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Suletta likes the nurses.

They’re never pitying when they come to help her bathe and change her clothes, and their hands feel like they were made for caregiving, gentle and firm, patient and steady. They let her talk about anything and everything, and they tell her a little bit of gossip about the staff—who stole whose lunch, who got in trouble with the head nurse for being late, who has been working for more than 24 hours—once they figured out that the chatter relaxes her. They’re professional but not cold, clinical when they have to be, but compassionate when Suletta needs them to be.

But the thing she likes about them the most—the thing that gets her through day after day—is the way they never look at her like they expect her to fall apart.

Everyone else does. Chuchu gets this frustrated look on her face every time she laughs, Ericht goes quiet when she tells her that she’s glad that she can see the stars every night, and Dr. Belmeria always seems guilty when she has to tell her everything her body hasn’t healed from. Sometimes, she catches Miorine peering at her, brow furrowed lightly, mouth a thin line, worry in her eyes, like she doesn’t understand how Suletta can be so happy but expects it won’t last another second.

It’s not that Suletta hates it. She likes that they care, loves that they’re keeping an eye on her. She’s grateful that they’re so willing to hold space for her pieces should it come to that. No, she doesn’t hate it. It’s just… It’s that they don’t get it.

“Don’t get what?” Her physical therapist, Dr. Hans, asks when she tells him about it while trying to flip her hand. She can’t hold or grip yet—can’t even curl her fingers—but she thinks she can do at least this. “Relax your shoulders.”

Suletta listens and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sad sometimes, and I think… I feel angry, too. Sometimes.”

Dr. Hans hums after giving her a thumbs up, which she takes as permission to try again. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

Suletta smiles a little and shakes her head. “No.”

She looks out the massive window. She had requested to be as close as possible to the glass, wanting to see the world waiting for her, finding comfort in how people skip, run, and stand. She knew some of them, her neighbors when she’d been a newcomer. They can walk now, or at least push a wheelchair. Hope is an unruly thing, Suletta thinks, the way it twists and fills, both heartbreaking and heartening.

“I didn’t want to die,” is what she admits, mouth quirking at the sight of an old neighbor wobbling on crutches.

She wonders how long it’ll take before she can take a stroll on her own.

“But you thought you were going to.”

She looks at her physical therapist, his bulky frame, the scar running diagonally across his face. He’d been a veteran, which is why Suletta had connected with him the best out of everyone in her team. She nods. He understands.

“Everything else, good or bad, happy or sad…” She considers her hand and knows it’ll listen to her by the end of today’s session because it’s her hand, and she knows what it can do. “It all feels like a—a gift.”

She tries again and manages half a lift. Even physical therapy feels like a gift. Whether or not she feels like she deserves it or if she’s allowed to have it depends on the day. It’s painstaking, and frustrating, but she had thought that she was going to die.

“That’s a nice way of looking at it,” Dr. Hans says as he stares intently at her hand, brightening a little when Suletta manages another push.

She folds her lips into her mouth and powers through the strain in one exhale.

“Yes!” Dr. Hans cheers.

Suletta knows her grin is wild, knows her tears are coming, knows that the first thing she wants to do after this is show Miorine.

Dr. Hans softens at the look on her face. “Maybe they just need to know that you know it won’t always be good, that you know that you’ll break someday.”

Suletta nods. She does know that, too. Her hands are blood-stained, and she breathes while so many others don’t; it had been her fault.

“Someday,” she sniffles. “But right now, I just want to be happy about this. If—If it’ll happen anyway, then I don’t need to be scared of it anymore. Right now, I can be okay. I am okay.”

“Okay?” Dr. Hans echoes, teasing. “You should be proud. You flipped your hand today!”

Suletta giggles. “I think maybe I can also—”

It’s small, so subtle that anyone would probably miss it, but the tips of her fingers bend infinitesimally.

“Well,” Dr. Hans breathes, awed, because he gets it. “Look at you.”

She grins. She knows what the worst looks like—someone she knows by name crushed under boulders, peering into a cockpit and seeing her friend lifeless, the relentless, nameless pain of piloting the Calibarn—and maybe it’s redefined what the best looks like for her, made it simpler and easier to find, smaller and easier to hold onto. The pride in her chest, warm and aglow, won’t last. But it’s here for now, and what more could she ask for? No one thought she’d survive it, and yet, here she is, her palm up in surrender, in acceptance, of everything that might come after.

