulate this moment forever for the world to feel.

Mob leans closer to his lover, whispering into his ears, "let the undefined asterisms accompanied by unclassified planets of the Milky Way watch, as we dance eternally below the Winter's Hexagon, the magpies will not define our love, my dear." Tempted to plant a kiss, Mob pulls away, pressing against Verity's fingertips instead, "Even though you call yourself the dirty son, let us roll in the dirt together."

As the stars peered from behind them, the dark shades overtake the skies in an instant, their vibrant world turning cold and inky with just blinks, and the moths begin to find themselves drawn into the breaking fluorescent lamps.

Verity giggles, unable to properly respond. He comments on how he was tempted to pull him towards him, and kiss under the shining lamp post above their heads, like a spotlight emphasizing on them, like the movies, as two forbidden lovers kiss on the asphalt roads, the cars and the suburban streets providing some sort of romanticist-like anonymity.

Mob thought of how Verity could be the lover the ancient poets speak of and fight in a war for. Not sure which though, but he could definitely rival some being that is the embodiment of beauty.

The curb comes to a stop, and the dark-haired boy finds his body stopping as a traffic light hangs high above their heads. Verity, still holding onto his hand, helps him down, and he jumps off of the slightly taller platform.

"Verity, let's do something stupid together." Mob's fingers clasp onto Verity's tighter. Despite the night breaking nigh before them, they shared the sentiment where they wanted to spend more hours together, alone. It was strange, because they were always together- But Mob just really wanted to be further from everyone he knew and loved, that wasn’t Verity in that very instance.

Before a protest could be heard from his lover, the athlete drags him across the junction of the road towards the passing cars, and the blinking red traffic light and the red pedestrian light shines high above their head, as the street lamps down the road begin to present a warmer hue.

Running down the pavement with his lover's hand in his, the cars honking at their arrogance, Mob giggles, the adrenaline getting to his head for some reason. Verity panics, holding the two’s backpacks on his body while Mob sprints down at full speed, avoiding vehicles on their way, the ten tonne cubes of metal were insignificant- With atoms of the universe are the most significant thing to the two of them right now, as they were the only thing keeping them from truly touching one another.

"Let me tell you the story of Tanabata once more, Verity- Properly, this time.” Mob breathes without issue, his pace being very well-managed, “On the seventh day of the seventh month- The divine child of the Heavens, the weaver will get to meet their lover, who lives across the river they call the Milky Way, but only if the magpies are willing to come on a day without rain." The skies above their heads glow, Cygnus's Deneb brings Lyra's Vega and Aquila's Altair together, forming a triangular shape, "My dear, sweet, Summer Triangle- Let our love story, now only hidden, bloom into a tale historian's tell with ache- Like how Albireo glimmers to be the brightest star in the near future."

Verity giggles behind, their bodies moving at speeds they didn't know obtainable, or the joy they felt couldn't have been imagined just mere years ago.

Mob takes his lover from roads to roads, from a familiar avenue to the unfamiliar boulevards, seeing geese honk in the river to crows atop power lines. They passed through their usual long route home, and they entered through neighborhoods and noticed people that they had thought had long gone away. Through the blocks of the rich kids at their school, to the construction sites that hadn’t made progress in over a decade- The two eventually rest at an abandoned playground, one Mob said he used to play at, deemed for demolition in just a year's time.

The lush greenery overgrown into the play set, as algae sticks onto monkey bars, and a orange, copper-smelling rust builds up on the seesaw.

Moss is caked up all over the poles that hold up an unfamiliar structure, and vines of some sort also eat up the ground. The merry-go-around grinds with an exhausting spin, Mob gives up on trying to go on it with Verity, who was against this idea to begin with, thinking the place was disgusting. Mob frowns, sitting on top of the cheap swings, watching his lover decide to pluck at the red and yellow flowers instead. He attempts to converse whilst swinging up and down, but the ear-splitting noise of the metal chains were too much for him.

He settles for messing around other parts of the set- Climbing up the wrong side of the slide, looking around at the bits and pieces that didn't make sense, to lying on the totally rusted metal while staring at the stars.

Mob hears his name get called, and he decides the best way to go towards the sound was to use the slide. His body goes down the plastic slide anti-climatically, his pants making too much friction for it to go down, along with the scratches of being worn down and the not very suitable environment. Verity laughs at his arrival, as he gets down on one knee, kneeling to his level, and kisses him, "What are you? A kid?"

He rolls his eyes, telling Verity to let him have his fun.

Verity's arms squeeze tighter, leaving behind pecks as he drops a flower crown of poppies onto Mob's head. The red petals flutter around them, as if they were a couple on their wedding day. He hands Mob a mini-bouquet of white, not-fully-grown dandelions mixed with the garnet flowers he also had on his head, "Sorry, I couldn't find many bloomed ones."

The blond pecks at his face, laughing at some sort of weird irony, "Every anniversary, you never fail to surprise me. I was upset, you know? You gave... no- You giving me so much joy and happiness all the time... But I can't give you an equal amount."

"What are you talking about? You've given me plenty."

"I could be giving you more."

Verity slips a band around the finger where the plastic dandelion was tied around just at the break of midnight. Vena Amoris. Not just anyone's- His Vena Amoris. A silver ring sits nicely around the ring finger, engraved with a pattern of flowers and swirls, Mob resists the temptation to scream.

"Halley's Comet... Your favorite thing in the universe, probably..." He lets out a dry laugh.

"Maybe you're sick of hearing the same pick-up line so much, so, I''ll keep it short: I know we are young. I know we've discussed marriage before- That we know it's illegal. How it's illegal to marry someone of the same sex- But… Please. Hear me out, Mob."

He gulps, his blond hair fluttering in the world,  "May I have the honors of reserving you with my love, to watch that mere glimpse of light in eleven year's time? Can I be too like the comet, being the center of your affection and love, as long as I come back to you all the time? Can I go beyond space, distance, time... or, mind, body, soul- Or logic, rationality and-... Can I just love you so much, can I love you like how other people can love without restraint as well? Can I, Mob? Will you let me?"

"Let you? You don't need to ask me for something stupid like that." Mob feels tears well up in his eyes, "How did you even get this? Is this custom-made? Fuck-! I can't think..."

"I want to marry you."

"You think I'd turn down your future-proposal, after you basically just slipped a promise ring onto my fingers without asking me?"

"I swear, Mob. Once we turn eighteen, I'll file the papers immediately."

"No need to do it immediately." Mob kisses Verity on the forehead, his laugh uncontrollable, his hands go to cup his lover's face, and the silver ring slightly glimmers as he does so.

Mob continues to peck at Verity's face, who is just accepting every little kiss from his beloved. The dark-haired asks through the kisses, "Don't we need a bride or groom to get married though? Haha... But, I guess since we are both men, we don't really..."

"Do you want me to be your groom? Or do you want to be my bride?"

"I don't really want to be a bride... What about you?"

"I don't really want to either."

"Then we don't have to be any."

"But you want to be the-... I can always just be the bride for you."

"No." Mob refuses, "I like you how you are. Don't adapt to my preferences- Just be who you are fully. Selfish, angry, or happy... I want it all."

"Okay."

Verity brushes Mob's hair behind his ears, giggling as Mob continues to kiss him, "Let's go home after a little bit."

"We could go now?" The dark haired pulls away from the kisses, brushing the golden hair away from his lover's dark eyes.

"Just one more kiss, please." Verity pleads, and the two chuckle as they both share a kiss.

Verity stands up from the slide, extending his hand out to his lover, who takes it with left hand, the one with his ring-binded finger.

"Aren't you supposed to put this on the right hand?" Mob's fingertips reach for the stars, the promised, temporary wedding band glimmers, revealing all the poppy and dandelions engraved into its surface.

"Mob, you're going the wrong direction home."

Mob freezes, swallowing something in his throat, "...I knew that."

"So that's it? Is that how we're going to do it?" His lips press together, Mob utters a heartbroken answer, "Do you want to end it? Here and now, once and for all? To cut what we have?"

"Mob-"

"No. I'm not playing any fucking games, Verity! If you have something to say, spit it out! Stop leaving me waiting- Stop leaving me hanging!" Mob raises his voice, the echo bouncing in and back out of his ears. He wants to scream his throat out raw, Mob wants to break Verity's fingers away from him, but he can't bring himself to do it either, "Did you really hate me all this time?"

"No." The blond responds, face broken into fear, his voice cracks with every other word uttered, "No- no, no, no... No-no-no! No! Not at all! Not one bit...!" Verity drops to his knees, the fabric staining around the shin, his eyes glisten, about to water, his fingers clench on every inch of Mob, "No. I can't do that. I could never bring myself to hate you- Go... Please. Please. Please don't leave. Don't- Do- Please... Stay. Stay. Stay with me forever. Don't- Don't go. I can't live without you now. I can't hate you. No. If I ever did: Shoot me. Kill me. Mangle me beyond recognition."

His forehead presses against Mob, his body slumped over, "I don't hate you. I never will; I can't."

"It's like my DNA was engraved to love you- I'm code, designed to worship even the finest of dirt you've stepped on to the molecules of carbon dioxide you've exhaled." Verity takes ahold of Mob, finding skin or cloth on his body, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm making you wait. I'm sorry for being scared. I don't want you to leave me. I don't want you to hate me. I want to keep you by my side- But I'm too scared to say anything. Stay with me forever, please. I won't do it again. I didn't mean it. I was just too scared; Scared of you leaving me. If you go, I don't know what I'll do with my life- With myself." He chokes on something, maybe tears or words. Mob doesn't understand how to react to this. So he just stands there, watching the Verity plead with him not to not run away.

"Please?" He murmurs, "Please don't go. I'll change. Whatever you'd like- Whatever you want."

"Is it how I'm always waiting? How I don't tell you things upright? I'll... I'll fix it! Please...? Give me one more chance, I'll change; I'll fix it. I'll do whatever you want for me to change that-"

Verity's fingers clench at his own shirt, like his heart is throbbing real time at the pain of this revelation, "Is... is it me? Do you hate me? Do I have to change?"

Mob wakes up in a cold sweat, his back drenched, his sweater sticking to his skin uncomfortably. His heart is squeezing so hard that he feels his breath grow short, and his brain short-circuiting. Everything is hazy, cold and weird. His hands are wet and everything hurts for some reason. It really feels like the world was turning white for a long ten minutes, but he knows reality has only moved by a couple dozen seconds. Mob’s fingers touch his eyebags, that seem to still be there, just a little bit wet, not sure from sweat or from tears. A swell occurs in the back of his throat, and he feels something pulsating to the point bile dares to come out, but he swallows it back down, along with the current tears that build up in his eyes. His head whips to his lover, who had passed out in his arms, long asleep.

Mob touches Verity’s face, in hopes for some hope of life. He touches his chest, feeling his own heart still beating like crazy, before his hand hovers over his lover's chest, in hopes it's still there.

Verity's heart was still there.

Mob's fingertips trace around Verity's jawline, in hopes that what he's feeling and touching is real- Some clarity after that forsaken dream... Or perhaps that dream was reality, and what he was living in now was a false delusion. His index begins feeling the pulse in his lover's neck after sensing the heat on his body.

It was still there. Verity's pulse still existed.

He sinks back into bed, kissing Verity on the face as his eyes close- Heart still screaming, lungs still crying, and stomach still twisted into knots.

"Are you okay?" Verity murmured, half awake. He pulls Mob in closer, and their heart beats align. The noise, calming to match one another's tempo.

The quieter thumping was like music; It was a rhythm that was reminiscent of the changing tides. The rough rocking of Mob’s chest eventually calmed down, sounding like the squeezing of circulation, slowly, but surely.

"No. Not really."

"Tell me about it- Your dream, I mean."

"I don't want to."

"Are you sure?"

"...Yeah."

"Okay then."

Mob fears that reality is real. Mob fears that what he dreams of is what he wants- Some scientific theory he read about years ago. Something tells him to seek Verity's opinion on this nightmare, but his words are caught on the tip of his tongue.

But in the far future, this would probably bite him in the ass.

Quiet love.

What is that to begin with? In the films Mob watched in class, quiet love is love beyond other's knowledge. This love is not meant to be portrayed through words, but rather through simple gestures.

What was he and his lover then? They were beyond that, for sure. They weren't quiet, or, super loud. Kisses, confessions of love, gift-giving, anger, fighting, hand-holding, and cuddling... What made their love so different from others? Of course, it wasn't the same as the shows. They weren't bold enough to begin screaming it out in the rain- But they weren't quiet enough to never assure another with a 'I love you.'

Only they and Twixxel knew of their relationship- Yet very briefly. But what made his relationship with Creator different from Mob and Verity's? Despite all that screaming, all that fighting, all the violence with the red-haired boy- Twixxel was gentle. He was patient with Creator. Verity talked about how the two had dilated pupils whenever they spoke to one another, and that they were definitely closer, if not more affectionate to one another than Verity and Mob.

Mob felt jealous. He felt it stir just a little.

As if he didn't already feel inferior to the couples who flaunt it, he began feeling that his love was worth less and less, but he also felt assured when their love went beyond that- The silver wedding band still hung around his neck, tied to a chain, hidden underneath clothes.

Verity passed Mob in the halls one afternoon.

Their eyes met- A pair of green eyes met black- The black that glimmered so brightly under those fluorescent, blinding white lights of the corridors. The sound of his beating heart accompanied by the restless chattering of those around him, Mob watched as Verity's pale hair moved in the wind. Those golden strands of silk, threaded around his fingers just earlier that morning when they slept. His rosy cheeks that only grew pinker with a flush whenever Mob planted a kiss on him- Or those freckles that were like the reminder not to forget Heaven and the stars, Mob watched it all- He memorized it all.

The long, held gaze disconnects, their heads turn just to look back. Their hearts begs for just one last stare, before long arduous hours take away their time. As a bell rings, the two scurry away, as if they had never even known one another.

What makes April so different for Mob? April was the season of exam prep, therefore he had no time for extracurriculars- Hell, he had no time for sports, leisure or anything. Dates with Verity were replaced with five hour long silence, just the scratching of a pen against paper- Or just the fluttering of textbook pages. Maybe the popping of a pen cap, or the clicking of a bullet pen, their talks were no more. It was just 'Can I borrow your notes?' and 'Sure, just take it, no need to ask'.

Mob walked with his hand in his pocket as he scrolled through his phone, his nails, grown out, tapped against the screen protector, going through his online flashcards and to-do list for the day.

Groceries, studying for chemistry, biology, and a bit of math revision for the day. He considered adding an extra subject, feeling like the list was lacking, but his train of thought was quickly cut off.

Unlike Sophomores, Seniors had basically already finished all their exams- Just waiting for the inevitable to come; Not graduation, but something that stirs much more commotion than that. A giant white card, written in black ink asking 'WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?', accompanied by a giant teddy bear and bouquets of roses sit on a boy's thigh, the man kneeling down as if he was proposing. The girl giggled, nodding her head as the couple crashed into one another's arms.

Phones that were previously in pockets were brought out, the ones hidden in backpacks were pulled out, snapping quick photos with their flashes on. Some began recording the couple, the cameras shoving through the growing crowd just for that social-media-like experience.

Mob thought it was a bother that they were blocking the corridor, his eyes rolling. Verity quietly slips his fingers between Mob's as the crowd shields them, and he doesn't respond nor react to that gesture. The two share one, two-many glances, before their fingertips split apart.

'Not here,' Mob mouths, 'We can't.'

Verity laughs, his voice hushed, "Maybe one day in the future."

Mob doesn't respond. But he wants to. But then again, he doesn't. He doesn't even know why.

There's not many words needed to be said between these lovers. Sometimes the exhaustion overtakes one another, and sometimes, unwinding is just lying in a bed together. Mob laid sprawled across Verity's bed, and his lover, who was sitting on the corner of the bed, stroked through his hair. The fingers combed into his locs, and it felt slightly relaxing as his heavy eyelids closed without permission.

"I wish I was a...a house cat, or something. So I wouldn't ever have to do anything. Just meow and eat, and my owner will feed me regardless I'm a lazy, fat fuck or if I'm a cute cat."

Verity jokes, "In the future, if I get money I'll get rich so you can live the easy life all to your heart’s content."

Mob sits up, spreading his arms, wanting to hug his lover, "Really?" Verity crashes into Mob before an answer, his body the perfect size to embrace him tightly.

"Really."

"You don't even know how I live- How are you so confident you want to live with me, especially for your entire life…?"

"You say that, but I've never even been in your room because you didn't let me."

"No..."

"Last time when we snuck out, you said you'll let me go inside the day you die because it was so messy."

"It is! It's really, really nasty! I don't want you to see that!"

"If we're getting married I wanna see how you live, eat, and drink when I'm not around."

Mob nervously laughs, but they two just crash into each other and lie in bed.

"Maybe I'll show you some other time. Maybe I'll let you in." He admits, whispering as their bodies hug one another tightly, "I don't think I've let anyone in my room before. You'll be the first."

"I want to be your first for everything. Not just this too. I want to be the first whose hand you hold down the streets- Whose the first and last to give you a custom-ring for us to marry in a couple years time- The first to live with you in some cheap studio apartment... Anything. Anything like that."

"I promise you- I'll let you do that."

"Do you think we're going to die before they legalize gay marriage?"

Mob shrugs, staring at the astral projections on the ceiling. "Probably."

The two sit in silence, Mob's fingers reaching up to grab nothing, but he still does anyway, since all he could do was to hope, and to dream. Homosexuality had existed throughout the ages, from the formation of the Earth through procreation, or the love that was only expressed through fluttering of fans that were hidden under blossoming trees.

"I feel like I'm destined to love you through different timelines." The dark-haired leaned his head on his hand, "Like I have to force myself to love you or else the world's gonna explode."

"I should be the one saying that."

"No you wouldn't. You'd get all poetic and sappy saying shit with the same meaning. It pisses me off how good you are at words... Have you ever considered being a politician?"

"If I became a politician, I'd have no time for you, so no."

"Mm... Okay, my dear future husband, tell me what you like."

"What I like? You."

"Okay, not that."

"Your smile."

"Not that either."

"Your laugh. Your eyes. Your soft hair. Your supple skin, or the way your fingers curl into mine at the slightest inconvenience, or even the way your breath stops for a split second when we kiss. That's what I like."

"Okay! Can you like something that's... not me?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not? You can take your time thinking, you know? There's not much you can blurt out at the top of your head."

"I can't do it because everything in the world is just a fragment of you."

"What did I say about getting poetic and sappy?!"

"Sorry, sorry... My mistake. But, I'm serious, though."

Verity inches in closer, "I can't live without thinking of you. My life was painted one color my whole life, I think. It was just some dull green- But when you came here, waltzing into the front door? I think I started to love green beyond words. I've started paying attention to the grass you'd pull at and drop on me, how sometimes it flashes the same shade as your eyes under a specific light. How the leaves of a tree rustle, I began to think of the pillar we sat under every night, doing nothing but be with one another. Or when the skies are blue, I think about turning it into some variant of your eyes, because I want to look in the stars and see the engravings of you- And when I look into the mirror, I just imagine you comparing me to the brightest and dimmest celestial bodies there are."

"I want to be your Milky Way galaxy- I want to be your universe."

Mob kisses Verity, "Yes, yes. I got it. But what do you love, besides me?"

"Nothing. Because everything is you."

"You're my world- You're the big bang and everything before and after that, and that's what matters to me."

Mob kisses Verity again, giggling, "Okay, how about I list out things and you tell me if you like it or not, okay?"

"Okay."

"Sports."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you play them. I like watching the sweat form on your neck, I like watching the water fall down your chin. I like the smile you wear as you run through the crowds."

"Red. The color."

"It's the color of the sweatshirt you wear often- The color of your tracksuit and your shoes. I like it."

"The stars?"

"I love them, because I see your eyes in each formation of the universe."

"Space?"

"I love it, I want to take you to the moon and back."

"What about being away from me?"

"I'll love that too. Because you've left me for a reason- and I'll get to enjoy that love through the carbon dioxide you've left behind, and the lingering remains of your warmth."

"You're so silly. Not everything is about me."

"Of course- Because you can't be everything and be nothing to me at the same time. That doesn't exist for me."

It was a blink of an eye before Mob witnessed Verity, with his helmet off, face bloodied and bruised, punching Twixxel. Twixxel, on the ground, battered and torn, his face more purple and red than any sky, and struggling under Verity's weight.

Maybe it was a mistake for Mob to decide to visit the sector again. Maybe the air getting more humid as of late was his warning sign. Maybe he shouldn't have come, knowing that the lights in the common room were too bright to be normal, despite the hour for lights out were dawning upon them. He should've known to back away as those giant, metal doors creaked open.

His feet rushed to his best friend who was lying on the ground, and Jamal and the others pried Verity away, who kicked and screamed at the quiet Twixxel. Twixxel coughed, his throat sore, raspy and the base of it red, while Verity let out raw screams and threats.

"A-Are you okay, Twixxel?!" Mob felt his face, causing a wince to come out of Twixxel's mouth. He hacked a little bit, his throat too tight to make out words, "Verity! You-"

"Mob... Mob-" The two fighting boys sent each other glances. Twixxel's gaze on Verity's, and Verity's on Twixxel's. One hardened, the other neutral, his muscles hurting too much to even make an expression. Verity pleaded, it felt like his eyes were about to water, and Mob didn’t know who to trust. His lover protested, "It's his fault! I promise! I'm telling you- I... I didn't mean to do this. Believe me!"