“Ms. Miorine,” she tests, biting back a smile at how Miorine’s gaze snaps up from her tablet, scowling instantly.

“Didn’t I tell you that you can just call me by my name?” She grumbles.

She did, actually. It’s just that Suletta had discovered that pretending to forget about it is a surefire way to get Miorine’s attention, some part of her blatantly and reflexively protesting the distance suggested by the formality. Suletta doesn’t do it often because she likes being able to call her name now, likes that it’s a thing she’s allowed to do, likes that Miorine softens when she says it. Right now, though, she wants her full attention because she did something amazing today.

“You did,” she confirms, unable to keep the smile off her face despite her best efforts.

Miorine rolls her eyes but abandons the tablet on the bedside table and sits on the bed. “So, you were just being annoying on purpose?” She gentles. “Are you okay? Was there something you needed?”

“Just you.”

Miorine frowns lightly, cheeks pinking. “When did you become such a flirt?”

Suletta’s laugh leaps out of her, boundless and unrestrained. “I’m being honest!”

Miorine’s mouth quirks up, almost reflexive in the way it clashes a little against the still-present frown.

Suletta grins. “Look.”

“At… what?”

Suletta glances down, just to check, even though she’s sure that Miorine’s hand will almost certainly be near hers. She doesn’t know if Miorine intends it to be that way every time, but Suletta won’t risk asking just in case it embarrasses her enough to stop.

She flips her hand. It’s clumsy, but she manages to wiggle the tip of her thumb under Miorine’s pinky.

Miorine startles, eyes snapping down to their hands. “Did you just—”

Suletta pulls her pinky in as much as the joint in her thumb will let her, offering proof that Miorine can see.

Shock is a split-second emotion. It never really stays, and Suletta watches with a swollen heart as it lets Miorine go and makes way for things too complicated to be contained in any one name. Her face smooths, and she hesitates, but she places her hand in Suletta’s. A shaky exhale escapes her when Suletta curls the tips of her fingers in a hold so slight that it would take nothing to separate them. Miorine looks like she might cry as her gaze lifts.

Suletta can’t squeeze. Not yet. But she can smile. She can try to say the right words to help Miorine understand.

“It’s… This is a good thing, Miorine.”

It can be sad, yes. Once upon a time, Suletta could do so much more without giving it thought or effort. It can be scary, because she might never get to a point where she can do more than this. It can be devastating, if she thought about how unprepared she’d been for everything else she could lose aside from her life. But—

“I want this to be a good thing,” she decides.

The words aren’t quite right; it doesn’t feel like they’re what she means to say, but she supposes they’re close enough.

She curls the tips of her fingers again and relishes in the grace of being able to feel Miorine hold and grasp.

“But—” Miorine swallows whatever she’d meant to say.

Suletta nods. “I know. But right now, this is a good thing.”

Miorine nibbles on her bottom lip—Suletta tries not to watch; she doesn’t really know if she’s allowed to—then sighs. She tries to wear a tentative smile that grows more genuine the longer Suletta mirrors it back to her.

“Surprise,” Suletta grins.

Miorine snorts. “You’re an idiot. When did this happen?”

“Just today,” Suletta tells her, fingers twitching because she’s excited about it. “I knew I was going to do it before I did it.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about, but I’m…” Miorine softens, and Suletta loves it when she looks like this, soft and open, wearing her heart shyly at the corners of her mouth. “I’m happy for you, Suletta.”

Suletta very nearly sighs in relief. Miorine doesn’t fully get it yet, but she understands a little bit, and that’s more than enough for now.

“I just wanted to hold your hand,” she admits unthinkingly.

Miorine flushes and looks away. “You can just ask. You don’t have to push yourself.”

“I’m not. I actually… I think I like physical therapy.”

Miorine looks her way again, curious. “Why?”

Suletta hums. “It feels like I’m getting to know myself again. I know what I can and can’t do, and it’s… it feels like the right thing to do. After everything.”

She doesn’t want to look the other way anymore, pretend that she could never do anything so heinous unless it’s necessary, let someone else tell her what her hands can take and what the rest of her can’t do. She tries to shrug and doesn’t quite manage it.

“Better late than never?” She says sheepishly.

Miorine squeezes her hand. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it. You just seemed so determined to be… happy.”

“Why didn’t you ask?” Suletta wonders aloud, simply curious.

Miorine smiles wryly. “I took your choice away from you once. Never again.”

“Oh.”

Miorine has apologized for it, and Suletta has long since forgiven her, but neither of them can seem to forget. All the same, maybe there is grace in this too. It would have been lonely to carry the hurt alone, to grow alone, to try to be better alone.

“Are you…” Suletta hesitates, not quite sure how to say it because it’s always embarrassing to admit her faults. Miorine waits patiently, always willing to hear her out no matter how long it takes. “Will you trust me to tell you when I’m not having a not-so-good day?”

“Only if you promise it,” Miorine says with half a joke.

Suletta laughs a little, glad that she’d never given her any reason to doubt what she’d sworn to do. “I promise.”

Miorine softens, some part of her visibly relaxing, the line in her brow shallowing. “Then, okay. Today’s a good day?”

Suletta nods, chest light and warm. “Today’s a good day.”

(It takes a while. Suletta has many good days, coming one after another, a near-constant that makes Miorine worry about how hard she’ll fall once she’s done soaring. Nothing is permanent; not them, not happiness or pain, not even the earth or the stars or what they wish for. But she joins Suletta on her good days. It’s nice to share joy for once, and she trusts Suletta’s promises.

She’d been afraid, once upon a time, that Suletta was doing that thing she did when she hid in a bathroom, crying alone and carrying a thing too heavy and covering it up with smiles and laughter. But Suletta had promised, so Miorine trusts. It’s the way it has always been for them.

The call comes in the middle of the night.

“Miorine, wake up,” Ericht whispers straight into her brain, tone gentle but urgent enough to rouse her despite her irritation at forgetting to turn the communicator off before bed, still too unused to having it there in the first place. “It’s Suletta.”

Miorine inhales sharply. “What do you—”

“Notebook. She’s calling you.”

Miorine rubs a fist against her eye, trying to chase the grogginess away, and, at the same time, squints at her bed. She rips the blanket off herself and tosses pillows to the floor; where is it, where is it—

“Suletta?” She answers, throwing herself out of bed, mildly glad that she’d been too tired to strip out of her pants and button-down before passing out.

On the other end of the line, Suletta sniffles, the sound distant enough that Miorine has no doubt that Suletta’s notebook is on her bedside table, that Ericht had hacked into it, that Suletta could be feeling horrid enough to ask for Ericht’s help even though she could wait until morning.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No.” Technically not a lie, considering Ericht woke her. “What happened?”

She slips her feet into shoes, doesn’t bother to comb her hair, locks the door behind her. She isn’t far. Her temporary apartment is about half a mile away from the hospital Suletta’s in. She can be there in ten minutes. Five, if she runs. She brisk-walks and warms up enough for a jog.

Suletta is quiet for a long time. And then, “N-Nightmare. I’m sorry.”

Miorine fights to keep her voice even. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I—I don’t know where to start,” Suletta whispers, barely audible, so small that it takes almost nothing for Miorine to know that she’s not only talking about calling her. “It’s not a good day.”

Miorine exhales and turns a corner. “I see. Do you want to talk about it?”

The quiet that follows feels difficult and uncomfortable and awkward. This is not land they’ve charted before. There are too many things that can hurt them worse, words that can be taken the wrong way, memories they’re not sure how to relive without dwelling in them.

“What do you need, Suletta?” She asks gently, because she wants to figure this out somehow.

A hiccup, choked and damp. Miorine stumbles to a stop right in front of the automatic doors of Suletta’s room, keeping herself far away enough to avoid triggering it. Trepidation catches up to her, breaking through the haze of grogginess and worry, and she wonders if this is the right thing to do, if she’ll help by being here, if Suletta wants her here. She curls a hand into her chest. Her heart scampers in a messy rhythm.

“I need you to tell me,” she breathes, throat tight, frozen under the weight of the decisions she’d made before, the ones she’d made for them, the ones that only hurt them both. She does nothing to hide the plea in her voice.

Suletta dissolves into stuttered breaths on the other end of the line, shallow and held back like she’s trying not to give it away. Miorine closes her eyes. She hopes, and she waits.