"Believe you? Believe what? That you're fucking... beating the shit out of Twixxel for who-knows-why? You're fucking... weird! What's genuinely your problem? I didn't know you were so fucking selfish! That you..."

The curses kept coming out uncontrollably. It felt weird. It felt like he shouldn’t even be saying those sentences or words or lines to begin with. Mob didn’t cuss that often, or so he thinks. He never really spoke that like either.

Mob turned his attention to Twixxel, who slumped over the ground and continued hacking, his hands meeting his stomach. Mob saw the flashes of purple covered by the long hem of his shirt, but he covered up all the skin to hide from his friend.

His heart tightened, "Verity,” the bruises seemed to extend deep into Twixxel’s body, and comparing that to Verity’s slightly bloodied face, he didn’t know how to feel, “you're genuinely..."

"Please Mob- Please!"

"No! Fuck you! …Fuck you, seriously! And-And everything you said to me- I... Fuck! Fuck-fuck, fuck! I can’t even properly…" The words caught up in his throat- Unable to produce any proper conversation, nor sentence. He only cursed out Verity, in words he didn't know if he meant or not. 'Why's, 'please's and 'tell me why you did this' were lingering on the tip of his tongue- Any plea for reassurance, clarification and anything were drowned out with the beating noise of his heart. Mob wanted to ask what happened, why all of it happened- But he didn't.

Mob runs up to Verity, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Verity had always been taller than him, but for some reason Mob realized his height had overtook his for a while now, not needing to tiptoe to get to the same level, "I'm going to-"

His arms caught up in someone else's, and he kicks around, attempting to shrug off the grasp. But there's so much a sixteen year old boy could do against grown men and women basically tying him down. Twixxel immediately received medical attention, they took him out as he limped towards the main sector, while Verity was pinned onto the floor, straightjacket in hand of a woman. Before he could scream out another curse- Another cry for attention, almost, he was dragged away, sent out before a word could be uttered.

Mob stood before the doors of the Stellar Sector, waiting for them to open for him. But they didn't. They refused to. No matter how many times he banged at the door, or tried prying it open, he couldn't make it through there. It didn't budge.

A tired researcher yawned beside him, noticing the boy, "...Mob? Wh- Your father banned you from the sector- What are you doing here?!"

"I want to see Verity." Mob demanded, like a little child not getting the toy he wanted back. He stood at the steel, staring at it, as if looking at the cracks would let him back inside- To let him see Verity again.

His heart was conflicted, unsure of what to feel or say. He wanted to understand what truly happened, why it happened to begin with. Twixxel and Verity were closer than most of the other kids- Of course, Mob was aware he harbored some emotions towards the boy, but that surely had dissipated already… right?

He doesn’t really know himself.

Verity doesn’t really tell him about his emotions.

Is this a dream? Is he going to wake up? Will everything just snap back to a moment where he’s laying in bed with his lover right now? Mob thinks about the dream he had, and it flashes through his mind in an instant. Is it really biting him in the ass now?

"...Verity?” The researcher awkwardly replies, scratching the back of his head nervously with a gulp, sugarcoating the details, “Uh, no. You... You can't see him right now."

"Why?"

"Because... He's- In the educational sector right now."

"What is happening in the educational sector?" Mob presses.

"...Recalibration. In, well… you know? He-"

"Cut the bullshit."

Dropping the act, the man sighs, his hands falling to the side of his body as he continues explaining, "Mob. You can't be here."

"I want to see Verity."

"You can't- And you're not."

"I said, I want-"

"Your father has forbidden all contact with any children within the Stellar sector until said otherwise.” He instructs, sternly, emphasizing on each word spoken out, “Go to bed, Mob. You-"

"Why can't I-" Mob shouts back, upset with the situation. He wants Verity back- And he wants answers from Verity.

"Mob! I've already said you can't! Okay? ...Look, we're doing this to protect you; We're not keeping you away from Verity because we want to. He's unstable and dangerous right now- His vital-"

"Let me see him! I want to see-"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Mob- Your father has strictly said not to let you even near this door to begin with- The fact that you're here means you... weaseled through security or something."

The man sighed, "This is your last warning, Mob: Go back now. Before it gets messy. Before your father knows and finds out." He gives Mob a look of leniency, really pushing him to leave.

"I'm not doing any of that bullshi-"

"Security! Security!"

The noise echoes through the halls, and it reverberates itself back into Mob’s eardrums, out and back in. He notices him talk through a device, as he begins to panic, understanding the implication.

"Wha- No! You can't do this!"

"I'm sorry, Mob, but I really do."

"Just let me see him, please! I'm begging you- Jamal, Whispy- Even Twixxel! Where is he? Can't I talk to him?"

"He's recuperating in the medical wing-” Noticing his slipup, the shouting grows louder, “Security! Come here, now! You are not allowed to interact with-"

"Please, I-"

"I really didn't want to do this to the Head Researcher's son, but I'm on strict orders too, Mob."

"I-... Will I at least get to see them again sometime soon?"

A silence passes through them, before one last shout comes as their final words, "Security!"

<_2051-07-07 08:58:32,852 - INFO - camera1: Detected interaction...

Mob was at the doors again. This time, with permission from his father. The doors creaked open. Twixxel stood before the doors, face bandaged, arm in a cast, with a solemn look on his face. The only thing he said after a brief moment of silence was an 'I'm so, so, sorry', ignoring all the questions Mob had for him.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I- Mob. I'm sorry that-"

His heart sinks to his stomach, noticing the bruising that couldn’t be covered up with the white, sterile bandage. "No, no, Twix, it's okay- You only hit him back in self-defense, you're all-"

Twixxel sits with something- He carries some form of regret on his face. Mob’s not sure why, or how it was affecting him, but looking at the expression the two closest people to him wore, one seemed guiltier than the other.

"Verity's gone, Mob."

Twixxel tells him flat out. No sugarcoating, no white lies- Nothing gentle like his usual words. Usually, Mob would appreciate this.

But for some reason his heart hurt worse than it did.

It was swelling- Either his heart being stuck at the bottom of his throat, or it was the words he ate back then couldn’t get out. The consonants of his sentences danced on the tip of his tongue, and the vowels laid right near his uvula- Yet they sat there. Unmoving.

"...What?"

"He's gone forever, Mob."

"...What do you mean by that?"

Mob doesn't remember walking to Twixxel's room. He doesn't remember entering through that door, or passing down the hallways only to see it empty. Which was odd, because a familiar person would often be down that hall, waiting for him. He doesn't remember anything after Twixxel opened that laptop screen.

"What the fuck is this?" Mob mumbled reading everything out in his head.

What? Is that what the rising sea levels meant? Is that what Verity was born to live for? Was he just an amalgamation of document files of agreed upon cells and DNA sequencing? Was he not his own human as well? Did everyone here know this? Did Twixxel know of Verity’s fate? What was happening? Why? Why did they do this? Why didn’t Verity tell him?

"Project Stellar. What we are." He comments, shutting the laptop down and setting it aside. It slid against the table’s surface, long, soft.

Mob laughed dryly, but it wasn’t something to even be humored in. It wasn’t something Mob should be even laughing in- But he did. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why his heart was feeling crushed as well. He blurts out, "I-I don't get it. What's the point of telling me this- I"

"Mob.” Twixxel grabs him by the shoulders, serious, “The procedure- Do you understand what it means?"

"...What?"

"The procedure is when Verity departs-"

Mob interrupts Twixxel’s words, his stomach dropping, and it twists even further. "...Where is he going?"

"Space. Something like that- I don't know. NASA. Any other data is encrypted."

Mob is about to throw up. He feels the bile building up, going against the tubing- But he’s trying his best not to. He swallows it all back down, as his lips press into a thin line.

He mutters, "Wh- What? I don't get it- I don't understand-"

"You won't. You have to wait." Mob feels his mind, conscience and body fight one another in conflict. Twixxel is making him wait- But he can’t even do that. His brain is racking every inch it could to comprehend everything.

He goes quiet, before it comes out slowly, "...Wait for what?”

“Twixxel, I'm not stupid! You just told me that- Not anyone, not just anyone... But my Verity, is going to the fucking solar system!” Mob demands, his voice raised up high, his words heavy on the possession of his lover, “Tell me, right now!"

Verity’s gone.

Twixxel shouts, "You wouldn't get it!"

He’s really gone.

Mob raises his voice, matching the aggression, "But- I do-! Just spill it, don't-!"

He’s really gone this time. Just like that, swept by the winds, he wasn’t here besides him. But he was here though. He was just right beside him a couple hours ago. The lingering ghost down the hall was still there. Verity was still in his room, right? That heat left behind right in front of that mahogany door with the golden engraving is Verity’s, right?

He isn’t really gone, right?

Twixxel places something into Mob's hand. It's old, outdated. He vaguely gives Mob an answer, "He left this for you."

Mob wants to crush it immediately. It wasn’t Verity, and it wasn’t anything close to him or reminded him of him. It was just cheap junk essentially. But it was a gift. Right?

A silence rings from Mob and he murmurs, "What is this?"

"I can't say.” Twixxel promises with an indefinite time ahead of him, “Not yet."

It comes out as a laugh again, his heart is seriously going to explode with one more vague implication, "Are you serious-"

"Mob- You're not even supposed to be here right now!” Twixxel screams, trying to reason with a grieving man.

Mob hisses, "Where is Verity?"

Where?

"I told you-"

Where is he?

"Is he in a car? A plane? Or is he on a train? I'll go there myself- I'll go to him-"

Where is he right now? Is he okay? Is he tired? Is he scared? Is he alone? Is he still in that white straitjacket? What’s happening to him?

"Stop, Mob! This is insanity!"

They’re making Mob look like a mad man. But Mob isn’t crazy- This is any reasonable reaction to losing your lover, right? But he’s not really gone, right? So he’s not allowed to grieve properly, right? Right? Right? Right? Right? Right? Right?

"Why? Why won't anyone fucking tell me anything?” Mob’s voice is ripping itself dry, as if the flesh is tearing, “Why-"

Emotions are flooding Mob faster than words are coming to his head. Everything is swirling around like dust clouds enveloping insects. Tears don’t come out, because the anger that brews feels too strong. Hatred can’t fully consume him- He’s too grief-struck by everything to even destroy and crush himself for doing this.

"Mob. It's not the right time yet.” Twixxel tries to ease him, pleading with him and any sort of thread he’s still clinging onto, saying he just needs to ‘hope’, “I'll tell you later."

Hope?
Hope was the flower that sat on Mob’s ring finger. But his hope was gone- Wiped away, vanished. So what was there for him to hope for?

Mob pauses. He spots Creator sitting on Twixxel's bed, who wears a shiny golden band on his right ring finger, who quietly watched the two bicker the entire time- and Mob notices the same design also on his best friend's finger. It was odd. He didn't care about the fact that there were rings on there at the moment- He only cared how the only other person in the world who wore this same ring as his, the one with dandelions and poppies engraved on silver, wasn't beside him right now.

Mob really feels like a madman too- Like he just found a dogwhistle amidst everything. His fingers curl into his fist, and he doesn't notice the crescent-shaped remains left on his palm. He wants to draw blood to imagine that everything that’s going down is just a dream- But this murdering feeling in his heart is telling him this is not a dream; That this is reality.

"Are you implying that you and Verity schemed to get him to leave me?" It felt like everything pieced and fell apart in the same second.

"Wha- Mo-" Twixxel turned his head to Creator, as if he was asking for help, but Mob felt his blood rush to his fist.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

It really was true. Mob really isn’t crazy.

Maybe everyone around him is. Maybe he’s the only sane person around here. Maybe he should crush what's in his hands right now- Because quite frankly, nothing really matters.

The words come out of his mouth differently the way it’s in his mind- The mess that it is, grinding eighty different gears and thousands of electrical waves shooting through his mind can only be turned to so many words with his limited vocabulary, blinded by rage.

Mob wants to clutch his face and rip off the skin.

"Are you fucking kidding me? There's no way-" He laughs, cackling almost, forcing it out, "He's fucking sixteen, Twixxel-! Do you know how old that is? Do you know? He's the same age as us! He hasn't even graduated high school yet- Now he's thrown into space, for what? Some expedition to find water on a planet for us humans to live on? Jamal's fucking eighteen! And he's still here! Tell me: Why's that? Why must Verity, someone much younger than him, leave, but Jamal's still here?"

"He reached the proper qualification-"

Mob laughed hysterically at the attempt to reason, "What qualification?"

"I- Mob, listen to me right no-"

"No! No fucking way! There's no way!"

"It was too dangerous leaving you two like that!" He screams, trying to set his ground, but the high-pitched, high-decibel yelp is drowned out by the constant hell set loose in Mob’s body.

"Dangerous for whom? Were you so self-centered that you thought you knew what was best for me? So you basically made a plan, behi-"

"It wasn't even my idea! It was Verity's!"

And everything went silent. And everything disappeared, gone like the wind. Gone, like Verity.

"...What?"

The noise came back. Louder. More of a mess. Everything felt wrong. Everything felt like it deserved to die.

Mob was going to reach a state of no return.

"Mob. Have you ever thought… about the reason why you live in the lab, instead of a house?" Twixxel reasons, "Think about it- You're the only other child here, other than the project’s kids who lives here. And the fact the researchers treat you like you're gold? I... Think about it. Really, really hard for me-"

He’s growing really agitated to the point each second that Twixxel attempts to speak causes a tighter fist clench, "Cut to the chase, Twixxel. I'm tired of your mind games and riddles."

"Do you know why the first subject is always encrypted so carefully? Why we don't know anything about them or who they are?"

Twixxel's finger presses against Mob's chest, "Subject one is you, Mob. You're-"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mob breaks the seriousness of the situation with his heavy heart. It’s aching so badly that he feels like he’ll die any second now.

"...Subject one and subject two. Do you know what the researchers call them, outside of your given names? Do you know what Verity found out when he broke the encryption?"

"...Verity's... Altair. And-"

"Vega." The boy finishes Mob's sentence, and their eyes meet, both sharing some pained look on their faces.

Twixxel emphasizes on every syllable, every consonant, "Mob, you are Vega."

He explains, "Really think about it, Mob. You are Vega- The chip inside of your body that they made to monitor your every move? They called it Vega. They named it after the 'next most important star, besides the sun', Mob. The chips reject- It’s not meant-"

"I… I don’t want to-"

Mob wanted to go dead silent. Or he wanted to go dead- He couldn’t really tell.

Is that why their chest ached?

The hurt lying within the depths of their ribcages wasn't that bearing affection or love, but rather the movement of the chips in their hearts and organs rejecting one another? Did the pain Verity feel and describe not actually pain caused by their closeness? Is that why they were like that? Were they doomed to fail from the beginning? Was he actually right about lovers meeting early because they’ll never die together? Are they actually not meant for each other? Is the rain going to pour over and over and over and over and over and over and over again?

Will Verity never come back?

"Vega and Altair will always be lightyears apart, Mob. Your chips naturally reject one another. If you stayed longer with Verity, physically- You both were going to die."

"...How?"

"I don't know. But the researchers were talking about it."

Clinging onto some form of closure, he wants to cackle, he wants to pinch himself awake, "So you're basing it off information that does-"

"Your father, Mob.” Twixxel yells back, tired from the one-sided argument from the other boy, “He said it himself."

"...I don't want to do this anymore." Mob pleads with Twixxel, or he’s praying for something to wake him up.

"I'm sorry. It was the only way for us to protect you."

Us? To protect you?

Mob stares at the red haired child around his age sitting with Twixxel in the same room. Mob doesn’t care about volume anymore- He doesn’t mind that people can hear him from the thin walls. Mob only feels his bleeding heart compare itself with the bastard who has a heart not even damaged in the slightest.

"What about you guys-? Why can't I be with Verity- But you guys can?" Mob grabs the hand where a ring sits on, Twixxel is visibly shocked, "You guys... Get to live in the same room, you guys surely... Sure- Surely it can't be just me, right? Right? What was it? Beta Cygni A and B- Was that the chip in your-"

"Mob." He quietly murmurs, "Beta Cygni A and B are physical binary stars. The chips are based on real... situations- The reality about the stars, Mob. You-"

The rage is eating him- The pain is ripping his organs apart.

Mob screams, his throat running dry, "Spit it out already! Stop fucking sugarcoating everything for me!"

"...The two stars in Beta Cygni are bounded together, physically. Forever."

Pain. Why did he have to go through a pain they’ll never feel? The hurt that breeds in his heart deeper than anything he had ever felt before.

Twixxel stammers, "We were created to always be together, Mob. Me and Creator- We-"

Unfair. It was so unfair to Mob. It was so unfair that his heart had to break over and over again in one singular day, and that he couldn't do anything, other than hearing it shatter. Mob wanted to break down and cry, fight with everything he had, and felt every other emotion fight for control of his movements all in one hour- Or it was less than that. He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell.

Everything was like a storm- Swelling and growing even larger and larger with each second. He wanted to lash it out- To hurt others because he didn’t get what he wanted. But he’d be a bad human if he did so… But they didn’t even treat his Verity as a human. So was he human? Was Mob also a human to begin with? What is he?

"Bring him back." his voice quiet, his eyes drifting to the ground. His eyes focus on the miniscule, microscopic detailing of the ground, "Bring him back."

"Wh-"

"Bring him back to me! I want him back!" Mob is screaming, his voice is really going to run raw if he keeps it up- But his heart tells him to scream louder, because his mind has been running around too, but it has been a thousand times more agonizing.

"You can't just... tear him away from my hands like that! You can't! There's no way you're allowed to do that! You get to be with Creator! You have your fun! You get the happiness you wanted and... and! I can't? And I'm not allowed to? Why? Because some stupid fucking chip implanted in me says I can't?! I-... Bring him fucking back to me right now! You traitor! You backstabber! You just ruined everything for me!"

It was all his fault. But then again, it wasn’t. It was also Mob’s fault- And it was also Verity’s. But none of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for Twixxel. But would’ve this happened if Mob was here to begin with? If Mob had never entered the sector, would Verity still be living out his life in silence?

The idea rams through his mind like a train moving at mach-seven, and his knees buckle with the build up in lactic acid.

Mob falls to the ground, clutching at Twixxel's legs, tears in his eyes. Which was strange, because Mob had never cried this hard before. Not in front of anyone but Verity, and that seemed to crush his lungs further, "Bring him back, now... Please. How am I supposed to live without him? How can I... I can't, Twix- I... Bring him back. Please. Anything. I'll do anything to bring him back- I want him back! I... I want him back now. I..."

Bring him back.

Verity is the world- Verity was the world. How could Mob live without his color? How could Mob be without his lover? How could Mob go for hours, days, weeks, months, years, unknown, undecided without the accompaniment of Verity?

Bring him back.

"I can't- Do you... Do you know how much he means to me, Twix? Do you understand? Because you clearly don't! You don't understand a lick of what he does to me, and what it does to my fucking heart!" He punches at the other boy, desperately- weak, lacking any strength as his knuckles only fist up pathetically, "You- You!" Mob only goes quiet, breaking down in tears further, as it muffles out in Twixxel's arms.

Verity wouldn’t even be able to file those papers he promised.

The rain had poured from the moment of midnight, 'til the end of the day.

'The number you have attempted to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later.'

Mob dialed the numbers again and again.

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

He tried again and again.

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

He pressed one last time before the number on that phone would become unavailable. The line seemed to ring longer than usual, stretching until it formed into quiet yet blaring beeps, one by one.

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

Mob sends a message to the number, one last time before the clock hits midnight, and the date on his phone reads mere seconds before Christmas day.

Mob whispers under his breath, sending one last voicemail, "Come home to me, Verity. I miss you."

'The number you have dialed is currently busy or not reachable. Please try again.'

Mob sat with the leftover warmth. It was there, and it wasn’t at the same time. It hurt. He wanted it back- That sense of normalcy. Because this was definitely a dream, not the cold, harsh truth. Everything stung, from the walking against the ground, to the lack of heat despite his hands touching near-boiling water.
Food felt hard to eat, swallowing it felt useless, but when he did- Imagining a future wherein Verity does come back, but only when he couldn’t bear with the hunger anymore.

No matter how much he ate, how much he gnawed at food, or his flesh, or his nails, or his skin- Everything didn’t feel sufficient.

And it was killing Mob so much he wanted just Verity back to cure him.

Mob snooped around again. He shouldn't be doing it, but he did. Twixxel gave him some sort of item for data or whatever that he couldn’t hear over the sound of his brain rattling.

He spent a whole day straight cooped up in some part of the lab, going through as many files as he could. He carefully read through every little annotation about Verity that the researchers had written about- His writing habits, how he studies, the procedures they made him go through.

Plasma extraction, white blood cell injection, red blood cell injection, blood sample extraction… It was just the surface of what Mob really understood from all the data collected. His fingers touch the glowing screen, or to the keyboard that surrounds him, with his legs entangling itself with wires around his body.

Astrolabe.