“I’m sorry, I—” Suletta chokes. On tears or heart, Miorine doesn’t know. Then, clumsily, pleadingly, “Can you be here?”

Relief warms Miorine. “I’m here,” and takes a step forward.

Suletta starts crying in earnest as soon as her surprise retreats, hand lifting off the bed and only managing halfway. Miorine reaches for it and takes it between her own.

It’s not enough. Suletta is afraid, or she’s falling apart, or she’s both – a horrible thing stiffens her joints, turns her bones into something hollow and brittle, rattling so badly that Miorine can feel the impact of whatever she’d suffered seeing in her sleep. Her pillow is wet with tears she can’t yet wipe, and she’s looking at her like she could help her breathe just by being here. This is not the time for hesitation or doubt or apprehension, and all of a sudden, Miorine thinks it is easy to be here for Suletta.

She places Suletta’s hand on her shoulder and leans down. She wraps careful fingers around the back of her neck just under her communicator, pulls her up, and guides her into her. Suletta grips the back of her shirt—a good thing, the gripping and holding, according to Suletta just a week ago—and allows herself to be moved, wrecked breaths brushing against Miorine’s neck as she flips the pillow before laying Suletta back down. She whimpers a little when Miorine moves back just enough to tug at the blanket, and Miorine shushes her, slips into whatever space is left at Suletta’s side, and coaxes her hand from the back of her shirt to Suletta’s chest.

There are better ways to hold each other, but Miorine hopes it’s enough to fold her body around Suletta until she can rest her chin on her crown, fingers intertwined and resting just above Suletta’s broken heart, tears seeping to her collar. Suletta turns her head and hides deeper in her.

She apologizes. Over and over.

Miorine lets her and says nothing in return. She knows better than to offer forgiveness that isn’t hers to give.

It takes a while, but Suletta doesn’t drown. She holds on to her the best she can instead and cries herself to sleep.

“Will she be okay?” Miorine asks in a murmur, listening to Suletta breathe and hoping her dreams are sweeter.

“She’ll be okay,” Ericht whispers, though Miorine can hear the falter in her voice like she could be feeling exactly the way Miorine feels, afraid and shaken and glad to be here. “You did well. Thank you for being there for her.”

Miorine laughs wetly, her own tears coming to the surface now that Suletta’s have stopped. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“For her, right?” Ericht says, knowing but not unkind.

Miorine holds Suletta closer and feels her squeeze her hand in her sleep. It settles something in her.

“For me, too.”)

Days with her mother are few and far between. This had been Suletta’s decision.

She’d wanted to rush it at first, eager to reconcile, to forgive and forget. She missed being able to call at the drop of a hat and struggled to stand on her own two feet.

The first meeting hadn’t gone well. Suletta’s chest tightened at the sight of her—run, gain one; move forward, gain two—and it had been hard to breathe—blood and Miorine’s terrified stare and the smile she’d worn on her own face—and she couldn’t say a word. She ran that day and gained two: breath and a hard lesson. She could love someone deeply because it had been all she’d ever known, and still, feel an anger that blazed and devoured the oxygen in her lungs.

Time. Like everything that needs to heal, her frayed bond with her mother will take time to unravel, to rebraid, to become something less twisted.

Sometimes, time passes in silence. They sit in the same room, full of words they don’t know how to say, afraid to offer words that might only make it worse. Ericht saves them with endless stories of the things she’d seen as Aerial; Miorine saves them with countless rants about whoever she had to meet with that day. Suletta knows that Miorine would rather be elsewhere, and she’d tried to tell her that she doesn’t have to come when she feels like she can visit her mother, but—

“We’re going to be family, Suletta,” Miorine had told her, matter-of-fact and such-is-life. “I have to learn to be around her because I’m not as forgiving as you are. Do you want me there?”

Suletta had nodded. “You make me braver.”

It’s true. She doesn’t think she can look her mother in the eye, see exactly what age and grief and defeat have done to her, and be able to resist crumbling in her arms and asking for forgiveness she should be giving if Miorine isn’t by her side.

Some days, though, when the weather is lovely or when it is simply easier to be kinder, time passes in quiet conversations. They’re stilted now, no longer as easy as it had been before everything, but they manage because they are tied still to each other, as frayed as it may be, as fragile as they are.

“Are you going to marry her?”