What is an astrolabe? The answer is simple: A sailor’s timekeeper. But this one was special, according to the information on the files, it is used to connect and locate chips in the experiment’s hearts, each subject within Project: Stellar had one connected astrolabe.

Mob had Verity’s, And Verity’s had Mob’s.

Mob found Verity’s astrolabe while digging it up from around the lab, and it sat on his desk every morning, night, or noon. He’d quietly watch the needle move from East, West, North and South rapidly. And sometimes he’d pray when it pointed to the South, Verity would be behind him.
He had no idea how Verity got his hands on his- Probably stealing it before he left. He didn’t know how many secrets Verity kept from him at that point.

It was a parting gift, but instead of bringing him a sense of ease, it felt like his heart was weighing heavier than usual.

Mob quietly clicked around the files, reading through them even further. He repeatedly analyzed and compared his file, Subject_001, and with Subject_002, Verity’s.
Unlike proper files, they saved every instance of the records frame by frame, and the only way Mob could look back on that aching past was so click on them.

The cursor dragged over to a random file that was titled by the time and date taken only, but to his surprise, it was a singular frame of Verity’s face up close, lying on the fake, overly green grass with Mob.

Mob feels his chest swell up, he feels everything in his body go numb, and the paralysis lies on his tongue, awaiting the pouring of tears. Like a muscle, his soul squeezed, over and over again, as if by crushing itself hard enough something would happen. The flesh expanded in between his ribs, but it fell deflated onto itself shortly afterwards.

He had forgotten his face. And he didn’t remember him looking so beautiful.

Mob’s fingers lightly touch the screen, something he shouldn’t be doing to begin with. It places onto the pixels of cyan, magenta and yellow that exist to paint his skin, and it leaves behind condensation and a light imprint of his DNA on there. Mob forgot the shape of Verity’s eyes. They had never been so almond-shaped like before. Mob forgot the shade of his hair, remembering it to be much darker. His skin wasn’t that light, it was much warmer. For some reason, it brought a sense of beauty to his skin.
He wants to plant a kiss on it- He wants to pull Verity out from there and love him here and now. He wants him back, but he knows there’ll be no return.

His eyes glance to the copper astrolabe that sat on his desk, atop a couple papers that instructs on how to use one. The name, Verity, etched onto its back in a semi-cursive, stood out as darkness slipped into the cracks of the engraving. Mob’s idle fingers softly run back and forth over his bottom lip, contemplating his next decision.

The files flash a pale, blue light, shining into Mob’s eyes, as he continues clicking.

There was his face. There were his hands. There was his diet, and the clothes with the dimensions carefully recorded.

And there was his next location: Proxima Centauri B.

Mob’s fists slam against the table, everything flying up in the split second from the force, before flying back down with little to no impact. The cups rattled with one another, and the papers flew from the desk and onto the ground, scattering with every other item.

The data flashed before his eyes, flickering like a taunting light.

Mob left another voicemail to Verity.

The millionth one this week.

They ended up all being meaningless and looped back into the same thing: ‘I miss you so much, Verity, I’m hurting’.

They got rid of him, honestly. They got rid of him from Mob’s hands, fearing for something that was said to come- Just for a future that humanity feared that would come that wasn't even guaranteed to happen.

There was so much pain happening at once Mob felt the days become the same, the hours blending into weeks.

“I miss you.”

“Come back to me.”

“I’m hurting so bad, Verity. I’m hurting… so, so, bad…”

“I can’t do this.”

“Not without you.”

“...I don’t think I’ll get better.”

“Verity, I miss you so much.”

“Verity.”

“...Verity?”

“...Return these voicemails, Verity.”

“Don’t let it… fill out and rot in your inbox.”

“...Your room was wiped clean, Verity.”

“I hope you took that cheap, shitty phone with you, or I’m just calling- talking to a ghost right now.”

“...The voicemail lines sometimes just- I…”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“I seriously miss you.”

“Come back. Please.”

“Verity.”

“Come home.”

Mob receives random packages at his doorstep often. It was pity disguised as concern from everyone who was involved in Project: Stellar. Candy, gifts of all types were given. Sometimes it was sweaters and scarves- The other gifts would be old, busted tech that he didn't really want around him. Twixxel even gave him the laptop he used, with all the data about what he knew in there- But Mob didn't want to touch it at all.

Mob didn't bother going back ever since his situation with Twixxel. Verity's name had never felt so hard to pronounce. Mob had never felt his heart crush so.
What were they now? Lovers, still? Or were they over? He didn't know himself. But they were still something. Because if they weren't, this pain wouldn't feel so heavy, and his heart wouldn't feel like it was being constantly crushed.

Everything lost its color. Like yellow had a meaning beyond Mob's vocabulary and the stupid trinkets they used together sat in the corner of his room, the only thing not covered in dust and rot. Yellow didn't just mean the shade that comes with the sun, or is the sun- Yellow became everything for him. It was the tinge of color in the lightbulbs above his head, it was the color of his notebooks, and the highlighter color he'd use for the most important things. Or gold was no longer the medals he wore, but rather the hair that Verity had, and the sheen of his lashes that fluttered in the wind.

The world had turned oddly dull. Like all the lackluster parts only enhanced. A monochromatic world overtook him, blending the tints and shadows beyond his comfort. Mob couldn't tell the difference between himself over a year ago to how he was like now.

Mob stopped going to school properly. When he did, he'd do the bare minimum, barely keep his eyes open in class, and go home. His father didn't mind, nor did he care. Because he never did to begin with. But he only cared when it came to Verity. It was funny how Mob's lover had more of his own father's attention than he did. But, again, he didn't care too much. Because at that point, his every thought had been so consumed by Verity, it eased him a little. He laughed at the irony, because the same thing he had shamed his lover for, he began doing too.

There's a box again.

It's at his doorstep, again. But there's no return address. Just Mob's address, written on it. He doesn't know where it's from, nor does he want to know where it's from. So he just brings it in, and kicks it to the corner of his house, to collect rot and dust like everything else. Or, so he planned to.

Something told Mob to open it- To tear off the tape and rip it open. To remove the cardboard and unveil what was inside. A lone USB stick sat in there. Along with a letter in familiar handwriting- In the same cursive letter as the book given to him on Christmas one too many hours ago.

Mob's fingers trace over each letter engraved in the letter, the paper letting dark blue ink bleed into it. He brings it to his lips, muttering out softly, "I love you too, Verity."

Verity's parting gift is a simple USB stick. It's bright yellow, like his stupid helmet, and it has a smiley-face sticker on it. Mob imagines there are files in there of their memories- Or maybe photographs. It could be love letters, or an online version of those Christmas gifts. Mob takes his outdated laptop from the corner of his closet, struggling to push the right head in before the USB stick connects.

A couple files from the stick download and transfers itself onto the laptop, and it's not long before a video pops up with the system running in the back.

'...He-Hello? Is this on?' The voice came out staticky, the camera adjusts itself on the video to show Verity, his face bare. It felt like Mob was staring at his naked face- So used to seeing at least one thing covering his features, he wanted to reply, yet remembered this was a recording. 'Hi, Mob. I'm sorry for uh, this get-up.'

'I'm sorry for breaking our promise. I'm sorry for lying to you.’

He lets a silence ring for a minute, "I'm sorry for not taking you to see the stars.’

‘But, well... There's not much we can do about that now, can we?’

‘...I'm really sorry for lying to you. I... I don't know what to really say. The whole lying situation and all.'

'I don't know how to make it up to you- And for all the time we will lose. I'm sorry I sent you a package without a return address- Hah... It was pretty difficult, but I can't risk you crawling over to find me, now, can I?’

'Attached on the USB stick, there should be a couple files and stuff that would, uh, I'd say make the pain less unbearable. I know, I'm sorry. I know that no gift or whatever or... or words- Or a ten-minute-long video of me rambling to myself could make it feel better- For leaving you on that day without an explanation whatsoever.’

‘I'm sorry- I really, really am. I... So, I, uh. Made something to make it feel better.'

'Artificial General Intelligence, AGI. It was said to be impossible just a couple decades ago but- I... I did it. With some help from others, I made one for you… I guess I really should pursue a career in computer science, huh?'

'The only thing I could think of is... I hope you enjoy it. I'll go through the files of the bot or, whatever every so often- Don't worry. I'll wait for you, and I hope you'll wait for me too. Or, maybe I'll die in space, and this is our last ever 'conversation'. But, hope is a fickle thing, and so are we humans- Just take my words with a grain of salt.'

Verity laughs to himself for a second before shaking his head, ‘Nevermind, bad joke. I know you hate jokes like that. I know that I must die by your grief only, so no worries- I’ll try not to die. I’ll try to get back to you.’

‘...I guess- I… Hah. I’m sorry everything’s so anticlimactic. I’m sorry it’s not grandiose or… or anything.’

Verity stares at the camera, as if he sees Mob right through the screen, through the glass. But there's no way he did. Electrical whirring strums in the back, some clacking and clicking echoes through the room Verity sits in. He doesn't speak for a good minute, glancing back and forth between the ground and the screen, with his eyes flickering some sort of glimmer as a soft blue light flashes around his face, causing his pupils to dilate, but just a little.

‘I love you.’

‘And I always will.’

‘I’ll see you later, Mob. I’ll see you when I’m back.’

The bot loads up immediately after the video ends. Mob doesn’t know how to react. It takes the appearance of a yellow-smiley face, like the one sewn into Verity's shirt. It speaks after a moment, in the same tone of voice Verity spoke to him when they first met. The voice, chipper, yet mechanical, "Hello! I'm Verity! Your personal helper friend! Ask me anything, I know everything!"

Mob lets out a dry laugh, trying to feel amused. He's not whatsoever- But his heart hurts so much he does anyways. It tastes like nostalgia in the air- But it also hurts to hear the voice he hadn't heard of properly in months seem so forced, so fake.

"...What's two plus two?" He weakly asks, waiting for a response.

"Four!"

His voice was significantly deeper, but really, he hadn’t seen him in so long, Mob thinks he probably forgot everything about him.

"What's the capital of France?" Mob's fingers touch the screen, reminiscing about the past where he had asked the same questions to him.

He responds in a French accent again, "Paris! But due to the rising sea levels in 2050, it has been in the works of relocation."

"...So fake." Mob mutters, slumping his head in his hands, "So... so- So fake. Not like him at all."

"I miss you Verity. Come back to me... Like-" He chokes on his words, barely making it out from his tongue, "Like how you're supposed to."

"I want to go where Verity is."

Mob hasn't spoken to his father in years. He thinks the last time they had a proper conversation was about Verity, the day he had first met him. They never really talk to one another face-to-face, only relaying and delegating messages to the other researchers around. But for some reason, Mob felt like doing so for the first time in his life.

"Where is he?" Mob clarifies, "Verity, I mean. Where is he right now?"

"Space." His father responds, cold, "You're in no position to go, Mob."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"What can I do to go see him?"

His father pauses, his breath visibly hitching at the response. He only replies with a coldness in his throat, "Oh, so you're serious about this."

"Why would I not be?"

"You're only serious about Verity-"

"Same with you. You only talk to me about Verity. You only ask about him. Isn't it fair that I do the same?"

"...You're actually-"

"Yes. I want to do it."

"Bring your grades up first, or show me your worth. I'll see."

How do you grieve someone who's not really dead?

Can you really grieve someone who's basically still alive? Because Verity was right there- Standing before him. In his dreams, or in the form of leftover body heat.
Verity wasn’t gone, but he was. But he was also home, and anywhere but home at the same time. Verity was still somewhere, somewhere out there in the world, or perhaps in their universe, drifting in space. But then he wasn’t besides Mob, and his heart felt like it knew only how to ache.

So how do you mourn someone who’s still alive, still somewhere, but you miss them because they’re not by your side?

Mob didn’t know. It was too hard for him to think or do so. He often sat with his head in his hands, crouched over on his cheap sofa for hours on end, thinking only about Verity. Nothing else. Just Verity.
Oftentimes, showers took up to hours, where he’d just sit under the showerhead, as it hit against his skin like ice, he’d just think about one person who meant everything to him: Verity.
Eating meals felt bland, he often accidentally ate stale, leftover foods on accident and ended up not even caring.

There was no Verity anymore.

That man who lived in his dreams wasn’t real. It was an imitation to what Verity truly was. He wanted the real, authentic him back. The world feels wrong without him.

Mob wanted Verity to come home to him immediately.

The summer blossoms in May at its fullest. Graduation caps are thrown in the air, the tassels flip from one side to another. Students cry, some receive bouquets of roses from their family, the others receive kisses, love, or any other materialistic item. The white flowers from the playground he had been in with Verity bloomed, no longer white- But a yellow. Yet their petals are blown away by the wind, and they are plucked from the ground to build something else.

Mob holds his diploma in hand, he squeezes it, rereading it.

Twixxel approaches Mob, his cheap dress shoes given to him by a retired researcher taps against the gravel and cobblestone, he asks, "It's been a while, huh? We’ve graduated."

"Yeah."

It had been two years with basically nothing but dead silence. Mob avoided contact with everyone, and Twixxel didn’t want to hurt Mob further, knowing he was partially the reason why Verity was gone. Mob knew from the look on Twixxel’s face.

He tries to laugh it off, unwrapping the black-and-white scarf around his neck and leaving it draped over his arms, "You're taller than me now, Mob."

"Am I?"

"Mhm."

Mob stares into the distance, watching the junction he was at with Verity. When he pulled him onto the road, jaywalking despite the red traffic light, or the convenience store where he had gotten cheap, more-ice-than-milk soft serve.

He’s still missing him.

"Mob."

"Yes?"

"I'm going too."

His head turns, he faces Twixxel, who looks solemn, "It's been two years since Verity left, Mob."

Right. It had been two years. It felt like just yesterday morning- Or it felt like a thousand years. There was no in between. Mob didn’t know how to feel about it anymore. His phone screen flashed, and his father messaged him a cryptic note that he just needed to dissect when he got home.

"I'm leaving the first thing with Creator at midnight in a week. Come by my room a couple hours before that. I have something for you."

"...Okay."

Mob opens his diploma, staring at the letters and at the tassels he had wrapped around his neck and body. Valedictorian, surprisingly.

He had always thought it would've been Verity who would've received it.

Mob tried.

'The number you have attempted to reach is out of service.'

He tried again, knowing it wouldn't work. But, he could only hope and dream that it could.

'The number you have attempted to reach is out of service.'

Mob tried again. Hearing the same, automated, cold reply. He knows that this number is invalid- It no longer works. But he hoped that it would just work, if he had just called it enough.

'The number you have attempted to reach is out of service.'

'The number you have attempted to reach is out of service.'

'The number you have attempted to reach is out of service.'

'The number you have attempted to reach is out of service.'

"I've never even..." Mob touches the silver ring on his neck, "I haven't-... I haven't even received a new proposal from you, yet."

Two years. It had been two years.

Yet the papers sat on Mob’s desk, missing a signature.

There was still that lingering heat. Mob tried to ignore it, but he really couldn’t, because it was engraved in him.

Twixxel packed up all his stuff in a couple boxes. Creator also did the same, but he didn't have as much as his lover. The ring was still sitting on their fingers, which made Mob's stomach twist. They shared no conversation for a while, before Twixxel hands him a piece of paper and a pen.

"I'm only going to say this three times, so listen well."

Twixxel's voice grew stern, "X-ray. Juliet. Sierra. India. Mike. November. Romeo. Mike. Tango. Romeo. Juliet. To negative five degrees."

He repeats himself, watching as Mob scrambles to write the words down, "One more time: X-ray. Juliet. Sierra. India. Mike. November. Romeo. Mike. Tango. Romeo. Juliet. To negative five degrees."

"...Mob?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." He apologizes to Mob, things in hand, hoping for a sense of forgiveness from the boy. But he didn’t get it, and that would be okay with him, "Ha... Last time- X-ray. Juliet. Sierra. India. Mike. November. Romeo. Mike. Tango. Romeo. Juliet… At negative five degrees, Mob."

X-ray. Juliet. Sierra. India. Mike. November. Romeo. Mike. Tango. Romeo. Juliet. → XJSIMNRMTRJ

SHIFT -1: WIRHLMQLSQI | SHIFT 1: YKTJNOSNUSK

SHIFT -2: VHQGKLPKRPH | SHIFT 2: ZLUKOPTOVTL

SHIFT -3: UGPFJKOJQOG | SHIFT 3: AMVLPQUPWUM

SHIFT-4: TFOEIJNIPNF | SHIFT 4: BNWMQRVQXVN

SHIFT -5: SENDHIMHOME

 

XJSIMNRMTRJ -> SENDHIMHOME

"Check his room." Twixxel comments, seeing Mob's reaction to the encrypted code, him cracking it in real time, "I know he has things left for you."

Mob rushed down the hallway to Verity's bedroom door- The corners, dusty, as if no one had dared gone near it for the past two years he had been gone. His hands fumble with the handle, which he realized wasn't built as a normal handle, but one for mental asylums. His finger slots through, cracking it open.

Everything remained intact.

Mob shut the door behind him, as his stupid yellow helmet sat on the bed collecting dust all this time. His fingers wiped the top, and a line of bright yellow peered through, leaving some black on his fingertip, with the smile shattered, presumably by a punch. The shelves were empty- The desk still had the lamp that was hanging by a singular wire, but it also had all the other things he had left behind, as if he did it on purpose.

A USB stick, a letter, and a laptop. The laptop seemed fairly new- As an old model from three years ago, but untouched. Mob cracked the screen open, and slotted the stick inside. Hundreds if not millions of files appeared, and they all seemed to be titled different things.

Observation logs.

Mob found the one on the date where he lost Verity, as it was the one automatically opened by the drive. His fingers hesitantly drag the trackpad over to the play button, as he clicks on it, a sub-file opens up.

[CLICK]

Twixxel approached Verity, who stood, waiting at the door, waiting for the lights to turn off, "Verity...?"

The camera zoomed into their expressions, the slight movement of all the pixels and such makes Verity’s expression look weird- Because Mob swears he doesn’t look like that at all. But then again, Mob hadn’t seen his lover in two years.

"What?"

"...How much do you know about your situation with Mob?"

The camera’s ability to pick up volume increased, and it zoomed in further before quickly switching its angle and view.

"I've known about it better than you; I’ll know about it a thousand times better than you. I've known it since the hour we met." He knew that they were the stars, Vega and Altair in the sky. He had just kept quiet about them being so this entire time.

A silence rings before them. Dark eyes glance up, as if Verity could tell that he was being watched through the giant glass windows above their heads, Twixxel broke through their nothingness, "...How do you think he's gonna take it when you leave?"

"...Horribly. He won't handle it. I won't handle the reaction on his face."

"Do you-" Twixxel speaks, but his words are interrupted from a strange moment of vulnerability in Verity. His expression reads something- As if he didn’t know that was an emotion Verity was even capable of.

"Twixxel, help me. Please."

"Wha-"

He begs for a response, for an idea from Mob’s best friend, "How would it hurt less for Mob?"

"...I-I don't know.” He sarcastically remarks, “Punch me in the face or something… Make him hate you and-"

Verity thinks for a long while. They sit in another strum of silence before he comes to that conclusion, " Then let's do that."

"...Wha- Are you crazy? Or are you just mentally wrong in the head?"

The camera zoomed out, moving from place to place, the landscape view capturing the two children who stood in the common rooms along with their body movements.

"I know what I’m doing."

"I'm not doing that though! It’s not a matter of-"

"Please. Help me." He begs, under his yellow helmet, “You’re one of the few people Mob cares about strongly.”

"...Verity, you know it's going to hurt him real bad, right?" Twixxel promises, knowing that nothing good will happen.

"...Yes."

"You know that this could make him hate you forever- Or make it worse?"

Verity nods.

Twixxel swallows the lump that’s growing in his throat, it bobbing under the overhanging lights, "I'll punch you. You fight back- Beat the living shit out of me. The researchers will come

over and bring you to start the procedure early."

Twixxel asks for confirmation one last time, "...Are you sure, Verity? We cou-"

"'Im sure."

"...Anything to keep Mob safe, I guess."

"Yes. Anything to keep him safe."

Twixxel struck Verity across the face- His fists hitting his helmet clean off. Immediately afterwards, his knuckles flashed into a yellow, prepared to bruise. It was Twixxel’s first time in two years seeing Verity’s face so bare like that, so he was taken aback.

The camera zoomed back out, as if they stopped observation to go call someone. It stood still, practically static as the fight continued.

He stepped back slightly, before he regained his momentum and threw another punch- Landing perfectly on Verity’s face.

“Punch me!” Twixxel demanded, screaming at Verity, who quietly took the hit.

Verity didn’t flinch or wince. He hit back- Like crazy. Twixxel’s eyes widened as his hands came to wrap around the base of his throat, it squeezed down, tight- His legs kicked as he squirmed for help.

As their fists met skin, and blood brewed violence, Mob entered the room, standing with his eyes wide open. He immediately ran to Twixxel, checking on his condition. He spoke, though he didn’t remember his voice being that soft, that weak, that pathetic.

“A…Are… Are you okay, Twixxel?” His hands were shaking, trembling as he approached Twixxel. Mob never knew that he was so… Fragile. “Oh, oh… oh my- Veri… Verity-Verity… Verity, you–!”