The question is gentle, her mother’s face even more so.

Ericht is quiet, and Miorine is out for the day, attending Shaddiq’s trial before heading to Nika’s.

Suletta can’t help blushing, but she doesn’t feel embarrassed. “If she’d have me.”

Her mother laughs, a small, quiet thing but genuine all the same. It makes Suletta’s chest feel ligher, coaxes the blaze into a steady warmth – she loves her still, after all.

“Was there ever any doubt?” A nostalgic look passes over her. “She yelled at me, you know. At Quiet Zero.”

Ericht snorts. “I remember that. She was so mad because you were apparently so scared to pilot Calibarn.”

Suletta’s heart swells. She smiles up at the sky. There is something she wants to say, something so pure that she has no doubt that it’s true. She’ll have to wait until Miorine comes back.

“If it matters at all,” her mother murmurs, pulling her attention away from the sunset and the warmth of it on her skin. “I’m glad that you have her.”

Suletta thinks forgiveness isn’t so hard to give on days like this. “It matters a lot, Mom. I like knowing that you—care.”

Her mother doesn’t look away. “I do, though I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

“Me too,” Ericht whispers, apology tucked somewhere in the syllables.

Suletta has heard their apologies. She nods in acceptance; what else is there to be done? What else?

“I love you both,” she admits, helpless, despite the ache, the burns, the scars, the wheelchairs, the could-haves, the shouldn’t-haves.

Her mother traverses the space between their wheelchairs, palm up. Suletta takes it, is glad that she can do this now, can wheel herself alongside her mother, can hold her hand and let her palm say everything she doesn’t know how to say.

“I love you, too, Suletta.”

“I love you, Suletta.”

She closes her eyes as the breeze passes over them, pleasantly cool and wonderfully gentle. It’ll happen in time. Someday, she will love them, and it won’t hurt.

It’s late by the time Miorine slips into her room. Suletta doesn’t know how she gets away with ignoring visiting hours, and she has a sneaking suspicion that she’d bought the hospital if only to be allowed here.

“Hey,” Miorine croaks, slightly startled. “I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”

She frowns before Suletta can get a word out. “Have you been pushing yourself again? I told you that you don’t have to wait up for me.”

Suletta can’t help the grin pushing at her cheeks. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Miorine’s frown deepens as she shrugs her blazer off and drops it haphazardly on the chair beside Suletta’s bed. She reaches over and flicks the lamp on, a golden glow washing over them as Suletta presses the button on her bed to get her a little upright.

“Did your mother—” Miorine clears her throat, probably in an attempt to say something less mean. “Are you okay? How was your day?”

“Everything’s okay,” Suletta reassures her. “Today was okay.”

“You just can’t sleep?”

Suletta feels her face warm. She’s restless is what she is, so full of anxious energy that she’s surprised that she isn’t stuttering as much as she’d expected them to. She thought she’d blurt it out, the impulse getting stronger the longer she’d waited for Miorine to come. She’s not… afraid. The words have lived in her for so long that she knows them as nothing but the truth, a given almost, an of course, I do. She hadn’t meant to withhold them or keep them tucked so close to her heart; she’d simply forgotten to say them aloud, if only to let Miorine know.

This is not the kind of thing that expects. But it hopes in this big way that makes her want what it would mean if Miorine really would have her – years of recovery, a bedside full of pill bottles, nightmares and all. It’s no longer innocent too, or young, or naïve. She knows it can hurt, it can leave her behind, it can betray her, and this, she thinks, is why it matters all the more, now that it’s been battered and beaten into something uniquely hers and undeniably for Miorine.

A hand rests gently on her forearm, the touch cautious as if trying not to startle her. Suletta blinks back into focus.

“Where did you go?” Miorine asks, a tad worried.

“I—” And okay, maybe she’s a little nervous. She giggles at herself, much to Miorine’s growing confusion. She lifts her shoulder in half a shrug. “I just realized I never told you something you should probably know.”

The look on Miorine’s face is of fond exasperation as if she’d expected nothing less. “I knew you’ve been feeling more pain than you’re letting on.”

Suletta is confused. “What? No, I mean—only sometimes—”

“You should’ve told me—”

“Only when it’s cold, I promise! And I do tell you—”

“We could’ve had Dr. Belmeria—”

“It’s not that bad, I promise! And I love you!”