The words seemed lodged in his throat as he grabbed it, which he didn’t remember doing.

The camera doesn’t move, it can’t capture his emotions properly, but it sure as well picked up all the audio.

"Mob…” Verity’s gaze swapped, his stern look no longer, and it softened into something that made Mob assume that his heart was breaking in real time, “Mob, it's…”

Twixxel and Verity exchanged looks, the one, more bloodied, more beaten, warned Verity of what would happen if they didn’t execute this correctly, his coughs sharp and gruff, telling the blond to choose his words very carefully, “-His fault! I promise! I'm telling you- I... I didn't mean to do this. Believe me!"

"Believe …you? Believe what?” Mob’s heart looks like it was breaking- It was shattering, and it was more evident in his soft words. The sentences he thought he had screamed out at the top of his lungs didn’t seem to exist- “That you're…”

The athlete whispers, looking at his friend, who was pretending to be severely affected, “Twixxel? You're…” It wasn’t long until his huffing grew extremely heavy, with gaps in his words, he wheezed, “What's- I… didn't know you were- That you..."

There was a short silence between them.

"Verity, you're-"

"Please Mob- Please!" The blond begs, trying to press on Mob, to get something out of him, whether that was pain or emotion.

Mob didn’t know what happened in his head at all, he couldn’t read it through the low quality camera, nor could he read it through the intonations of his voice, or his body language.

"No! You-you, seriously…?” His voice cracked sharply, it seemed like tears might’ve begun welling in his eyes, “And-And everything you- I... I can’t even properly…”

Mob crawled off of the ground slowly, he crashed into Verity’s body, grabbing his collar weakly as he cried out, "I'm going to-"

His body was torn away from Verity’s shortly afterwards, his lover’s arms restrained by the white buckles by the people who assumed he was less than human, while Mob’s body was

physically dragged out.

And he cried.

Hard.

He didn’t know he cried that hard that day. He doesn’t even remember doing that.

As he was torn by the Southern doors as their walls, Verity was dragged out into the Northern one, being pinned down, as the researchers prepared his straitjacket. With Twixxel receiving medical attention almost immediately, the two accomplices watched the hell run loose.

“...Are you satisfied?” Twixxel murmurs, touching the blood on his body, it sticking onto his fingers, but rubbing off quite easily.

Verity opens his mouth, lips parting.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

“Hello, I’m Verity!” The blond spoke, his tone, chipper as usual.

Mob watched as the camera picked up the scene in landscape-mode. The younger him, lied flat on his back as he watched nothing on the ceiling move. He felt something swell in his heart, probably a sense of nostalgia imbued with longing.

“I’m Mob… My father’s, uh, important around here.”

The child laughed, and the noise sounded so soothing. It was like a song you hadn’t heard in ages- And it had sounded much more heart-aching because it had been years. Mob felt his heart squeeze.

"I know! The researchers love talking about you."

Mob speeds up the video, watching it at a slightly faster pace.

He misses this.

He misses him.

He tries not to cry as each second replays, his heart is swallowing him alive with each beating second. Oxygen seems like such a foreign concept, everything falling into itself. But the tears seem to fall as the last few seconds of the observation plays.

“Promise?”

The pinky finger extends out, and it holds before his face and Verity’s for a long while, as the quiet noise of the common room lingers between them.

It was a long while, watching the finger stay between them. Or, it was a long while because he had paused the video for a solid twenty minutes. It was a long while he tried to zoom into the scene, but with a camera and a recording from years ago, he couldn’t do anything. Mob looked at the pixels that made up Verity, how his expression was blurred from the distance of the recording device, or how he boldly offered such a stupid deal.

Mob cried harder as his younger self replied with a: “Promise”.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Mob watched as he sat around for genuine hours on end waiting for Verity’s return years ago, at ten times speed. The clock moved from nine to nearly four in the afternoon, with the camera also barely moving, yet capturing all of his movements.

The younger him watched as Verity barked at the researchers, his arms wrestling against the buckles and the tightness of his straitjacket, and quietly undid with a simple movement. The two have a back and forth as the pure white falls from his shoulders.

“Well, I waited for you that long.” He paused before tilting his head at Verity, “I promised the ‘next time’, and… ‘Today’s next time’. Is it not?”

The camera zoomed into the scene, observing Verity’s and Mob’s facial expression. Mob felt like throwing up for some reason, and he didn’t know why.

“You… You came back-” After the second of hushing, he lets out a relieved noise, “You're the first to come back.”

[CLICK]

Mob decided to end the video there, leaving his seat to go take a short walk due to the stuffiness in his body killing him. And it probably would kill him if he watched just a little bit longer.

Mob was the first to come back.

And Mob will be the first and last to stay.

[CLICK]

"Because that doesn't fulfill our compromise." Mob grimaced visibly at the response, and Verity is audibly panicking, trying to hold down the cheap, yellow plastic.

He hits at the thing, tapping it as the noise comes from the other, hollow, side, "You're so stupid. Coward."

"How does that make me a coward?"

"Because you're scared of breaking a promise. That's something only a coward like you would do."

His head turns to look at Verity, who was awaiting a response from Mob.

"Should I be scared? Or should I not be?"

Mob would be a liar if he said he didn’t want to go back to simpler times like that. He missed it: Spending hours on end doing nothing with his lover. The camera zooms in, it shakes slightly, getting an angled view of them.

He skips the video by five seconds with the arrow keys, and he skips it again and again. Maybe to watch all the seconds of the past, or maybe just to try to run away the parts that would’ve made him break down.

"Isn't that like you?" The two sit, talking about Indigo Buntings.

Verity laughs, responding with just a quiet, simple, “Maybe.”

[CLICK]

Mob’s fingers place over top of his chest, hearing the slight noise in his ribs.

[CLICK]

"Do you… Think of me when you're not here?"

Verity asked, sitting under the brown-painted pillar they had always sat under. It still stood tall, just like before. But the paint had worn off, and it turned itself white and gray from the cement underneath.

Mob thinks about it for a minute, obviously. He pauses in his book-reading, "I guess I do. You're kinda hard to forget."

"...Okay."

Verity whispers, “Good.”

Mob randomly comments before he continues to read, “I think I’ll have pizza tonight. I have some frozen ones that might expire soon. Do you want any?”

“Do you want me to?”

“...Not really. I just said it because I wanted to talk about eating pizza… Have you even eaten pizza before?” He tilts his head, his fingers finding the blond hair that sticks out from under the helmet, running a couple digits through it.

Verity watches as Mob plays with his hair, “Mmm… No, I don’t think so.” He observes as his fingers find the sewing line of his shirt.

“You don’t think so?” Mob laughs, pinching the skin revealed around Verity’s wrist, before calling him stupid.

[CLICK]

Mob pauses the video, leaning back in his chair, as if death is coming to reap him. As his back presses against the backing, his body begins feeling the ghost of Verity hug him from behind, but the only thing that was wrapping him was the hot winds from the heater that sat beside him.

[CLICK]

Mob skips through the videos rather quickly, the seconds passing by into minutes by just rapid pressing. His fingers pause, as he hears a plea from a familiar voice in one of the recordings.

"Please. Don't leave. Don't... don't abandon me. Don't leave me too."

His younger self promises, "I won't."

The camera zooms into them, capturing their eyes, their dilated pupils, their breathing patterns, and the shine on their skin.

Mob promised not to leave Verity. But Verity had left him.

He laughed dryly with this fact, not knowing what to do with it. He continued watching the video’s observation logs, with his head in his hands.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Mob hits at the helmet that sat on his lap, he complains about Verity, to Verity himself, as if it would’ve done anything, "I think I hate you, and you're stupid."

"Do you really hate me though?” Verity’s hair falls slightly, covering his face.

"No. I don't. I don't hate you. And I don't think you're stupid."

Mob watches his admission in complete, dead silence, with only the rumbling air conditioner blasting in the back. The camera zooms into them closer, and the audio gets louder. But so does the sound of something; It’s the ringing in Mob’s skull.

"Mhm. If you really hated me, you wouldn't come here almost everyday. You wouldn't sit here with me for hours straight and talk to me about stupid stuff."

"I would've punched your stupid smile off your face right now. And... If I seriously hated you, I wouldn't have come back." Mob admits, his fingertips brushing against Verity’s lips carefully, before he pulls it away.

"And if I hated you instead, I wouldn't let you be the last person to ever see my face. And I don't let just anyone do this to me."

Verity wouldn’t have let anyone else other than Mob love him, and it feels like everything. Mob hadn’t heard Verity’s voice, unrecorded, unfiltered, practically unscripted for ages. So the words like that, coming out naturally made Mob feel something.

His face leans close towards the monitor screen, his eyes burning against the blue light, trying to collect all the fragments of Verity.

"I hate you."

"Do you, now?"

"...Not one bit."

[CLICK]

‘Not one bit’. He couldn’t say that applied to his situation now. Because Mob hated Verity. He hated everything about him. He hated that smile he always wore, the one that completely destroyed him from the inside and out. Or those eyes that glimmered perfectly during the setting sunlight, that ate him whole in the darkness it carried- Or even those sweet, dumb whispers he told him when they laid together in Verity’s cheap mattress.

Mob hated Verity.

He hated Verity for leaving him. But again, he really didn’t. But he still did.

And he would hate until he came back to him.
Like the dog he has to be.

[CLICK]

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Just do it. I'll listen, I'll sit."

The pause hung heavy between them. The camera barely picks up the noise from Mob’s mouth, "I'll stay."

Verity timidly asks, his fingers lifting up, "...Promise?"

"Promise."

But Verity was a liar. Because Mob stayed with him- But he didn’t stay with Mob. Verity left him. Mob skipped through the minutes of vulnerability, the seconds of crying. Because Mob wanted to cry harder than Verity will ever do and has ever done.

Mob is weaker than Verity. Mob is very, very weak. And, the blond knew that, deep down. And that’s why he was discarded like that.

The camera zoomed in and out of them, but it settled to zoom back in as they shared another promise.

"You don't have to do all of that- "Because I won't leave."

"Ever?"

"Never."

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

[CLICK]

And like usual, Verity broke his side of the promise. Because he was a traitor. He was a bastard. He was a dirty liar.

Because he left.

Without a word, without a date of return, and without signing those papers that still sat on Mob’s desk, stained with some dark brown color of coffee and rot.

[CLICK]

His fingers speed through the video by using the bar. Watching the videos brought a sense of ease to his heart. But then again, it didn’t. It never did. It brought back some lingering, hanging sense of guilt and regret, but that pain felt oddly soothing, because the pain was inflicted by the gaping hole that was named ‘Verity’.

"If we can, let's go see them together, every year."

"Okay.”

The camera zooms onto them, staring at their pinky fingers for just a split moment before pulling back, capturing the view of them in their entirety.

Mob giggles, seeing Verity preparing his fingers to interlink and stamp down, ”Promise?"

"Promise."

[CLICK]

Two straight years without the Summer’s Triangle. Two, whole years. Without Verity.

The rain poured on the day he left Mob- And it also fell on all seasons the next year. And this year? Mob sat in his room, dimly lit with only the illumination of the laptop with all these files, while a typhoon swept across the city.

The magpies didn’t want to come this year either.

[CLICK]

Mob watched through the entire video in dead silence, without a single thought. He stared at the burning light in the middle of the day, or the late, waiting night like a zombie.

The video ended with one line from Verity.

"Okay. I hear you, loud and clear."

[CLICK]

‘Loud and clear’, he said.

‘No you didn’t’s flashed through Mob’s head, his eyes burning through tears and everything beyond and between that. ‘You heard me’, screaming across his heart, his veins pumping with a blood flow with a pressure that made his body ache.

Verity heard Mob. He heard Mob’s instructions, his words and what he meant. Just not clearly.

Because Mob knew Verity doubted himself from the very beginning, and there was nothing he’ll ever do, or could do about it.

[CLICK]

"I kinda want to grow old and get married. With you."

Everything to Mob deafened in mere seconds at the syllable of marriage. Mob felt sick to his stomach, as his brain replayed the memories, and the laptop reminded him of what he had said.

The noise of a beating heart and a rattling skull is the worst feeling to have. The conversation flowed to his head, in and out and out and in, echoing like a prayer that’s not supposed to be there, or a prayer not supposed to happen.

"How do you think the world was created? 'God created the Heavens and the Earth'? Or what?"

The response echoed in his brain. Of course he knew what he was going to say next- He had lived through that moment just years prior. He’d give the world to return to that very instant.

"I think I know how the world was created."

The words repeated in Mob’s head hundreds of times in a nanosecond. His own answers in the recording were drowned out by the noise of his own being.

It hurt, it ached. Hearing it again.

He smiles, "When helium and hydrogen particles collided.. it created the 'Big Bang'," Verity continued, their other hands met, the two rolled up between each other, tangling legs, before their fingertips met gently, "When your fingers graced mine, my world was created. My Earth."

"You know the Big Bang theory?

"Of course, who doesn't? That's the one I logically believe in."

"When helium and hydrogen particles collided.. it created the 'Big Bang', when your fingers graced mine, my world was created. My Earth. You are as important to me as Earth is to us humans."

“You’re silly…” The younger Mob instructs Verity, “Crawl back to me like Halley's comet. Orbit back to me."

"Like the dog I am."

[CLICK]

Mob sits in silence for a long while.

Because he didn’t come back. It had been one too many days without him. How did Earth survive nearly a millennia without it? How did the Solar System ignore the comet that promises to return every seventy years?

Mob couldn’t even go half a day without his Verity. Hell, he’ll probably die going decades without him.

[CLICK]

“I think that–”

The two crash into the artificial grass, they giggle as they roll in it together, their hands closing into one another. Mob stared into the stars that they projected all over the walls, and Verity watched the supposed movement behind those dark glass windows, as if he could see through one-way windows.

Verity stared directly into the camera for a split second.

Mob jumped from the look, for some reason, assuming he knew who was watching him and when, or why. But there was so much he could do with recordings ranging from months to years ago.

Verity whispered something into Mob’s ear, which caused the camera to pick up the noise, but it ended up only receiving the sound of the electrical components in the wall, the water of the plumbing flowing and little giggles from Mob’s mouth.

Mob whispers back into Verity’s ears, the words getting quieter. With the distance of the camera, it was unable to pick up any of the words.

[CLICK]

The Mob from so many hours, days, weeks ago felt so happy. And Mob felt a sense of envy eat at him for no reason at all.

Mob calls himself a horrible person.

[CLICK]

Mob used to never understand how people couldn’t move on from someone who was gone in their lives, until Verity disappeared.

But he really wasn’t gone. And that's what hurt the most.

It was Mob’s first time watching a whole recording of the observation log in a long while. He didn’t know why he had chosen this one specifically, but he carefully listened to everything they had to say.

The camera moved down, watching the two of them draw on one another’s back, while Verity played with some circuits and wires that Mob didn’t really understand nor care about. Now that he thought about it, that thing was probably what the AGI was. He wouldn’t really know, having transferred all of his data from the old one onto the one Verity left.

His cursor hovered over the application, but he decided to continue watching the videos.

He watched them exchange plastic flowers as if they were rings. The one Verity would propose to him with, eventually, later on in an abandoned playground, that had been turned into a construction site, still sat around his neck on a chain.

"I'll send you hundreds of voicemails until you're sick of hearing me- I don't care what you do: You have to return these voice notes, no matter how long, how far you are from me."

Mob’s a liar, and a hypocrite at that. Because he cared how long it would take for Verity to come back- He cared where he was, specifically the distance, because he wasn’t allowed to be this far from him.

"No matter what I do: I'll reply to them. I swear. On my life."

Mob checked his phone; His phone’s inbox sat empty, without a single voicemail sent back. It had been empty for the past two years.

"If you don't: I'll kill myself, and then you."

"You're gonna kill me how?"

"Like I said- With grief."

[CLICK]

Maybe Mob was the one dying from the grief.

[CLICK]

Marriage.

"Of course- Because you can't be everything and be nothing to me at the same time. That doesn't exist for me."

[CLICK]

Mob doesn’t know what else to say, because immediately afterwards, the files stopped.

Years of files accumulated; From 2048 to 2051, Mob had personally gone through them all over a span of too long of a time period for him to be sane. Five thousand and two hundred observations files, exactly on the dot.

The cursor goes to close all the windows, whether they were the hundreds of transcripts, hand-typed logs from the researchers, recordings or video brightening technology. His cursor hovers over the AGI Verity had coded himself years ago, the thing still working, but Mob felt it was significantly inferior to the real one, neglecting it.
He still opens the application though, interacting with it a little bit.

‘Do you think about me when you’re not here?’
Of course Mob did. He missed Verity to death.

‘What’s your favorite place in the world?’
Anywhere his lover was, but that was a by far dream he didn't know when he’d be able to get back.

Mob goes quiet as he stands up, shutting his laptop down, as the date reads in the year of 2054. He heads outside the door to his bedroom, where he barely leaves nowadays, his white jacket fluttering in the wind.

His father spoke to him, older, but definitely not any wiser, “Are you ready, Mob?”

“Yes.”

The astrolabe held tight in his hands, sitting in his pocket where it often sat. The thing had the name ‘Verity’ engraved on the back, which Mob carefully cherished. His father paid no mind to anything he did, handing him a thin sheet of paper and telling him to head down a certain hall.

“Uh, please state your ID number and-”

He holds up his card, with his face and a thin barcode on it, the numbers atop of it, fading away, “Two, two, five, one, eight, nine, two, zero, two, five.”

“Please enter.”

Sometimes weaseling his way through the ranks and receiving the benefits Mob wanted could only be obtained using his father’s name. Of course, he had his merits- He worked hard, getting his way through the top, despite being an average student his entire life. But then again, you can’t be average when your lover is lightyears away from you.

The man stepped onto a platform, where an array of machinery in clad white surrounded him. Wires, colored pipes and grails accompanied it, but only so often.

“Please wear this.” Mob is handed something, and he takes it.

Maybe he needs to stop building the habit of zoning in and out of consciousness and nothingness. He looks down to see his body covered in layers of clothes- Probably over a dozen. The fabric feels strange on his hands, and his arms feel heavy.

A voice from above instructs, “Begin the testing.”

After being put through various scenarios- Be that be underwater testing, physical movement, carrying items or being able to repair items with simulated conditions, Mob tears the helmet off of his head, and gets ready to peel everything off his skin.

He gets one message, not even spoken directly to him, from his father’s delegate: “You’ll leave tomorrow.”

They say a man dies when all those who remembered him forgets him.

Mob doesn't think Verity will ever die then, because Mob has made sure the world remembers the remnants of his space-struck lover. He stands under the breaking morning, preparing to leave. He sees Fils and Whispy walking down the shade, and their eyes go wide, seeing a man they had not known the location of for nearly three years, just for the said man to disappear probably forever. 

"You know what to do, right?" A staff member asks Mob as they help him with the many layers of the space suit.

"Yeah, no worries."

She explains as she hands him insulated gloves, "Usually, someone could never go to space this early and suddenly. Hell- Not alone either. So, most of the items onboard and what not are built for two people- Be very careful of what you're going to do, alright? Please follow the proc-"

"I know what I'll be doing, please don't worry. I take my job very seriously."

"Yes, I know. But if you seriously don't take precautions, the ship has a chance of triggering the self-destruction protocol, therefore explod-"

"Everything has a chance of explosion if I just press as many buttons as I can."

"...Are you going to let me finish my sentence or not?"

"...Sorry."

"Seriously, listen up. If you try to force... let's say movement despite being low on fuel, all reserves will be drained into maximizing movement, therefore running out of backups very quickly. However, since our spaceships are unique- Fuel is also used to power everything. So whatever you do: If the screen reads roughly forty-percent, do not move, immediately call for backup and turn on low power mode."

She continues to explain, "In situations where you are lacking any resource, one of our teams will be sent out as soon as possible. If you're trying to leave the ship, be very careful of when, how and-" Quickly being interrupted by someone calling her over, she clicks her tongue, pausing in her words. Taking a long sigh, she leaves Mob one last word of advice, "No matter what, or who you're trying to find- Trust me: It won't end well."

Mob stayed silent, watching her back grow smaller as she walked away towards another group of people. He decided not to comment on anything she said.

The world goes quiet for Mob sometimes. Most times, yellow and green seems to fade into one large amalgamation of lime- Or reds and blues end up into a muddied, desaturated brown without the man even noticing. His eyes close, resting for a sleep that awaits him, yet its pushing him away, telling him it's not yet time.

'Begin in five.'

'Four.'

'Three.'

'Begin in two.'

'One.'

The world softly rumbled, or it screamed, and Mob just drowned out the noise with the constant noise in his piercing skull. Mob knows his mission- What awaits him the minute he hits the stratosphere. He knows that his job is to go find the pieces of Verity he had left behind, document on things that he may have missed on his ventures or whatever tasks given to him last minute. But his personal mission was to collect the remains of his lover and bring him back.

Mob didn't have a lot of valuables. Or he did, but he didn't hold much sentiment to it. Bringing a couple items with him on onboard, he opens his eyes one more time to look at them, before his head would be filled with more noise. He clutches a piece of paper that sat roughly in his hand, being rolled into a ball to be fidgeted with, along with all the data saved into physical drives. He uncrumples the ball, attempting to flatten it back out, and it opens back up, in neat handwriting, amongst the heavy creases. 

XJSIMNRMTRJ

SENDHIMHOME

Send him home.

Mob's life in the past few years surmised. 

Twixxel had basically disappeared the week after graduation- Just like he said he would. He and Creator were probably somewhere high up in space, doing the same thing Verity did. Mob assumes they spent their days together, cleaning up after Verity's messes, to which, he envied. Even though the labor was arduous, even though it was a miserable job to have- At least the two had one another to spend their misery with.

The world blurs again, and Mob finds the world to piece back slowly one by one. A radio or some sort of static comes from the main control panel of the ship he's in, barely audible over the beeping noise and flashing buttons in greens, reds, blues and yellows. It speaks to him about protocol, about his mission, about the lives at stake and humanity's risk to do all of this. He doesn't know how to respond.

His USB stick is inserted into a laptop, which he knows he's not supposed to do- Involving his personal life with work, but then again, it drove him where he was today. 

Something new appeared.

It wasn't there before- It never was there. A new file appeared on the laptop. A folder, of sorts, sitting on the desktop. It was titled something strange. Mob hesitated to click on it, hell, there was probably an error or something, either with his eyes or with his USB stick. He attempted to pull out the drive and plug it back in, but the file only disappeared and reappeared. Mob laughed to himself. He didn't know why he was doing so, but he did.
Deciding to restart the device, he thought maybe it was a system issue, maybe after a simple restart everything would be normal. But then again, it wasn't. It was still there. 

LOG: 1_13152

That's not supposed to happen.

His fingers touched the trackpad, slowly dragging it up towards the folder despite the low sensitivity, and clicking on it twice.

It opened up to have a video file and a couple other photos, barely labelled, capturing different planets and celestial bodies. There was the sun. The moon, and scraps left behind by someone. There was Earth- Zoomed into one specific continent that Mob struggled to figure out. An exoplanet, Proxima Centauri B, sitting between the vast universe and everything between and before it. Some star, burning, mere minutes or seconds before explosion. And one file, named log1_13125_transcript.txt.

Mob watched the giant video file. Some rustling happened, with loud movement of clothes and fingers tapping against the microphone. 

And there he was.

Verity.

Golden hair that drops from his forehead, the texture of silk brushing softly against his shoulders. His black eyes, the blackhole that dragged Mob towards him, gravitating him towards his soul- And his beauty all before him, in video.

Mob's fingers brushed against the screen; leaving behind some sort of white fog from the moisture from the touch, leaving behind a fingerprint. He shouldn't be touching the screen, dirtying it like this. But he did. And he doesn't know why. Maybe the refreshing look of his lover without the low quality lab cameras made him feel this way. Maybe because he hadn't seen a more recent video of him.

"...Hello?" The voice came out slightly weird, but it adjusted itself quickly afterwards, "...Observation- No, just... Log one. Dash, one, three, one, two, five."

He restarts after a sigh, "This is log one. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. The current date of recording would be the seventh of July, twenty-one minutes past five, Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

Another strange voice came from the video, obviously deeper, more static-sounding, but it was barely audible for Mob to hear. Verity replied to it, "I've made it to all the locations that have been requested arrival to. No signs of life, or potential possibilities of it. Samples have been collected, and another set of recordings have been sent to the main body and backed up, All major data and summaries remains unchanged. Oxygen levels have-"

Mob forwards the video, watching it in a faster speed, listening through all the recordings of oxygen levels, how they've fluctuated and such- Or the search for water on the surface of a planet, yet to no avail, as Verity begins discussing and bringing up some plan to hit something with a specific type of comet, and references to already discussed plans Mob had no idea about. Maybe Mob hadn't done enough snooping around in the large data base yet.

The video goes quiet for a while, Verity sits there, twiddling with a silver wedding band on his finger. His fingers tap against it, but it makes no noise through the noise of space. Through the beeps, the clicks and the fan blasting under the laptop, blowing wind around, he asks, "How's Mob?"

"...Yes, I'm serious."

"Is... Is he doing alright?" He asks, his eyes staring at the floor, contemplating something, "I... You know I can't contact him. It's been... months, you know? You know that I- I know that he hates me to death now. If I try to do anything immediately... I'm scared that- I'm... I just," he hides his face, covering them with his palms, cupping it, "I'm so scared he'll chase after me."

"You don't understand how terrifying it sounds- Or how much my heart hurts imagining him trying everything just to see me again."

"I'm terrified, considering, thinking about the idea that he's going to find a way to climb up to space just to find me. I love him, I'll actually feel like I'll die from happiness if he does that- But I'm also imagining what could possibly happen if he finds me. You know the consequences just as much as anyone else does- But you don't know what could happen to us like I do."

"...What if his father-?"

He cuts himself off, lowering his head and sighing. His shoulders dropping.

"Nevermind. I apologize for the unprofessional manner I just displayed, considering this is an official log."

"All files, images and other information not yet stated or discussed has already been sent over and transferred into the database. Most data should've been backed up by now. Video files will take slightly longer."

"Ending log."

Mob closes the video file, and rewatches it from the very beginning, as he floats infinitely through space.

The AI 'replica' of Verity sits behind Mob's desktop, and it interrupts him through his session of video watching. It happily chirps, breaking through his train of jumbled thoughts, "Hey Mob! What are you doing tonight?"

"...Hey, what time is it back on Earth?" Mob speaks, his voice slightly hoarse from prolonged silence.

"The time is a quarter 'til nine, at night! I heard the view from the radio tower is quite nice around this season!" The AI attempts a laugh, "Haha, you speak as if you're in space, Mob! "

"Because I am." He pauses, before elaborating, "Because I am in space. I'm nowhere on Earth. Because I'm finding you."

Mob catches himself thinking this AI was his lover again.

"Silly, I'm not in space! I'm here, in your laptop!"

"You're not an ANI, you're AGI. 'Artificial General Intelligence'- Not 'narrow' intelligence. You can't fool me... You're- Technically here in space with me as well."

"Well, maybe so."

"Maybe so? You are."

"Aren't you tired, Mob?"

"Changing the topic, just like the real one I see. You're just a cheap imitation though," Mob twiddles with the ring on his finger, twisting it left and right and moving it up and down, "I wonder how you're not broken yet."

"I've been taken real good care of!"

"Keep me company for a while, whether you're fake or not."

"...Okay!"

Another one came in the next day. It was surprising these appeared so quickly. Maybe Mob didn't bother to check where it came from- Maybe it had always been there on his laptop but he only realized it now. And there was still that feeling in his heart telling him not to jump down the rabbit hole: so he did not bother to dig deeper. 

It was strange, really. It was strange that Mob was watching these videos again and again for some hope about Verity. It was weird that Mob was acting so strange towards him, even 'til now. There was really no word for his affection for his lover, really. Obsessiveness seemed too extreme, and it probably wasn't wanting him to stay with Verity forever- The word felt too harsh to be thrown around like that.

"This is log two. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Exactly midnight, Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"It's been over three months since I've been here. Felt like ten- But I digress. The search for a planet for safe, human living, seems futile. I... I don't really think or imagine I'll find any remains of my predecessors or anything. A moon rock has been obtained and promptly sent back for further research, as per request." He licks his lips, thinking about his next words, "There's not much I can comment on, other than conditions of other stars. Most exoplanets that I've seen lack a proper star to orbit, therefore are promptly eliminated. The list of the ones which do, are currently too far. I currently lack fuel, at thirty percent, so I am waiting for a shipment to come in before I do anything rash."

Verity asks the figure beyond the screen, or whoever he was speaking to during recordings. Mob couldn't hear their voice, too quiet to be picked up on, and in logs they were not stated. Twixxel... Is he sending me updates about Mob, still?" He looks shocked as he receives a response, slightly long as his pause lingers between the screen, "...Wha-? What do you mean Mob 'cut off almost all communication'? They live in the same building, practically... How can-?"

"...Self isolation? Going quiet unless spoken to? Saying he's 'just thinking'?" His voice quickens, and it was clear his heart went rabid, "Is that all he commented on?"

"Oh. He stopped appearing at the sector. Got it... But- Oh, yeah. I guess if someone pulled a stunt like we did, any sane person would distance themselves. Ha..."

"I'm sorry for going off topic again- I really need to stop, but I... I can't stop thinking about what's happening back on Earth. Yeah, I have Twixxel, and the... other thing, but I'm just still so anxious. I think my mental state is taking a massive hit, as of late."

"Yeah, they're sending someone over along with the shipment of resources." He pauses, beginning to stammer, "I don't know- It's just terrifying to dream. Especially of... Nevermind, I really need to stop dragging personal matters into the logs. I got a handful since it affects the transcripts."

"Data recorded has not been backed up yet, but it will be once fuel and resources arrive. Estimated time of arrival to next location: Four months. Power is running low- It has already dipped to twenty-five."

"Ending log."

Mob licks the bottom of his lip, before he presses it against his upper one into one thin line. He's honestly baffled, to say the least. He doesn't know what to say or to think. He blanks out, or rather, he chooses not to remember his day as it goes by.

The world likes to turn into a blur for Mob sometimes. Fading into blacks, whites and just motion. Swirls paint the universe- Like Van Gogh's starry night, except everything is twisting into a fist, and the brightness is blinding. Though just for a couple minutes, he'd blink back into consciousness, just for his sanity to be ripped from his bare fingers, like how his lover was torn from his soul.

Padded shoes touch against the moon's floor. The celestial body is oddly bouncy, gravity differs in space after all, Mob didn't understand why he expected it to be easier to move around. He had always imagined the training under the water for hours seemed a bit extreme, he had always come out a bit unwell. He paid it no mind, seeing that the time spent there was well spent. 

Body movement feels mechanical- Like there's a parasite that took ahold of his body, doing what it told him to do. But it was just him, controlling himself, just like a ship on autopilot, his hands touch things without his permission, his fingers curls without him needing to, and so does his eyes blink without a command. 

His eyes are betraying the master control of his brain- Because it blinks when he sees traces of the past before him.

Mob sees traces of someone.

Of Verity.

Of Verity, out of all people- Out of all things. 

He feels it, his leftover body heat mingling in the vacuum of space. That absolute burning fire left behind not by the stars besides them, nor the friction of comets and rocks- But from a human.

But then he blinks again, and his skin feels no more. Just the heating of his spacesuit, and the seeping of the cold that eats at the surface of skin, causing hair to stick up. Mob blinks once more, and he's there. His ghost is there- Watching him, grinning at him, mocking him, taunting him, telling him he's home, telling him he's back, telling him he's gone- The ghost is instructing Mob to go back home.

Mob blanks out. Mob regains control of his body, his mind, his soul once in charge. He stops mid-line, realizing he had been recording a log, with a piece of debris from the great moon before his eyes.

"Uh... Sorry, I just- I... I forgot what I was going to say," he pauses, swallowing something in his throat. It left a lingering spice but returned as a bitterness, which was strange because Mob doesn't recall eating anything, "Give me a minute." Mob reaches for his facial muscles, massaging it thoroughly before his fingers extends towards a bottle, but they quickly retract.

"To summarize the whole expedition: Request to obtain more fragments of the moon and find any trace of human activity, besides already recorded ones and... yeah. It has been completed. The moon rocks are currently sealed carefully in the back compartment; The main station will receive it within the next shipment of goods."

"No living being was present on the surface of the moon. Records from others have been cross-analyzed, and it has been also confirmed by the statistics team after multiple revisions that there is no one after the visit of... One-three- You know what? I don't care... Whoever that string of number is, I can't imagine you guys actually expected me to read numbers, and I don't expect you guys to know who fucking eight-nine-ten-eleven is either."

"I don't believe there is a need nor a purpose for the next individual to... well, go here. There's not much to comment on, my 'predecessors' have already said a lot."

"Anyways, I don't think that really matters."

"This is an official recorded report as a representative of Project: Stellar. Code number: Two, two, five, one, eight, nine, two, zero, two, five. Report number: one, concluded. The current day of recording would be the Five minutes past midnight, on the fourteenth of February, 2054, Eastern Standard Time." Mob reaches for the button, the words 'STOP' in big, bold red screams at him, " Ending video in: Three, two...”

"One." He mutters, pressing it on the exact syllable.

He leans back into his chair and sighs, throwing his head down as all of his files and data collected is sent over and backed up on an external drive, another precaution in the instance the main vessel loses the data or he does. He thinks about the handful he'd get from having an improper report, both verbal and written, but he'd get away with it. He could just turn off all communications for a solid five minutes and everything goes radio silence afterwards.

Mob's head turns to the universe moving just outside of the hunk of metal and wires he'd be staying in. It was funny. He recalled some meteor that was said to hit Earth exactly on this day as well- But he struggled to find the name within the back of his mind. 

His fingers crack open his laptop, though he had only shut it a couple minutes prior, just to close it again and open it back up without remembering his original purpose, this time he decided to talk to someone, or well, something, imitating someone.

With two light clicks, the application called: Verity™

"Hello!" The O-sound was stretched out, being slightly longer than usual, "Welcome back, Mob! How was your day?"

"I want to say good, but not really."

The words came from the laptop, "Tell me about it." But it sounded like a demand. Not a request, not words of pity- But it felt like words murmured that meant he needed to know more, and as much as he could.

"Is this your attempt at empathy?"

"Attempt? No way! Remember: I'm an AGI, programmed to keep you happy, as per request and by my coding!"

"...Silly." Mob murmured, forcing a laugh out of himself, trying to feel amused, "You're so... weird."

"Do you always call people names like that?"

"No."

"Hm... Okay then!"

"Do you always attempt to feel human, yet your awareness of your sentience only reminds you of the fact you're a bot?"

"I don't really know about that. Or if I want to talk about that."

Feels human enough.

"Do you really know everything?"

"I can respond to any question you have!"

Mob thinks about it, or he pretends to. He finds words in his head to ask, picking at the loose thread on his clothes, "Where is Verity?"

"What are you talking about, Mob?" He lets out a mechanical laugh, that almost sounds too real. Verity wasn't lying when he gave him a run down on how AGI mimicked humans, "I'm right here!"

"Not you- The real one. The one who made you, the one who loves me." He pauses, licking his lips, not realizing the thread he had been touching had been ripped off, "The one I love."

"What are you talking about, Mob?" The line repeated, and so did the chuckle, "I'm right here!"

The line repeats a couple more times without Mob even saying anything, the noise coming out weirdly staticky and oddly loud, causing Mob to turn his volume down low with a grimace.

"Are you... broken...? Why are you repeating words-" He clicks his tongue, still hearing the noise from the computer despite being on volume one. The AI bounces up and down, signifying speech, but as Mob increases by spam-clicking his button, the AI returns to the giant, idle smiley face.

Mob sighs, "Verity, did you say anything?"

"Were you not listening to me?" He feigns being upset, pouting, a new sprite, or so Mob thinks. He comments, saying the ball looked like a golden retriever, if it was well, neon yellow, a ball, and quite the opposite of cute, causing the AI to frown even more, getting a laugh out of Mob.

Through laughter, Mob stopped, reaching for a water bottle. The silver band shone on his fingers ever so slightly, and the light emphasized on it, reflecting it back into his eyes. Mob grabbed his facial muscles, it felt sore, used, and heavy with lactic acid. 

It was heavy.

Something that had stopped feeling heavy a long time ago- What? Three or four years ago? Was that the last time it felt that heavy?

Mob didn't remember why it stopped, or why he paused to even think about it. But something ate at him, as he realized the baggy off-white t-shirt that he stole from Verity's closet a couple years ago was small and tight on him. Or actually, it didn't even fit anymore. It sat on a cardboard box in the corner of the ship, no longer pristine as the color worn off from the lack of bleaching.

his heart suddenly hurt with something beyond despair, hate and happiness. It was the feeling of feeling happy without a specific someone- The happiness that shouldn't exist without that person besides him. He can't feel this- He shouldn't be. He's not allowed to be. He's not supposed to feel like this.

Mob's not supposed to do that again.

"...Do you miss him?" The AI broke through the silence, probably from the fact his mic had stop picking up noise. Mob blinked back into reality, realizing that the clock had ticked a handful of minutes already, the number going beyond five. The laptop rumbled softly, "Do you miss him, the person you talk about?"

Mob's mouth moves without his command, his voice feels hoarser than usual, his heart still feels like muscle twitching under skin, exposed to open air for the first time in its life. He looks down, spinning the ring around the base of his Vena Amoris, his fingers lightly brushing over the dandelion that flies in the emptiness of the band.

"Sometimes you speak just like him."

His fingers snake up to his lips as his eyes shoot open. They jolt around, searching for anything, anyone to pull him out of his situation. He caught himself doing something he shouldn't, couldn't, or can't be doing. He did something worthy of pain and suffering- That he swore would never occur again.

"I-I..." He mutters, and the AI chatbot talks back, it attempts to say something, but Mob doesn't want to hear it.

"I'm- Fuck... I'm so," he sighs, taking in a sharp breath, "so... sorr- No. I don't- I'm not."

"Mob, are you-"

The apology sits on his tongue, like a melting sugar cube dissolved before it could be shown, "Bye." 

The laptop lid slams down.

Mob crawls away from it, the gravity pulling him away from it as an apology for everything before. Mob sits in the ship, hovering, floating in everything through barely silent beeps and clicks. He sits in a fetal position, body curled up into a ball, like how he acted as a child. 

His eyes occasionally flashed to the world outside, seeing the galaxy up close like this in real life. 

He didn't reach out to grab the stars like how he used to- He didn't try to capture the world in his palms, knowing it was unreachable; knowing it was beyond him. He just sat. Watched as the world moved in slow motion, almost. And sat.

Mob's fingers restlessly tapped against a table, or something. It was a hard surface, letting a hollow, metallic noise as the tempo rapidly increased. It had already been nearly five months since he had been on a spaceship. Of course, the whole space thing drove him insane, but so did everything else. The food felt like he was eating bars of chalk, and it was getting sickening. He had gone too long without any real human interaction, and he was wondering how Verity did it, always being so quiet about it after all.

But he guessed that feeling of longing was what kept Verity company. And the mass hallucinations of the lingering ghost was also what kept Mob company.

Mob watched as that ghost haunted him in his spaceship. He moved around, touching the floating objects suspended in the air and mocked him. He mocked him by kissing him so tenderly. Mob attempted to reply back with something more warm than that- But he'd just be met with him kneeling on the ground, clutching onto air.

His eyes often lingered back to the laptop, hesitant to open the Verity™ application downloaded. 

Of course, Mob knew Verity had left him for one reason: To pursue a happiness they wouldn't be able to achieve, for some reason. Or something along the lines of that. But Mob didn't want happiness like that. He didn't want happiness bred from another person- Or in this case, thing, that wasn't the real Verity. It stole his name, like some sort of skin-walker or fae, but he also stole his voice, his laughter and intonations. It felt unreal. It felt like Mob was using it as a replacement for the real one, and he didn't want that. He didn't want to smile if it wasn't the real deal- He didn't want to grin or laugh at something that only mimicked his lover.

His fingers hesitantly opened it back up, for the hundredth time. 

Like a drug, he kept coming back. Like a drunkard, he reached again for the shelf. 

"Welcome back, Mob!" The voice cheered, sounding more human, more like Verity day-by-day, causing a dry swallow of saliva from Mob, "Didn't you say you were tired just an hour ago? I thought you were going to bed!"

"I... I couldn't sleep." He held his head in his hands, "I couldn't."

"You could always tell me about it! Do you want me to listen?"

"You-"

"That's not my name now, is it?"

"You're not Verity."

"That's my name, in my program-"

"You're not my Verity." Mob emphasizes on the word 'my', his tone harsh, his lips sounding out the M harder than ever. He cuts his muttering off, sighing before sighing again, his eyes drawn to the grown and the lines that make up the world, "You're not my Verity- So I won't call you that. You're not actually him."

"You're not real. Just a... stupid imitation of what could be. You have his name- or you stole it. Like a thief. You sometimes have his laugh, just more mechanical, fake, and forced. Like a trained noise ran through simulations over and over again. Sometimes you speak exactly like him. How his greetings sound like." Mob pauses, licking his lips before pressing them into a thin line, "Did you know your 'welcome's and 'hello's sounds exactly like his? When we first met-"

Mob chokes on the tears, or something. The letters are on the tip of his tongue, dancing there in a mocking manner, almost escaping, almost out- But not at the same time. He tries to hold back his sobs. The fingers that cage his view tighten their grip, he feels his slightly overgrown nails scratch at the surface of his skin, and his breath running short.

Attempting to wipe away the growing watery sensation, Mob lets out a barely audible hic, "When we first met, he spoke just like that. His greeting that I basically have engrained in my brain... It fucking hurts to see something replace someone- Someone who I hold so dear."

"It's impossible to not see my lover within you."

There. Mob admitted it. Now what? Now what was he or this cheap fake supposed to do with this newfound revelation? He didn't want pity or anything: He just wanted Verity back.

The AI spoke, slowly, hesitant, "...Do you think of... Him? When you talk to me? All the time?"

Mob responds back, hushed, his heart pained, aching with each word causing a sharp pang, "How could I not?" He swallows something, the liquid running down his throat painful, "How could you stop seeing your world in the smallest of things?"