Miorine waves a hand. “Bad enough that you didn’t—” Her mouth clicks shut, eyes going wide, hand closing around Suletta’s forearm in… shock, maybe.

“You're not surprised, right?” Suletta mumbles, her cheeks probably the color of Miorine’s tomatoes.

Miorine blinks.

Suletta smiles sheepishly. “Or… Or you are?”

Miorine inhales sharply and shakes her head in a spasmodic motion. Suletta will always like how she blushes, the pink stark and pretty on her cheeks. She looks away like she’s trying to collect herself, and Suletta tries to give her space, tries not to ramble, tries to let the confession sit between them without undermining it or explaining it or tucking it back where it came from.

Then, softly, hesitantly, “Still?”

Suletta’s heart splits open, and she relaxes back against her pillows. “I think always.”

Miorine folds her lips into her mouth at that. She curls a little into herself, the fold of her shoulders slight and young. Suletta knows—instinctively, like there’s a part of her that knows Miorine more than she knows herself, knowledge built over time and hurt and joy and life—that she’s no longer the leader or the president or even the Miorine whom everyone else knows. She’s just Miorine now as she would’ve been had it not been for everything that’s happened to them and everything they’ve had to become to make it to today. Suletta realizes how much of a privilege it is to have the space to be uncertain and hesitant and afraid. There’s no room for such things when it's life or death, gain or lose, all or nothing. So, she waits. Not for response, not for reciprocation, not for rejection. Just for her and whatever she decides.

Miorine exhales and looks at her. “I hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“I betrayed you, and then, I left you.”

“Yes.”

Miorine laughs wryly, brokenly. “You’re an idiot, Suletta.”

Suletta laughs with her, moving her forearm to take Miorine’s hand instead. “Yes.”

Miorine is shaking. Suletta feels it against her palm like she could shatter if she squeezed too hard. She presses her thumb over Miorine’s ring finger and wonders what it’d look like wrapped in something simple—nothing too flashy; Miorine hates attention—and silver—she’s too pale to wear gold, Miorine had told her once just before the incubation party.

It should be scary, but what is the possibility of a second rejection to endless space?

“Miorine,” she looks up and finds red-rimmed eyes. “Choose me? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d ask because—”

“Yes.”

Suletta feels like she’d misheard.

Miorine snorts and wipes the back of her free hand across her eyes. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Y-You don’t want to think about it first?” There’s the stutter.

Miorine’s brow lifts in amusement. “I don’t have to.”

Suletta’s heart does a thing. Trips or leaps or backflips, she’s not sure which. “Oh.” A graceless laugh shoves its way out of her chest. Her cheeks ache, and she realizes she’s grinning wildly, dumbly. “Okay. Like—we’ll go on dates?” She clarifies, just in case. “And buy a house? A-And wear dresses? Pick rings?”

Miorine’s amusement softens. She lets her forearm go and leans into her space, arms looped around Suletta’s neck. Suletta pulls her closer as much as she can, distantly deciding that strengthening her upper body will be her new goal in physical therapy.

“Yes, to all of those,” Miorine laughs something drowned in tears and relief, her chest shaking, a gentle tremble that Suletta can feel around her lungs, in her bones, deep, deep inside.

She thinks that there’s something to be said about hearts – how they grow and how they break and how they love again and again, despite and in spite, and maybe always. It beats in her chest, hasty and graceless, happy. She sniffles or giggles or both, and there’s that feeling again, the one she doesn’t know the words to yet. Breathing is easy, the day is good, her heart is strong and loud, reckless and resilient.

“Kisses, too?”

Miorine huffs, more fond than annoyed. She pulls back and cups her cheeks, her touch so tender that Suletta can believe that there’s only one of her in the whole universe, that there’s no one else Miorine would hold like this, that there’s no one else who even comes close. She is stardust. A wish come true. A prayer answered. All of it she would believe herself to be so long as Miorine touches her like this.

“Which part of yes wasn’t clear to you?” Miorine breathes, leaning in and pulling her close.

Their first kiss is gentle, a tad unsure. But Suletta presses back and makes space for Miorine’s lip between hers. She forgets how to breathe, stomach swooping low, daze blanketing her thoughts.