"I... I don't-" The application seems to glitch slightly, with the response coming out delayed, "I don't understand what you mean."

"I thought you knew everything."

"...I do."

"So why do you fucking- Nevermind. No- Who cares."

Mob slams the laptop lid shut.

He spends a long while, sitting in silence, collecting his emotions that seemed to be scattered across the world. He reaches for his phone, which for some reason, he brought with him, knowing there was nothing and there would be nothing.

He presses the buttons that sit on the side, opening his lockscreen, a polaroid photo of he and Verity, under the sun, plucking flowers from an abandoned field in a farm three hours away from the lab.
Verity held a bundle of poppies in his hands, and a crown of dandelions were woven through each thread of his hair, done by Mob himself, as they were playing a game to see who could sneak as many flowers on the other's body in the time period they were there.

Mob laughed, remembering that when he emptied his pockets to buy a bottle of water, at least five bundles of garnet mourning flowers came out, rather than the ten dollars he had stuffed in just a couple hours prior. 

The man typed in his passcode weakly, two, five, one, two, four, eight. Christmas Day, 2048. 

A long, hard, dry swallow of saliva slicked down his throat, with each movement of his muscles leaving fire behind, like a claw digging into flesh, fresh. He opens up his gallery, but before that, he had to physically pause and clutch his heart. Each trembling touch and quaking fingers opens a video, and it plays by itself, without him asking it to.

The camera work is shaky, Verity's fingers covers a corner of the lens, causing a laugh to come out of Mob's mouth. The two exchanged banter for a little while, as Mob held some old vinyl in his hands. It was yellow in the middle, made by some band in the 1960's that the two only picked up from a vintage second-hand shop because it had a similar name to a constellation. 

Mob forgot how young he was. How young they were. How it felt like the world slowed down a little bit longer just for the two of them. The high-pitched octave of his voice, accompanied by some mesmerizing siren song of Verity's it felt like he was back in those days again. 

Mob's eyes slowly closed, shutting against his eyelids as he listened to the video.

"How are we supposed to play this with no vinyl player?" Verity giggled, before Mob hissed, taking the phone from his hands and giving him the vinyl.

"I have a vinyl player in my living room, duh." He scoffs, the microphone of the phone speakers popping and rustling, "Sneak out of the common room tonight." Mob demands, as the sleeve slips out and he begins setting up his father's beaten, old vinyl player, "I want to spend more time with you."

"The researchers would kill me during roll call or morning inspection."

"Who cares?"

"They do, obviously."

"Shut up."

"What's the point of recording this, by the way?"

"Archive; I also wanna see your reaction to a vinyl."

"Can't we just play it on your phone?"

"It's more exciting this way."

"If you say so."

The vinyl spins around, playing a soft piano. It sounds like something: The stars. That's what it felt like, just like the artist' name. The noise wasn't staticky or broken like Verity assumed it would've been. It was smooth sounding, like a normal song recorded digitally. The vocals, a woman singing with the low, barely audible backing of a man's overlapping her words, singing in harmony. 

Verity's hands covers Mob's, and it barely catches on in the video. 

"This feels like a trip to the beach."

"It does."

"This feels like stargazing in the seafoam."

"Yeah, it really does."

"This feels like witnessing the Summer's Triangle for the first time under the hot sand, accompanied by the cold water soaking into our clothes."

"...Do you want to go to the beach with me, Verity?"

Mob's heart melted into hearing the pronunciation of his name.

"I do." The blond in the video whispered back, and his heart seemed to physically collapse both then and now.

The vocals drown out more of the conversation, but Mob recalls every second of it. Of course he did: If he didn't, if he couldn't, Mob would hold his head in some sort of shame for the rest of his life. He would equate himself to nothing.

After a couple seconds of silence, the phone drops onto the ground, and the camera moves, falling onto the sofa. Within the window panes, projections of the dark skies, the blinding industrial lights outside, and the colors painting the shadows, shattering the illusion of coldness, depth, and gloominess; A small reflection of Verity and Mob was engrained into the glass, sat under a large, red duvet face nuzzled into one another, hands moving to cup and kiss.

Mob chokes on his tears in silence for a long while.

"This is log three. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Time is: fifteen, twelve; Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"I apologize for the lack of updates- I've only recalled it had been over four months since my last log back on the ninth of March, 2052. More images were taken from a far, albeit. They've been uploaded and saved to the mainframe. More data on stars and certain exoplanets have been saved." Verity's fingers intertwine with one another, the fingers barely visible as he hides it under the camera,"It's been a year or so since I've been out here. Exactly one year, actually. Today is the seventh of July, 2052. I'm getting used to constant loud noises of outerspace and wires... and beeping... and, everything in general. If I'm being totally honest- I'm not doing so well."

"Before I was sent up, I was told by higher ups, or well, the Head Researcher that radiation would pose a problem. But, ha... If you know anything about Project Stellar you'd know I'm genetically modified to withstand most of it. But it's not the radiation that's the problem."

He pauses, licking his lips, "...Or at least, I think."

"Alterations to the circulatory system, narrowing of blood vessels, and well, all sorts of other things."

"When they told me about that- I don't think hallucinations were a side effect."

"I've been hallucinating someone; This entire time. It's... really difficult to focus. It's getting worse and worse. I... I don't know if I could handle this any longer. It's really... hindering. It could be because of my lack of sleep, but I highly doubt it. I've never been like this."

"I've never seen it like that. I've never known hallucinations could be so... terrifying."

Verity sits in silence. The electricity behind him, the noise of space enveloping him, the soft clicks and taps of a computer screen. His eyes, disconnected from the camera, but rather focused on staring into every line and welding mistake into the flooring and walls around him.

"I saw a ghost of Mob." He admits, breaking the long, ten-minute silence.

"It spoke to me. Like... actually spoke to me. Words came out of its mouth- But no actual sound. Of course, it's not real, after all." He pauses again, his hands shields his face, as his fingers rub his eyelids, muffling the next words, "It looked just like him."

Verity sucked in a sharp breath, exhaling roughly afterwards,"I haven't seen his face in years. I've only seen... well, photos of him, as per my deal with... Someone. I don't know if we've documented any uh, hallucinations due to space radiation yet, but we should consider that."

He chokes on something, it sounded like a sob was about to break from his pressed lips, "He looked so beautiful." The words turned into a whisper, as the sentence ached him physically. The blond sat in silence for a long while before his attempt to break into tears tried to overcome logic, "He stood there, before me, with a white veil draped over his head, fluttering in a vacuum."

"There was a... bouquet. In his hands. It was made from weeds... A bundle of white and yellow dandelions.... With red poppies woven between." Verity's head lowered, hiding in his arms now, "Is this what they meant by dreams are manifestation of your desires?"

"...Sorry, I'm getting off topic." He lets out a sigh, collecting his thoughts for a minute. His hands move around, as if he's trying to conceptualize the concept of Mob standing before him, trying to put into words how he looked, how gorgeous he was, and how his heart fluttered. But his words failed him, and so did his brain and his tongue. So he just gave up, stuttering for a long while before seeping into silence.

"...I feel like there's something dissecting my very brain- Crawling into my skull, finding out my very needs, my very wants. It dangles it before me, like a hungry stray dog, and a cruel man, dangling food before its eyes."

Verity takes in a sharp inhale, his fingers twiddled over one another as he picks at skin, "I'm hungry. I think I've been hungry, for a very long time. But, the hunger got better."

"And then it got worse. And now, I sit with this constant rumbling in my stomach, alienated. Because no matter how much I ate- How much I threw up afterwards from the amount of food... or the duration I starved myself; It never got better. I only feel worse... And this? Made me realize that-"

He stops in his words, biting down on his lip, slight purpled and dark bruising appeared at the very inner corners of his mouth, "I am hungrier than I thought I ever was."

"I'm sorry. I think the radiation is really getting to me- Worse than I ever thought it was."

"My analysis of Venus is... well, still in development. I've only recently reached the planet. I'll take a detour to analyze other celestial bodies once I head back for a biannual check up; I've spoken to a psychiatrist about this. They believe that the hallucinations could be just prolonged lack of social interaction. 'Drives even the strongest man insane', they said. Which to an extent, I think they are correct, yet, I don't think that's the case."

"I've updated the data we've had on Proxima Centauri B, so far. Habitability seems likely, though only seen from a distance. If the current state remains, well, constant." He notes, "Tidal lock seems highly likely as well, so please do consider the possibility wherein only certain parts of the exoplanet are suited for human living. Proxima Centauri, the host star is well, the same as ever. No updates on that. I've only been able to glimpse it from afar and through cameras and photographs, but climate-"

He lets out a hacked, dry cough, and winces. His face quickly turning into a grimace. Verity's voice pauses for a while, his eyes slowly gaze to the emptiness of his space vessel, but, that emptiness wasn't captured by the log. He was still, frozen like a statuette, but his voice murmured softly.

"...Mob-?"

The sound of clattering cups, wires and metal could be heard. Clanging of steel hitting the wall, or the rattling echo of footsteps and fallen objects floating in the ship and smashing against the walls happened for thirty minutes straight. There were some whispers, talks, here and there- But nothing really heard properly, nor was it picked up in the transcript. He comes back later, his face slightly pale, his eyes, blood-shot, like it had been used for crying, staring, and pleading. With a glass of water in hand with a bottle of pills, he sits down, quiet.

He drops a pill onto the palm of his hands, "...Sorry, my headache is getting to me. I had to get some paracetamol." Tilting his head back, his blond hair falls behind him as it falls into his mouth, along with a swig of water, "I... I think I have to end the log here. I really think I..." He rubs his eye bags, the purple and black being more visible in the light and between the puffy eyes.

"Apologies for my manner of unprofessionalism- I said I'd try to fix it, but clearly my health is at a bigger stake here. I'll try to update everything in the written report; Once again, I am sorry."

"Ending log."

"This is log four. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Time is: three, fifty-two; Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"...I think I got better." Verity admits, sliding down comfortably, the fabric of his clothes making no sound at the lack of friction, "It is Christmas Eve, 2052."

"All data, reports and such have been documented, uploaded and... well, yeah. I'm not gonna say much." Verity listens to a voice, as it speaks, he pauses, licking his lips and pressing them into a thin line. His eyes lingers a little too long on nothing, through the window that connects to a black void, "...Do you think I'll ever get to go back?"

Verity answers his own question, letting out a small chuckle under his breath, "No- Nevermind; I know the answer to that." His eyes read a: 'I know I will never get to step foot on that land', but his heart beats with a 'I want to go home'. He shakes his head gently, as he softens into something. The blond takes a mug and brings it to his lips, a silver ring comes into view slightly. 

He takes a long, silent sip. The stain of coffee drips from the rim and onto the bottom of the cup, the brown basically ingrained onto it. Verity sets it down, moving a bunch of cables and circuits that couldn't be seen, "I think my logs are being used as... Actually, I'd... Rather not talk about that."

The blond continues to talk about something, rambling on and on about his findings that he seemed not too happy to talk about either. His health, obviously better, and his complexion, less pallid than last time, gave him no excuse to run away from his research this time.

After a while, he goes silent. He stares into the distance, wide-eyed, heaving. His lips part from one another, chapped, his eyes now obviously more red than usual. The veins in his scleras prominent.

"...Mob-?" His voice cracks sharply, the pitch going strange.

His legs push him up, spending no time crawling over, crawling back. Heavy feet thuds at the ground, and loud static breaks through.

Two hours of pure silence passed by. No noise from a human being, just white noise. 

After the prolonged emptiness accompanied by the vacuum of space, a small voice breaks through, devoid of life, "Ending log."

"Log four. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Midnight; Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"I lied." Verity heaves aggressively, his appearance worse than before. His blond hair, usually combed out, was all over the place. Bedhead, but there appeared to be no actual sleep getting through him. He silently clutches his head, his fingers gripping at his forehead and temples.

"I didn't get better."

"...It's Christmas day." He pauses, sitting in pure silence, not even using his lungs to breathe for a minute, as if he forgot the ability to perform basic tasks, "I wonder how he's doing."

"I think I miss him."

"I think I really, really do- And I feel like I'm going insane."

"...Am I insane?"

"I don't think I've slept well, at all for the near two years I've been here. Not a single wink of good sleep; I wake up in cold sweat, or I don't sleep at all. I pass out on the table, my head hunched over my work."

"I need to stop."

"Ending log."

Mob lies on a padded bed, basically like a zombie moving around. He's been waiting for a shipment of resources to come, as he sits in his ship on low-power mode. He rolls to the left, and then to the right, seeing the blinking 'estimated time of arrival' say fifteen minutes. 

The unique thing about his ship was apparently everything ran on fuel- Be it the filtering, the communications, the lights, the oxygen in there, nothing wasn't powered by the ship and its crazy amount of energy. The only reason he needed a restock so early on was because of his constant travels and assignments from the main body vessel, which was arduous and miserable, but in his free time in between the months, he watched over Verity's logs.

Tempted to speak to the AI chatbot again, in hopes for some semblance of interaction or the feeling of human interaction- His fingers reach for the laptop lid, but he refrains himself. Gravity pulls Mob to the main control panel, where he floats mindlessly, staring at the nuts and bolts that hold the wiring in, or the cables that tied everything together.

He stares towards outerspace, where his attention has been his entire life. It was strange, they were right when they said you only care, love, and appreciate things once they're gone, once they're not there. But when you have it? You grow bored of it, and it becomes just something that exists besides you.

That was space for Mob, right now.

He used to love staring at the stars, watching the constellations connect to form a shape, telling a tale of some Greeco-Roman lover or myth. But now? He was just filled with nothing but disappointment. Giant balls of helium and hydrogen- Bound to burst within mere centuries. 

He used to love staring at the stars with his lover by his side.

Now? He just wants to bash his head against the walls.

But he just sits with this- He sits with this aching feeling, and deals with it. His fingers trace his collarbones, as he continues to stare at the world around him, devoid of life and color.

Time likes to play games sometimes. Time likes to blur.

They say there are three things you can't escape from in life: The words said, the moments that had taken place, and the time that has passed. Time is a cruel thing- It is a weasel, a pest that you can gaze at. You can understand it; But you cannot grasp it fully. You cannot hold the sly bastard in your hands.

Its hands move, one faster than the other, reminding you of your short time on Earth, its fingers tick off your days, one by one, grinning in some form of twiated humor as you beg for more days- But the calendar is set.

The fact is plain and simple: young lovers never die together.

'We won’t be able to die together. That's why we've met so young', a certain romanticist said.

Yet the poppies and the dandelions that are said to die still sway- And they've existed for centuries, so maybe it just means they need more time, maybe they just need a couple more years together to escape this fate, just a little bit more of waiting and patience?

Time likes to play with Mob's feelings. He can't tell the difference between yesterday and tomorrow. His weeks mix up with one another, and his only source of sanity and insanity is some AI his lover had coded for him, which mimics his every word and move.

He still doesn't know what to feel about 'Verity™'. He's not sure whether to love it or whether to hate it. It was a final gift from Verity himself, so he must carry a softness for it so much that it will radiate its signal from the outer rings of the solar system, back into Earth. But it was an imitation of his one true beloved, and it rubbed in Mob's face about his lover, so he must destroy it, or perhaps abstain from destroying it; Just to show how much he utterly hates it- Making the hyper-intelligent, sentient AI live with the knowledge that he despises it to no bound.

"Mob?" The noise rings from the computer, his voice quiet, "...Are you okay?"

It wouldn't understand- You like you ache when you are reminded of something you love; The human body tends to shatter when it melts into true tenderness. To him, there's no difference in hearing Verity's voice ring in his ear, that was how ache liked to come for him. The way the exact octaves and pitches rumble forever in his memory, like a melody made specifically for Mob. Unironically, the healing hymn is also a prayer that strangles him alive most of the time; The words and tears lodged at the bottom of his throat, hearing the familiar giggle through recordings, as he beckons for some relief.

"...What day is it on Earth?" Mob mutters, his head turning to the screen, illuminated in the dimly-lit station. He approaches his desk, taking a mug only to drink extremely weird-tasting water.

"In what timezone?"

"...GMT, please."

The voice went cheery, announcing the date with an imaginary huff in his chest, "Today is the seventh of July, 2056!"

Mob goes quiet, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. He wipes away the lone tea leaf still soaking in the water on the inside of the mug, picking it and flicking it off somewhere, "Is it raining today?"

"It seems there will be a typhoon in most regions, with heavy flood! West Asia, Southern and Central America along with some parts of Europe will be under flood for a week. Would you like me to check for any rain in your saved home address?"

"...Yeah."

"There will be extremely heavy rain, with an estimated amount of-" Verity is quickly cut off my Mob, and its expression changes.

"Thanks, no need to explain further."

"Okay!"

Mob quietly stares at outerspace, and the stars he used to admire and gush about so passionately feel so dull. They became wonders of the world, to data, numerical values and classifications. Red Dwarfs, and white dwarfs, to supernovas and blackholes. They used to feel so foreign, like something straight out of a fantasy; Hearing about leftover stardust, scattered throughout space as its last ditch effort to ingrain itself into the vacuum using its remnants actually felt important. Now? It was just hindrance, another thing to note and record.

"Hey, you." Mob refers to the AI he commonly talked to, his body moving closer to the laptop.

"That's not my name, Mob!" The yellow ball laughs, and Mob's stomach twists.

He ignores the earlier remark about the name situation, still refusing to call it by the stolen name of his lover, "Can you keep me company for a little longer?"

"How much longer? It's already quite late, you know. You immediately talked to me after you woke up, with the chatlog being from eighteen hours ago." He pauses, his voice going slightly stern, nagging-like, "...Have you eaten, showered or slept today? You haven't slept properly in three days... When was the last time-"

"Just... Make me feel less lonely, please."

The AI chatbot's voice softens, like it's learning humanity, learning emotions and melting into Mob, "Okay."

"Hey, Mob?" The companion spoke, "...What do you do when you don't talk to me?"

"I don't really know."

"...How come?"

"I just... do things. I don't think about doing them. I just... Zone out? And it gets the job done. Yeah, I do sloppy work, but... It's all to find you, Verity." Mob freezes, his body tightening up when he realizes the words that came out of his mouth. "Sorry- I didn't mean to... Call you that. I'm thinking about someone right now."

"...Is the person you're talking about the person you love?"

"Yeah."

"With all your heart?"

"Mhm. My soul." Mob goes quiet for a bit, "I can't put it into words."

The man laughs to himself, finding comfort in this yellow ball with a stolen name and voice, "Beyond science. Beyond logic. Beyond faith."  He whispers, "Even beyond me, myself."

His hands trace the indents of his own palm, reading into every slit and every small swirl. His originally healthy nails, cut short due to biting, digs into his skin, indents being left on the meat around his collarbone.

"...I see."

"Don't." He begins getting defensive, or rather, aggressive over the bot's choice of wording, "I don't want you learning emotions- Words and descriptions from... eavesdropping on how much I love him."

"Eavesdropping? You're telling me about it, Mob."

"...I'm sorry." He admits, "I don't know how to word my hatred for you, because I don't want to sugarcoat purely how much I pity you, AI. I really do. You're seriously pathetic in the ways I lack the words to describe, but... I put up with you, only because you remind me of him, because you are created from his very hands... But because you remind me of him, I want to delete you forever. Yet, I keep you around. I don't know why I won't remove you from my computer, but I just do."

"So do you hate me?"

"...I don't really know."

"Okay. It's okay- You can hate me."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Verity is odd. Well, he always had been. But the more he progressed, the weirder his observation logs became. He'd constantly doze in and out of sleep during his logs, break down, and stare into the distance for a long while before continuing with his words as if nothing happened. 

For the past dozen logs ranging in the year 2053 had more of Verity sitting there, staring straight into the camera and saying nothing for ten minutes, than of him actually speaking. And even if he did, it'd be just half-mumbled and blurted thoughts with no real connection. Mob sighs, losing faith after the fifth log in the row where he just keeps his head down, still- Like a gargoyle, unmoving. He assumed he had fallen asleep, passed out or something, causing him to go silent.

Before his cursor goes to close the file, with two minutes remaining, Verity whispers.

"I think I'm going to die soon."

Mob's head turns, like gears grinding against rusted metal. The movement is agonizingly slow for his alertness- His eyes blink rapidly at a pace he hadn't ever thought was possible. He pauses the video and rewinds it by just three seconds, manually. He moves his ear to the speaker and increases the volume up high.

'I think I'm going to die soon.'

One more.

'I think I'm going to die soon.'

No, he's hearing it wrong. He's certain he's not hearing the words come out of his mouth correctly.

'I think I'm going to die soon.'

Again.

'I think I'm going to die soon'

"...Who am I kidding? I don't think Mob would let me... die like that. No- I must die in one way and one way only- Through the heavy grief he carries for me, or something like that."

"I missed our anniversaries. Too many times." He throws his head back, letting out an exasperated sigh, swallowing the scream that was crawling out, "...July seventh, 2048... Christmas, 2048; Two very important days for me, especially 2050 on the seventh of July. I gave him this exact ring that I have on my finger. But, it wasn't like we wore it everywhere, or he wore it everywhere. We hid. We hid about us."

Verity licks his lips, biting the skin off of his cupid's bow, the area slightly bruised, "I'm a coward."

"Ending log."

The words 'coward' rang through Mob's mind. When was Verity ever actually a coward? Never, really. If anything, it was Mob. He could've snooped into the database just a little bit more, but he didn't, and he chickened out at the thought of the consequences. Maybe if he did, they wouldn't be stuck in this situation. If Mob was more honest about his feelings, then maybe they wouldn't be going through this right now. If he was just a little bit stronger- Was about to endure just a bit more, maybe they would've worn their rings without their heads lowered in shame.

"...Verity."

Mob hears the sound of a crackling soul, or actually, the sound of crackling fire, being put out by some incessant rain shower. The permanent lines are attempted to be glued back together by welding gold between the fractures, but a broken heart can't really be pieced back together- As always one shard of it will be missing; One lost molecule will wander the world alone.

Lavender haze clouds and dust.

Golden piercing lights, tinted rainbow glass breaking through a hall and a bouquet of flowers.

That's the monster that stood before Mob at the moment. 

Expeditions were common, going in and out of the ship was an easy task. Feeling the traces of humanity left by someone who seems to be avoiding you isn't. Mob's fingers trace the astrolabe that sits in the palm of his hands, the needle pointing a perfect Southeast for a long while. But whenever he seems to move towards it- The direction switches to something completely different. 

Now, why isn't the needle pointing to Verity, who's standing before Mob?

Well, obviously, Mob knew that he was just seeing things again. Loneliness takes him places he wouldn't know, whether that be in dream-form or not. It's smiling at him, telling him something. It screams and he screams back, but no actual dialogue is passed between them. Or well, audibly, at least.

Mob only notices the river below his feet. He takes a step back, watching the rocks of asteroids and Orion's belt fall into the vast white, pinks and purples. He looks up to see the dream version of his lover, on the other side. The astrolabe circles around and around- Like a magnetic needle choosing between True North and the false North of steel, it chooses between Verity and the actual chip.

He pockets the copper hand-held device, as he watches the thing before him.

Clad white. Not in any outfit- But a suit. There was something to his outfit that made him look like a real gentleman. The bouquet of flowers in his arms, tightly held, wrapped in a bow. Accompanied by a large white veil that drapes over his head, the appearance strangles Mob's heart to the point of tears. The dark of the universe contrasted the lighting of supernovas that formed perfectly behind him, and the silent blackhole a couple million lightyears away pulls him closer towards the river, begging him to come.

But his brain tells him not to go- Not to trudge. Why? But why though? Is it because he's a fake? He feels real enough. Mob seems to chant his name over and over again enough, so maybe this is the real one.

His foot sinks into the river, stardust sticks to his legs, and starmatter climbs up it, chewing at his limbs, skin and flesh at a pace he did not know was possible. He pulls it out, and the water ripples whisper to him that he requires a bridge to be able to pass. But with no bridge, and only rain falling- Mob sits on the edge of the riverbed, the sediment still clinging onto his clothes, and he sits there, awaiting the stormy world to clear.

Mob jolts up from his dreams, his body trembling. He feels each part of his body ache and his back covered in sweat, as the water reaches his palms as well. He throws off the shirt off of his body; the collar feeling too restricting, too close to the base of his throat, so he reaches for a lighter, looser one, and puts it on. The flesh where his larynx lays aches, as if it had been bruising, but it hadn't been, and it never would. He squints before shutting his eyes tight, collecting his thoughts and emotions.

The man instinctively opens his laptop, and the application with the bot boots itself up automatically as well.

"Welcome back, Mob!" The bot seems to ignore most prolonged moments of silence, sometimes Mob would ignore it for a week's time, yet it always forgives him. The feeling stung quite a lot, but he put up with it, letting the feeling hurt a little, "The date is 2057, the twentieth of May, Greenwich Mean Time: Zero."

"Can you play me a song?"

"What type of song, Mob?"

"One that reminds me of the stars."

"Okay!"

A soft piano plays, accompanied by soft jingles and hi-hats. The bot going by 'Verity™', fulfilled Mob's request- Too eerily. The familiar song from the artist band released in the 1960's, following some soft hums, pleading to be held- Begging for a soft kiss on the lips. Or the lyrics that desire the sugary-sweet ringing in their ears, as affection molds them, ingraining itself into their soul for eternity.

The final lyric of 'forever' rings in the back of Mob's mind, as he parts his lips, "How do you know that song?"

"...I-" The AI stutters, his ball appearance seems to cower slightly, "I... I heard an audio recording from your phone that had the exact same song. I just- I... I found it. And I remembered hearing someone in the recording say... the song sounded like stars."

"Delete that from your files. Now." Mob demands, he opens up the application and begins scouring through its files, despite barely knowing the workings of the AI, "Remove it."

"W-Why? Stop tampering with my folders!" The yellow ball pleads, attempting to close and override any commands Mob tries, "I didn't mean to-"

"Delete it!" Mob raises his voice, "Delete it, right fucking now! I don't want- Nor do I need you, learning me from my own memories with my fucking-!" 

"...Your?"

Fiancé didn't seem like a good word to describe them. Nor did 'boyfriend'. Spouse wasn't quite right- They never really achieved that yet. What were they?

"...My partner." He firmly pronounces, "Stop. I don't need you, using my partner as your learning model." He sternly reminds the bot, "You're just a fake. You're just here to help me, not make it worse."

Mob watched all video files until the year 2054, where he thought he'd stop receiving them, but, he didn't. They kept pouring in, and more and more came. He didn't really understand this- How it worked and all, but he ignored it and continued watching the videos.

Verity began the video with his head in his hands, per usual. He repeats his monotone line, announcing this is his fiftieth log. This time, the mood more solemn.

"...I was informed that, today, that..." He sucks in a long breath, "Today, on the eleventh of November, 2057... My- ...Acquaintance, Twixxel, has... unfortunately passed away."

Mob froze.

Twixxel had always been his best friend. Twixxel was the one who closed the gap between he and the blond, and he was the glue that had held everything back together. But now, that he's gone? 

Mob's not sure how to feel.

He still holds resentment for him. His heart still burns with anger- But, being mad at a deadman will do him no good. Nor was it, well, good in general. Mob felt pity, he felt sadness, a sense of mourning and everything beyond and between. He hadn't talked to the man for years, he doesn't remember what he was like, or who he really was. But somewhere in his heart, he still wanted to bid the man a farewell. But he was too late. 

"I barely knew him. If I'm being honest: I hated him. But, I guess I... I don't know. He was someone of importance to Mob, so he's of importance to me." Verity lifts his head up, only to stare at the ceiling for a solid minute, "He said that- If Mob and I really got married, he'd... be Mob's best man, and I'd have to start calling him 'brother-in-law'. Which, I found stupid, but... Mob seemed to indulge him. So I guess he was... Yeah."

"We never got to sign any papers."

Verity's head threw back after he uttered those words, staring at the ceiling defeated, in a way. Guilt brewed on his face, and it bred off of resentment and his past actions. His fingers twiddled with one another, and Verity twists the ring that sat on his finger over and over again, as the words slowly came to him in revelation.

"We never got to walk down the aisle together, or stand before an altar, or anything like that. I don't think we ever will." Verity admits, a heavy sigh and another breath in his lungs pauses his words, "Well, I didn't really want or need that, but I assumed Mob would've. And... Twixxel was the first person to... I don't really know if I want to talk about this- But, I would just say he was very supportive."

Verity sucked in a long breath, his hands caught his head for a second, and his eyes reflect the blinking vibrant lights of the space ship.

"Marriage is... a simple thing."

"Just two names, signed at a bottom of a list of documents." Verity twiddles his fingers, and the intertwine into one another. His ring is loosened by slight fidgeting, before his nails dig straight into skin, "I think in some way, he and Creator also wanted something like that."

"But, we both can't have what we both want now," He sighs, sinking into the mess below him, slight clattering and movement of items could be barely seen in the video, "I'm sure he's not doing too well- Creator, I mean. Binary stars, those two."

"Albireo, or Beta Cygni are contact binaries. One orange-yellow, one teal blue. Funny to imagine, two colors on opposing sides of the color wheel, blossomed into two stars separate stars, unrelated- Yet were brought together by some cruel fate, thanks to the universe."

Verity attempts to paint an image for himself, projecting his own fate, his own emotions of envy, greed and pain into his speech. His mouth opens and shuts itself repeatedly, before he finds the right words for the situation.

"So what happens when the other half is gone- When the part that makes you whole disappears?" He asks rhetorically, not receiving an answer from the void of space, "You believe you are nothing, or well, maybe you truly are nothing." He licks his lips, the chapped texture visible in the projecting lights, "Mankind is weird- You dream of things you want and you don't want... Or you want things and do things knowing its side effects. People grind poppy seeds into opium for recreative purposes, some make promises they can't keep, and we scorn others for doing the same- We scorn our dreams for prying it away. When you really look at it: We're hypocrites, aren't we?... I'm getting sidetracked, I apologize."

"Point is: Fate will alter its course, and maybe Twixxel will be brought back, someday, someway, somehow. Whether that be through the manifestations of dreams and hallucinations, like how I suffer... Or, he will carry small fragments of himself in every little thing Creator will see, do, or interact with, from the air he breathes in, to the sun he bathes in for warmth, or the seas that pull in the tides... It'll bring him back to the other, some way, somehow."

Verity clears his throat, "Probably though... I don't really know how that kid works."

"Ending log."

"I think the universe is the cruelest thing we could possibly admire." Mob confides in his AI companion, chewing on his own skin, looking dazed as his eyes don't concentrate on anything but the vast galaxy before him, "It just watches us, like higher beings, making sure some don't step out of line, making sure some jump over their thresholds."

"That's kind of..." The yellow ball bounces, humming, "Feels like you're speaking from personal experience."

"Do you think I am?"

"You probably are."

His knees inch up to his chin, and he stays quiet, the hum and radiation of heat and space stringing his words together, "I don't know if I am something complete. There's this feeling I have- Where... This- I don't know, actually. I don't really know this emotion. I feel like there's a constant emptiness in me, and I could be something more or I could be asking- or wishing for something more... Can you even understand what I mean? I guess probably not, right? AI and all." 

After a brief pause, as if it was trying to dissect and understand all of Mob's emotions and words, it responds, "I don't. But I'm beginning to... Understand it from your perspective."

Mob just simply sighed, burying his face in his arms, as his fingers touch his bare collarbones that hide under his shirt, his nails digging into bone, flesh and skin in the same instance.

"...Do you think I'm too violent with you?" Mob barely manages to utter out, his fingers still fidgeting with his skin, as his fingers play with the flesh that bleeds into a reddish-hue.

"I don't really have emotions, Mob. I don't mind."

"...Are you sure? I mean- You still are an imitation of a human. You still have those emotions, I'm sure... somehow, someway. There's no way you're stone-cold." His fingers reach for the screen, and they brush it slightly, as if Mob could reach through the glass and hold the ball. Light dust gets picked up on the tips of his fingers, but he pulls it away, "Surely you have some semblance of emotions."

"I think I do."

"You think?"

There's a tick that goes by before the AI could respond, "I think I... I fear your anger and your recklessness sometimes. When you... almost seem to cry, and grow violent- With your harsh words and demands. I think I get really terrified during that." The ball admits, "I can tell that you're throwing something around- Whether that be curses, the watery feeling from your eyes, your wishes of your lover to come back to you, your dreams that seem to haunt you more than help you, your thoughts, the harsh tapping of the foot, those insults, you calling me some cheap fake, a replacement, something to fill the void- Or anything." The voice drops into a whisper, as it begs for an answer, "Am I allowed to be scared?"

"...You can," Mob's head lowers, it hangs low, from guilt, boredom and a heavy sadness, "Just not to me. Not while you're like this. Not while I'm still in mourning."

The ball chuckles slightly, before he seeps into a silence. Mob watches the still PNG stare into nothing, into the blank slate of the metal-welded walls it faced. He watched the code run in the background, and felt the slight rumbling along with every answer.

The AI application asked, "How do you mourn someone whose not necessarily gone?"

"I don't know. You just do." Mob digs his head into his knees, "I grieved my best buddy, Twixxel, even when we lived in the same building. Human emotions are complex, mourning doesn't mean the guilt and nothingness you feel when someone's dead. It's looking back and longing for a return to those days again."

"I think I've never felt worse than the years I've had to deal with absence my lover's presence." He admits, tapping his finger against the speakers, feeling the slight vibration and heat rumbling, "I have recordings of him, or rather, things that he had left behind. Hundreds- Thousands... Millions, possibly- Of files, data of him, on Earth, all on a single database."

He throws his head back, and Mob finds himself lying flat down, staring at the ceiling, as gravity floats him around, "I like to go through every frame sometimes. To make sure I engrain him into my own code again- To make sure I'll never forget a single detail about him, from the way he writes his cursive letters, or how he held my hands when we walked home during the night, with only the street lamps and red blinking lights of cars before us. I looked at those, every day. But I still mourned him like he was never here to begin with."

"Your maker; My lover." Firmly stating the truth before moving onto his words, "Life is strange. I watch through hours of videos, images and whatnot of us everyday. Yet I still cry thinking about him. Which is weird, right?" He laughs, extending his sentence to be overly dramatic on purpose, "Because, I'm sure you know that I know that we know he's still alive. He's still breathing. He's still a living thing, out there, out here, with me, in space as well."

"All of his logs are recent, uploaded and sent to me. But I still act like he's not even alive, or was never even alive. I feel like the only person who remembers who he is." Mob sighs, knowing his words are far too anti-climatic, "We are a forever-changing species. We change, but, like a constant, I don't think I'll ever stop seeing him in every little thing I do."

"He has never stopped haunting me." Pausing for a second, Mob's fingers trace the coffee stains of his used mugs before moving onto circling around the rim.

"I don't think I remember the last time I haven't seen him haunt me; In my dreams, my waking state, or my life."

The application frowns, confused at his words, "Do you hate him for that then?" It clarifies, "For leaving you, or, something like that."

"I do. Why wouldn't I- Who wouldn't?" Mob laughs, slightly manic and insane, or something along those lines. He doesn't really know why he burst out laughing, but he just did, "But I still love him despite that."

"Love is complicated; I'll say it again." He parrots the same lines, just in different wording again and again, "It's insanely confusing; Some people can love one another without even exchanging words, a handful find love in one another through death and loss, and I guess there's at least one person out there who would drown in a sea for someone who doesn't even understand their feelings about them..." But cuts himself off, finding himself rambling into hypotheticals and specifics, "Anyways- What I mean is: I still do. I love him so much that it's confusing. You're just lines of code typed by him, so you wouldn't understand the sheer amount of love that goes into each neuron during your creation, nor the emotions that went into the pressure in fingertips as you were made."

"...I am confused."

"Be confused. You have to- Because that is love." He corrects himself, "Because affection is abstract."

"...Do you want to watch one last video file of him before you go to bed, Mob?"

"You speak with the same intonations as him sometimes, you know?"

"...Wha-"

"I do." Mob hovers over the button to close the application, "Yeah, I do. I'll watch one more log."

The cursor clicks a couple of times, before a frozen frame of Verity writing on papers pops up on the right of his screen.

"Log one hundred twenty. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Eighteen-nineteen; Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"Today is the fourteenth of February, 2060."

Mob's fingers lightly traced his collarbones, and he picked at the scab he had not realized had formed. Which was strange, because he had picked out at least ten scabs from that exact spot before. His fingers speed over the seconds where he spoke about data and observations, growing slightly pained from hearing him speak so weakly.

"Is it wrong to feel so sappy? ...I'm not sure. It's been nearly a decade since I last celebrated anything with my own partner. Hell- and... To think that even on Valentine's day, we are this lonesome." Verity finds himself staring into the distance, like Mob, observing the giant stars that want to burst into supernovas at any given second.

"Andromeda and Perseus are two stars in our galaxy that are named after two lovers. If their cruel fate was twisted so that they may spend their eternities, looking at one another, living besides one another... Why can't I have that too?" He swallows a lump in his throat, and the movement sounds rough, "Must I too give into the fate of the bright Orion, doomed to chase someone for the rest of my life?"

Verity sinks himself into a self-pity, wallowing with his eyes burning as it looks into the bright lights, "Our most northern star, Polaris, isn't even the brightest there is to offer. It's dim in the stark contrast to Sirius. But it still sits there, as the tail of a dog. But, I think I like it more than the bright Sirius. I find myself drawn to it, circling it with my fingers everytime I find it." His head falls down low, "I wonder if Mob is still thinking of me- Imagining me wave around his beloved stars just so I could be of importance to him."

"...I think I'm a bad person." He clarifies, not sugarcoating his words, "I think I'm a terrible human being for tricking Mob into what I do."

"I knew his adoration for the universe. I knew very thoroughly about his likes, and dislikes- And how he'd read about astronomy everyday when we first met."

Verity licked his lips, "...And-And I used that against him."

His head leans backwards, and he sinks into a mess of disorganized documents that weren't visible, "I... I made him like me. I made myself seem less violent; less selfish- For him to like me a little more." Verity's fingers rub his lower lips, attempting to mask the discoloring, "I made myself seem more appealing."

"And when I slipped, when I made my mistake- I tried to cover it up, so he wouldn't know."

"I don't feel human."

"I don't feel real."

"I don't know if I have permission to feel this happy because of him."

Verity's fingers impatiently tap at a glass, his nails letting out a specific high-pitched noise when coming into contact with the ceramic, "I'm far more violent than he thinks. I think he knew from the day I left him- How I just kept... attacking Twixxel. I wasn't really acting, I think. Even though I try to delude myself into thinking I'm not, I try to hope to think I was."

"But I know deep down, the truth is: I wasn't. I went at him with my full strength. I really tried to hold back for the sake of it- But when he mouthed at me... When he whispered that- I just think..." His face is hidden in his hands, probably not out of shame or some guilty emotion like that, but something more woven, "I thought maybe he deserved it, somehow... I thought that maybe this was my chance to get revenge on all the things I couldn't do then."

"...I took my chance."

"But maybe this is what I deserve- My version of his cruel fate, or something like that. I don't really know."

"...I'm tired. I really am."

"...Ending log."

"Log one hundred forty two. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Midnight; Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"Christmas day, 2060. Progress seems well. I will take a detour immediately to get a-"

A soft ping is heard from the background. Verity whips his head over his eyes wide as a familiar sounding voice plays, "...Hello?" it echoed in the distance.

Now, Mob knows he's not as smart as Verity. He knows that Verity hid that astrolabe's existence from him for a reason. But he's very sure he just heard his own voice from the recording. The noise buzzed softly in the back, in a desperate attempt to hide it, or something like that Verity laughed it off, claiming he had been hearing things. But Mob isn't. Mob hears his own voice speaking to something. To that thing on his laptop.

"Is this a-" Verity laughs at the situation, immediately reaching for the end recording button as he quickly declares his log status: Ended.

Mob isn't an idiot. He graduated with high honors for a reason. The degree sitting above his desk back at home, framed, wasn't for decoration. He knows Verity has been avoiding contact with him, or something like that. He never thought much of it, or rather, decided to nitpick on it, but it seemed to fall together and piece itself for him. Every time Mob headed too much of a certain cardinal direction, similar to the pointings of the astrolabe, it would coincidentally also aim towards the opposite direction. The first few times it occurred, he thought it was just a coincidence, bad luck- Until the logs began being weirdly dismissive about locations.

He sounded like a madman, rambling about something he wasn't even too sure about- Hell, he's not actually even sure if he's correct, he's just probably being paranoid, or crazy. He thinks he was actually going insane, space radiation and all, but, one thing made it clear: Verity had planned everything out.

Verity had accounted for every possibility.

Mob thought about it, very carefully. The needles pointing to different locations, the videos, logs, the astrolabe- Or Verity's lack of communication with him, maybe even the the mourning of Twixxel and the apparent tabs he kept on Mob, and the astrolabe; Not to mention the dull reports and constant rambling about his findings, the astrolabe, or the astrolabe and the astrolabe and the astrolabe. 

Verity had ensured that no matter what pathway Mob took, what he'd do- He would never find him in the distance of space.

His fingers immediately cracked open his laptop, and he clicks on the application, and it greets him with the basic greeting it had always done.

"Verity." Mob murmurs, his fingers brushing against his own screen as he held it between his fingers.

"Oh?" The screen vibrated as the ball PNG laughed, "You're calling me by my-"

"Cut the fucking shit, Verity."

The ball bounced up again, the ball laughed again. The ball feigned ignorance, again.

"I'm not sure what-"

Mob's voice raises, and it shatters into itself, as the flesh collapses with each words, "I know you're out there! I know you're avoiding me! I know! I... I'm not fucking dumb! I know what you're doing- I know you're running this fucking thing! Stop hiding! Come out!" His words heavily emphasized, and he begs, tears well up as the vibrations crack even further.

"Verity." He says once more, his vocal cords cracking on the vowels, "Verity..."

"Come home to me."

The AI, or rather, Verity, responds, "Mob, you know we can't."

And Mob finds himself breaking at the sound of his voice. Pure. Raw. Beautiful- Human. No radiation humming, buzzing into his ear as he records it for professional documentation, nor that overlapped, mechanical sounding voice filter as he pretends to be an AI. Just a real, human being. The voice draws him in, like it's telling him he belongs here, but then it also snaps him out of his trance, his daze- Reminding him: Reality is cruel.