Miorine breaks the kiss only to press her lips to her forehead, and somehow, this makes sense too, the way that Miorine would be open and giving with her affection once she knows that it’s returned and wanted and welcomed.

“I was just making sure,” Suletta teases, grin too wide for the hour. “Maybe one more to be sure-sure?”

Miorine snorts, cheeks pink and pretty. “Now, you’re pushing it.”

But she kisses her again, soft and slow, and today is the best day she’s ever had.

(Earth is green. And blue. Yellow, orange, and red. She has been here before, and she’s almost sure she would’ve flinched at the memory if it hadn’t been for Suletta’s hand in hers, warm and grounding and familiar.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” She can’t help but worry.

Suletta blinks and takes a second to tear her eyes away from the sky. She’s dressed in the slacks and dress shirt Elnora apparently had tailored as soon as she heard about Suletta’s stubborn desire to go to Earth. Miorine had argued against it – she can go alone, and she’s not going to begrudge her for failing to keep this promise; Suletta isn’t technically cleared for travels yet, and no one knows how Earth’s heavier, constant gravity will affect her; and the one thing she doesn’t say—the selfish reason—Miorine feels far from ready to face this.

“I am,” Suletta promises, always braver than Miorine can hope to be. “Are you?”

Miorine squints at her, picking up the concern and the challenge in her tone and thinking that Suletta knows her a little too well. “We’re here now,” is what she ends up answering.

Suletta squeezes her hand and maneuvers the wheelchair in front of her. “It’ll be okay. And if it’s not, then at least…” She smiles hesitantly. “You’re not alone. I’ll be right here with you.”

Miorine offers a half-smile at that. “Why do you say it like you don’t think it matters as much as it does?”

Suletta’s smile turns a little sheepish. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“I love you,” Miorine tells her, point-blank and steadfast. She’s not embarrassed to say it, not when Suletta’s eyes brighten like that, not when she blushes like that, not when she twines her fingers around hers like she won’t let go even if she had to.

“I love you, too.”

“I love you three.”

They both startle a little before Suletta laughs and Miorine rolls her eyes.

“Why are you even here?” Miorine mutters, spotting Till and Guel getting out of the car they’re supposed to take to Quinharbor.

“Is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?”

“We’re not married yet, Eri,” Suletta reminds her, eyes on Cold-san attached to Miorine’s luggage.

“Yeah, but you will be.”

Miorine steps aside so that Till and Guel can stand on either side of Suletta, who nods at them and says her thanks. “You still haven’t answered my question,” she huffs, watching them lift Suletta out of the wheelchair to help her into the car. “Careful.”

“We are,” Guel mutters.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Suletta says over her shoulder.

It does little to soothe Miorine’s worry because Suletta tends to say she’s fine even when she’s on the floor and unable to move, though okay, she can also recognize that she hasn’t given her that lie ever since she’d promised to tell her if she’s having a bad day. At the very least, it’s enough for her to refocus on her conversation with Ericht, who still hasn’t explained why she’s with them.

“Are you going to give me an answer anytime soon?”

Ericht says nothing for a while. And then, as Miorine follows Suletta into the car, she whispers, “You shouldn’t carry this alone. I’m also—well, you know.”

Miorine hums and doesn’t absolve her. “It’s going to be a long road ahead,” she tells her.

Suletta takes her hand.

“I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Miorine isn’t blind to the fact that they are all young. She and Suletta have just turned 18, and Ericht isn’t much older. Till and Guel are a year older. She supposes that the difference is that they’ve been shaped by arranged marriages and dead bodies and bloodshed. There’s loss in that too, a life they should be grieving because they will never be children ever again, but what else can they do other than be better than everyone who came before them?

Still, it guts her. No matter what they do, no matter what they say, no matter what kind of reparations they offer, it won’t change what’s already been done.

Quinharbor is a mess of destruction and despair. Buildings groan at the slightest tremor, and the people are haunted, carrying shadows that the Earth’s sun can’t account for. The road is ruined, the representative’s face is drawn taut with distrust, the children hide as they step out of the car. To them, she thinks that Earth is blood-red and nothing else.

“You’re shaking, Mio,” Suletta murmurs, fingers tight around hers.

Miorine swallows as Till takes over for Suletta and pushes the wheelchair for her. “Yeah.”

“We’re not our parents, Miorine,” Ericht states fiercely. “It’ll count for something.”