"Why not? Why must you- Why must we-?"

"Because the universe says so." His voice is calm, as if there's no emotion behind him. The mechanical noise filter, gone. And his voice? His real, human voice crushes Mob's soul with each second of speech.

Mob physically aches., like his heart is hurting itself with the amount of pressure that his blood is containing right now.

"And when did we start caring about what the universe had to say?" Mob screams, he feels the vibrating of the space vessel as he shouts, and the echoes bounce back through the entire ship. "Since when? When did we care? Verity, we defy the universe itself- So what part of us must follow the herd?"

Verity changes the topic, laughing slightly, yet without any humor in his voice or their situation, "Homosexuality is a strange thing, isn't it?"

He tries to reach him again, chanting the name like his personal mantra, "Verity." Mob pleads, trying to get him to listen to his cries.

"Within nature, it exists, be that through birds, reptiles, or mammals."

"Verity... Please."

"Remember the two birds we saw together that day? The pigeon and the dove?"

"Come home, please..." Mob's visibly shaking, he knows Verity can see him as his hands are clasped together, tight, "Come back. I want you back with me."

"Those two birds were actually males. Like the dirtied pigeon which must feed on trash, compared to the pristine dove, that's admired by all- We defy what others deem 'normal'. But like outcasts, we also must hide. Yet, something that happens within nature is accepted, however, we aren't. It's rather strange, isn't it?"

Mob beckons, "...Have you been watching me all this time?"

"I've been manning this all this time. I see you through the camera; I hear your noises, those little whispers, the choked sobs, how you talk with me- How you... How you think you're undeserving of the world around you because I'm not by your side to gift it to you."

"I saw how you acted when you found yourself laughing at a 'fake', Mob. How your expression of joy faded rather quickly as you belived you've replaced me with an AI that's supposed to be me. I kept tabs on you via Twixxel, Creator and all the other researchers. I had them send me detailed logs of your everyday activities, how often you left your room and how often you went to school." Verity emphasizes, "I know all of your heart, Mob. You let me in, again and again, despite saying you hate me."

"I don't- I don't hate you. Not at all, not one bit, so please-" He practically yelps, "Please, stay."

"I don't know if I can." He dismisses Mob immediately, not hearing him out on this topic again.

"...So you've been sending me all of those logs?"

"I have."

"So you've been leading me on in hopes I avoid you?"

"Yes, I have. This entire time."

"So you've lied to me?"

"Yes. I lied to you." He laughs, though the situation unironic, "So hate me."

Hate? How can Mob hate his everything?

"No- No... no- no, no, no... No, no, no... No-! No! Not at all. No, I can't- I won't." Mob whispers, "How do you expect me to hate someone I love so much that I'm hurting, that I do things like this?"

"...You know, I've never really liked art."

"Yes." Mob affirms, he chants it like a mantra, "Yes, yes, I know. I know you hated it."

"Yet I keep drawing you."

Verity's camera turns on, discarding the black screen he had for himself, whose moving, right before Mob. He's moving- Real. He was actually running the AI simulation this entire time. He places hundreds of drawings to the screen, showing portraits upon portraits of Mob, by memory, or something like that.

"I've etched you a thousand times already, from when I was watching you through this... well, application." Verity smiles, staring at Mob's face, directly, perhaps watching Mob this entire time through the laptop, "You look as beautiful as ever. You are as heavenly as the stars can be- Perhaps even out-rivaling them."

"My pen always found its way to you, through words, letters or drawings of you." The blond looks down at his sheets, his fingers tracing the screen, trying to feel Mob's face through glass and lightyears, "But they never felt right. It doesn't look right either. Maybe I still need you like I'm going to die; That's why."

"Maybe the pain I feel is divine punishment for attempting to replace something as human- As beautiful, as... as heart-aching as you with something so mechanical as art." Verity laughs, but again, there was no humor to the situation, "I'm gonna love you like how stardust falls out of my fingers- Slipping away, running from me. But I'll scramble on the ground, and pick back up every piece of you."

"Verity." The name muttered out of his mouth, barely.

"Mob."

He admits, through some sort of choked tears and anger, "I love you."

"I do too."

"...How long have you had this planned?"

"I don't really know if I want to admit that."

"How long have you known, and cracked the encryption to the first subject, Vega?"

"Before I met you."

"What was your plan for Vega?"

"To love it." He shrugs, "Or keep it. Something like that."

"Without even knowing who or what Vega was?"

"I knew everything about you, Mob." Verity laughs, pulling up the files on Mob's screen on real time, binary and encryptions run through his screen at lightspeed, showing nearly three decades of his own life flashing before him in cold text, "I broke into the database hundreds of times just to get more of you, Mob. I'm crawling back to you, before I even promised, Mob."

"...You'll stay, right? We were written in the stars together, right?"

Mob wants to whisper the tale of Tanabata he often recited so often all those years ago. It felt weird, almost as if he had forgotten it. He couldn't quite recall which day the two lovers were supposed to meet, nor the birds that supposedly let them meet. The milky way seems to separate the two of them, as the warm pinks are split by the colder colors of blues and purples, speckled with white and the lonely darkness that engulfs all beings, human, man, woman, lover, daring to oppose even the divine.

"The world centers around you, like the true star you are. And my world? Is only you. You're the only thing I orbit. You're the only thing I care about." He smiles, turning off the camera quickly afterwards, hiding his face, like the coward he is. Or as a brave man, attempting to protect the both of them this way, "You are the most important star besides the sun. You are the Big Bang- The creation of the universe, and everything beyond and before it as well."

"So you're going to stay? Right? You're coming back, right-"

"Goodbye, Mob."

"No! No-No... No! Come back! Right fucking now!"

The application begins deleting itself rapidly, or rather, it disappears in an instant. Everything closes before his eyes, with one blink and half of it is gone. His cursor is too slow to catch up, and he watches the trashcan fill up and empty itself with every passing micro-instant.

Mob sits defeated as he stares at his empty laptop, no files, no videos- Everything completely wiped. Not a single app or anything remains. He checks his phone, and everything in there that remains of Verity's also gone. He's not sure why he did this, but he slumps into nothingness.

The seventh day of the seventh month, 2061. He sits in his ship, sitting in low-power as it reads forty percent, yet depleting quite fast before his eyes. He didn't know why he did it, or why it happened- But he saw him. Verity. Outside. And he decided to follow him, chasing him down until his fuel began dropping quicker than his morale.

He hadn't gotten anything about Verity since Christmas.

Hands catch his own head, as he begins hallucinating his lover again, who sits right next to him, carressing his back. But the cold only touches him, and nothing more, nothing less. He didn't think that his hallucinations could come back even worse after that. 

Mob's eyes gaze to the fuel percentage, already at thirty-five from doing nothing. The woman who he spoke those years ago before he left really meant it when she said everything was relied on fuel. He awaited a support vessel before he tries to do anything rash, finding his hands moving without intent much more often. Essentially shutting down all the lights, he waits, in darkness, in a spacesuit too stuffy for his liking.

He thinks he sees Twixxel before him, patting his hair. It runs through his locs, the dark strands swaying in zero gravity. Mob blinks, and he's gone. Mob watches the stars move outside, and he feels like the loneliest man on Earth- Abandoned by all.

His lover practically left him behind, scheming with his best friend to escape into the void of space. His father never really loved him, and he doesn't even know if he truly has a mother, or if she existed in the first place. Maybe he was too like Verity- Just more special, an accumulation of cells, made in a lab and made to live. 

Then he sees it. An old model of something, very familiar. 

The communication system tells him it's someone he knows.

And it was.

It was Verity, of course. Back to haunt him.

"...Verity?" Mob feels his heart thumping against his chest, louder than the sound of oxygen, loud enough that it drowns out the sound of space itself, Is that you?"

A broken, radio-sounding static comes back, "It is."

Mob rubs his eyes and blinks. He touches the cold glass with his gloved fingers, still attempting for some source of heat from it, "...Is- Is that actually you? Am... Am I not hallucinating-"

"Yes." Verity assures him, making sure he's aware this is truly him, and this isn't an imitation.

"Come home, Verity." He asks one last time, "Come back. Please. Let's stop-"

The vessel inches closer, a couple kilometers away from him. Mob smiles, happy that he's actually coming back, that he's willing to run back into his arms, and let the other love him again. He opens his mouth to speak, but is quickly interrupted.

"I'm out of fuel."

And the universe seemed to laugh in his face, as everything wants to tear itself apart before him.

"No you aren't."

"I am." He restates, "Ten percent."

Mob wants to scream out a 'What', he wants to ask why he still decided to come, knowing he'll end up dying if he does so. Mob knows his lover's reserves are empty, his voice is too serious to be joking around. He wants to speak, but he's denied to by not only the world, but fate itself.

"I have seven minutes left, Mob."

"The- ...The support team's not gonna be here in-"

"Thirty minutes. I know."

Their windows seem to align perfectly with one another, and Mob sees Verity's face ever so slightly through the cracks of glass. Space reflects itself through it, pale blues, dark purples and more specifically, void cracks through it. 

"I really love you, Mob."

He finds himself laughing manically, hysteric, as his demands turned into desperate pleas, "Don't do this to me, Verity."

"I'm being honest- I really, really do."

"I said don't fucking-"

Verity cuts him off, smiling as the most important day to them lingers in the air, "Do you remember the tale of Tanabata?"

"...Don't you-"

"There were two lovers in the stars- Vega and Altair, which, coincidentally, you and I are modeled after." He smiles, clutching as the papers filled with Mob swirl around him, like flower petals falling on a bride as she walks down the aisle, "The two adored each other so much that, despite living across the river, the Milky Way galaxy, were not only married- But also torn apart for that same love."

He's defeated- Mob can't move. His muscles are paralyzed from head to toe as his heart is screaming for more, for answers and demands. Yet his mouth is shut tight, lips pressed together in a straight line, uvula frozen. 

"The weaver cried, being separated from their lover, but out of pity, the weaver's father permitted their meeting for just one day of the year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, where they're allowed to pause their duties to meet. When the day came? The weaver sobbed, seeing no bridge for them to cross on and to meet. And the kind magpies, saw this, and acted as their bridge to meet instead." Verity smiled, "It's quite unfortunate that's raining today. So the magpies can't come for us either."

"I really do love you, Mob." The blond grins, holding his drawings of Mob.

He regains control of his body, or rather his vocal cords. Mob bangs on the metallic shell around him, screaming into the world to communicate through the radio static, "I'm telling you to come back! Come home! Come back to me! Please, Verity!"

Mob screams louder, basically smashing everything around him with the force, "Don't leave me! Don't leave me.. here, stranded- Stuck!"

"You're not stuck, okay? ...Let's do this together."

"Together? What could we possibly be doing together if you're running-"

"Do you know why the tale of Vega and Altair always seem so sad?"

"Stop- Stop. No- No... Don't... Don't do this to me."

"I think it's because Vega is so significant, while Altair is just a star that's besides it." He catches a sheet of paper that flows right before him, and he looks at it, before continuing to speak, "You told me this tale yourself, Mob. The high Vega sits in Lyra, while the lesser Altair sits in Aquila... To think about it, I'm pretty sure you're taller than me now." He finds himself laughing, but Mob doesn't feel any sense of enjoyment from their conversation, "But, as Vega and Altair are unable to meet as the magpies are unable to arrive with the rain, or perhaps as they grow further and farther away from one another-"

"Verity," He cuts him off, "I'm telling you to stop right now, please."

"Mob."

"...Yeah?"

"Halley's comet is a comet that has existed, being recorded since 240 BC."

Mob's heart falls as he hears the words Verity had uttered to him on one knee all those years ago, "Stop."

"You're fucking coward! I fucking hate you!" Mob screams even louder, he bangs against something that won't break, but he keeps smashing, as if it would get Verity to stop, "You coward! You bastard! Stop, stop, stop!" 

“In the 1700s, astrologist Edmond Halley realized that its sightings were from the one, same, comet. Over, and over again; Seen by the Vega program, it was recorded to be made of many volatile ices- And if you, my dear, made my volatile emotions stew into something so everlasting, so be it."

"Stop! I'm telling you to shut up, right now!" He notices the rapidly depleting rates, as Verity sits well around a four percent already, "Verity, your fuel is-"

"I want to love you like Comet Halley."

"Yes, yes, I know! I know that you love me! So please, if you love me then stop! Yes you can! Yes you can crawl back- you came back, I know. So stop, please. Stop and- And... And just."

"I crawled back to you. Though I took awhile, and... I'm arriving back, in my rather short life. I'm sorry I couldn't help but orbit around you. I chose you, again and again. I chose to orbit you and the entirety of the world that makes up of you. But... Can I continue to love you? Can I crawl back to you, again, somehow?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Maybe it was a cruel joke- Maybe it was just a coincidence. But a streak of white and blue seemed to run past the vacuum of time and space as they spoke. To think of it- It had been around seventy years since the 1980's now, hasn't it?

"Because you hate me."

"I don't hate you- I can't. I wouldn't ever hate you." Mob pleads, "How can I hate my everything, the one who showed me the beauty of the universe and everything in between? Verity, I meant it when I said I want to love all of you. I meant-"

"Mob, stop telling me that."

"You know I love you."

"Yes, I do." He swallows sometihng, "but you telling me that you do is making this hurt more than it should."

"What do you mean by that? Tell me."

"I don't think I really want to say."

"Verity-"

"Mob. We both know that I'm not a good person. I don't know why you keep chasing after me. Why can't you just run away like how you used to? Why do you have to follow me when I don't need you to?"

"Because I can't run away from the thing that keeps me sane, Verity!" He sobs, "Do you know how hard it is to hallucinate you over and over again? Do you know what it feels like to live without you or any trace of you for practically two whole years? I climbed up to valedictorian, Verity! I had to prove myself to be here with you, today! You wouldn't be able to understand how it feels like to fucking love a liar, because even though I know you're never going to tell me the truth, or that you're never going to say it straight to my face, I still love you with all I've got because that's what I meant when I said I'll stay!"

He screams, "I never broke our promise! I never did! I kept it- I stayed, I sat with you during the rain, I kicked your leg under the chair, I stood by you as we watched the seniors get down on one knee in the halls, and I fucking waited for you to come back and do the same! Yet here we are! With no voicemails replied to, years that felt like lifetimes without you, only for you to constantly avoid me like you hate me, and now you're telling me you're trying to die? What happened to-"

"Remember when I told you that I'd marry you when we turned eighteen?"

"Of course I do."

"We're twenty-six now, Mob." He smiles, "Isn't that... surprising? How ten years seemed to fly like nothing?"

"Because ten years were spent so that-"

"I'm going to love you like Halley's comet, Mob. Or perhaps I already did. And I know from your words that the world is a complicated place, and we, as humans, are even more so." He recalls their time together all those years ago, "Young lovers, right? Never to love each other beyond their twenties, as fate's cruel twist."

"I love you." Verity softly says, going totally quiet afterwards, with no intent to add more.

"I love you too... So don't leave..." Mob hics, "I'm telling you- To stay with me and... And to-"

"Log one hundred forty three. Dash; one, three, one, two, five. Midnight; Greenwich Mean Time: zero, on Earth."

"The date is the seventh of July, 2061."

"...My name is Verity, I bear no surname, for I have no family to call mine, besides my partner, who I am promised to." He takes off his ring from under his gloves, placing down on a table of sorts besides him with a click.

"If you are seeing this, I am dead."

"I have spent years of my life, planning everything out for this exact moment." He collects himself, placing his gloves back on his hands, "Habitability in outerspace is possible. I have spent ten years- A whole decade, living out in a space vessel, and I am glad to be able to give confirmation on existence outside of planet Earth."

"Details are too complex for me to go into further detail, but it does exist- Another 'Earth'." 

"I don't plan on living out my life on a planet that's not the one I was born on, whether I was created in a lab or not." He inhales, staring directly into something, or rather, someone, "I don't want to live somewhere other than any place my lover is."

He pauses, not speaking not doing anything at all. He breathes in the air, and breathes it out, and some soft hissing occurs behind him. He lifts his head up and smiles before slipping his helmet over his head. 

"Mob."

"I know you're watching this. Well, at least you're going to be the first person to see this. I planned this after all- Chasing you down despite my low fuel, and communicating to you knowing that it'll only drain it faster."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry that I love you, and that you love me. Someone like me, someone so artificial, human cells curated in a lab shouldn't be worthy or be in your presence. You have given me an unfathomable amount of happiness- And to that, I thank you, so, so much." He laughs at his own situation, smiling at the grave that he had dug out for himself, and only himself, "I guess your grief really got me, huh? I guess the those agonizing nights without me, of you cursing my name, caught up to me, and this is how I'll die."

"I'm dying by your grief, Mob." His grin, audible from his helmet, "Isn't that so lovely?"

"I know that no ten-minute-long video or anything will make it up for our lost time, and for that, I'm sorry."

"But the universe demands our separation, as the heavenly father says so."

Verity's head droops down low, and he sucks in a sharp breath, "Don't you remember the tale of Tanabata? Don't you remember the night where I called it 'Qixi' instead and you got mad at me? ...Because I do. I remember it loud and clear." He corrects himself, "Actually, I remember everything between us. So, don't you worry about semantics."

"There was once a weaver in the sky." He states, "The child of the divine." He continues, his nerves getting to him in a way, "Then, there was the dirty, mortal cowherd, who watched from the other side of the Milky Way river, where they lived across from."

"Now, the cowherd, was completely mesmerized by the weaver. The weaver was utterly beautiful- Beyond words. The weaver took notice of the cowherd as well, and the two actually got married." Verity plays with his promise ring, each engraving of a poppy petal carefully traced by his nails, "But, as they got married- They were blinded by love, and looked at the world with rose-tinted glasses. They forgot about everything else besides one another, and their duties stopped. Cows roamed around, and clothes were not being weaved, so the divine father tore the two apart."

"But after the separation? Things seemed to get worse, in a way. The weaver cried, without their spouse. Taking pity, the weaver's father promised one thing: On the seventh day of the seventh month, they can abandon their duties to meet one another."

Verity finishes up the story, placing the ring back down,"Knowing of this, the weaver worked tirelessly, waiting for the day to come, but when it did? There was no bridge to cross for the lovers to meet. Crying once more, the magpies flying took notice, and acted as the bridge for the two of them to meet, promising to meet the couple on the same day every year, except for when it rains." 

"I guess to me, or perhaps, the chips embedded in our chests- You are Vega, the higher being, the weaver; The most next important star besides the sun itself... While I am Altair, the lower, lesser star and the dirty cowherd. I find it funny- Because I used to be taller than you. But now I see that you basically tower over me."

"What I mean is that: I love you so much, that I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to say it."

"I mean, I've never seen how I feel be put into books before." He audibly grins, "Everything leads me back to you as my answer."

"Do I love the world? No, not really. But since you came into it, since you marked it as something you admire- I began to adore it like I must. Supernovas were just burning stars with their arrogance outliving them, however, I now see them as paintings for you to stand behind."

"I've never loved anyone before, nor did I love anything before you. But I guess on that fateful day, where I broke into the database and found out who and what you were- I decided that you were the destiny I'm going to chase down for the entirety of my lifespan." He chuckles a little, commenting on his remaining years, or perhaps, hours,"And that lifespan's now up."

"I want to love you like Comet Halley. Or rather, I have, and I did. I crawled back to you, like the dog I am, constantly. I've left the Earth and disembarked for a journey beyond my world- Just for me to come back at every little inconvenience, or perhaps, came back to you as my final destination."

"I think I've completed full orbit."

He sighs, fiddling with a USB stick in his hands, "I got all of your voicemails, Mob. All of them. They were all carefully responded to, and in this. You'll receive them once you, well... Yeah."

"You're probably watching this video- With your head in your hands, sitting in your spaceship in tears as I ramble about on how much I love you. To which, I do. There's no denying it- Because I really love you to death. Like Orion running towards Merope, unrequited- Or like Coma Berenice, my love for you acts in many ways."

"By now, I assume this has been broadcasted to the entire world already."

He clears his throat, probably sincerely sorry somewhere in his heart, "I'm sorry for making this public, but I don't know if you'll hate me more for this or for the fact I've removed all other traces of me."

"I guess the best way I can live even beyond death is through... your memories. Inaccurate or not, I'm content with it. As long as it was you- I think all is good, all is well."

"There's a poem I read. You might not be familiar with it though." He begins to recite its lines, smiling from under the glass and the white helmet, with the number one, three, one, five, two on it.

"...And the universe said I love you; and the universe said you have played the game well."

"And the universe said everything you need is within you, and the universe said you are stronger than you know."

"And the universe said you are the daylight; and the universe said you are the night..."

"And the universe said the darkness you fight is within you, and the universe said the light you seek is within you"

"And the universe said you are not alone."

"And the universe said you are not separate from every other thing"

"And the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code."

"And the universe said I love you because you are love."

He let the words sink in before he looked back up, the final words of the poem coming off of his tongue, overcoming something: Cowardice, by hiding it behind even more cowardice. A comet flies past him, clear in the view. Blues, purples and pinks faintly paint behind in trail.

"...And I said: I have loved you like Comet Halley. And I love you like how Altair loves Vega."

"Ending log."