Miorine supposes that they’re allowed this wild hope, this naïveté. After all, they are young.

“One step at a time,” Guel says on her other side, his eyes forward, his stance tall and open.

Till nods. “We’ll do what we can.”

Miorine draws herself up. She squeezes Suletta’s hand once, twice, three times, and she feels her respond in kind before she lets her go. She steps up, chin level to the ground, hands empty, nothing on her but the weight of a future where no one is cruel or beaten. She meets the sneers and the distrust and the fear.

“Thank you for meeting with us today.”)

They make it halfway back to the spaceport before Miorine rips her clammy hand out of Suletta’s grip. She seizes the driver’s shoulder, pale-faced and wild-eyed.

“Stop the car.”

“Ma’am—”

“Right now!”

She doesn’t wait as she manually unlocks the door, and Suletta grabs onto her arm just long enough for the driver to swerve to the side and bring the car to a violent stop.

The chaos is instant. The driver apologizes, and Guel yelps in shock from the passenger side. Till hurriedly tells the security detail behind them to keep their distance. Miorine hauls herself out and dry heaves. Ericht is quiet. So is Suletta.

She turns to Till. “Can you help me out, please?”

Till—out of sorts and surprised—nods hastily. “Do you need time?” He asks as he gathers her in his arms, signaling to Guel that he needs to stumble out of the car and get her wheelchair out of the trunk.

“We do, thank you,” Suletta answers, focused on how Miorine’s dry heaves have turned into choked sobs.

She feels no surprise. She’d known this was coming since Quinharbor’s representative detailed deaths and injuries, numbers far outweighing those who survived. Miorine had been calm and composed and compassionate through it all. She didn’t make assumptions about what they needed; she kept the dialogue open; she took every barb, snide comment, and threat with all the grace of someone so used to it. Suletta had admired her fiercely for it, but she’d known that anyone would crumble under the weight of a whole sky.

She thanks Till and Guel quietly, then pushes herself forward to Miorine’s hunched form leaning bonelessly against the side of the car.

“Miorine,” Suletta whispers, taking her hand.

Miorine doesn’t return the hold but doesn’t pull away either.

If anything, Suletta is afraid. She has never seen Miorine break. Exhausted, yes. Sleepless, stressed, depressed – also, yes. She glances at everyone surreptitiously watching them and decides that, at the very least, this is not how Miorine would want to shatter.

She pulls on her hand. “Come here,” she pleads. “I’ll take you away. Trust me.”

She doesn’t know what works, but Miorine allows herself to be pulled, her breaths hooking painfully in her throat, eyes distant and flooded in grief and regret. Suletta arranges her sideways on her lap, making sure that she’s secure against her before pushing the wheelchair with more force than she thought she could give. They won’t get very far—her arms burn immediately, and she grits her teeth in effort—but Suletta will make sure that Miorine will have all the space she needs.

It's hard to maneuver the wheelchair through the field. The wheels are not made for tracking across dirt and grass, but Suletta pushes against its limits and takes them as far as she can bear, only stopping when she can no longer hear the steady rumble of engines.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Suletta asks of her.

Miorine listens, and Suletta realizes that she understands why. Miorine doesn’t want to make decisions anymore, doesn’t want to be in control anymore, doesn’t want to make mistakes anymore. Suletta thinks her heart might break. She swallows hard and keeps herself together, leaning forward slightly before shrugging her jacket off herself clumsily, her movements jerky and no longer used to the range of motion necessary.

“Okay,” Suletta murmurs, draping the jacket over Miorine’s crown and wrapping both arms around her. “Cry, Mio. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”

Miorine shudders, letting her go in favor of hiding under the jacket, curling so small on her lap that Suletta pulls her closer to make sure she won’t disappear. Miorine chokes on a half-hidden sob, her whole body unraveling, preparing, tensing—

A hoarse cry tears out of her, and Suletta holds.

Miorine seems to burst at the seams in a horrible mess of lung-tearing gasps and marrow-deep sobs. She is neither quiet nor graceful. She cries like she’s being ripped apart piece by piece, every inch of innocence and ignorance wrenched out of her. It’ll be too soon, and too much, and Suletta knows this, has lived this, has crawled her way out of it with Miorine around her. But knowing is no match for seeing, not when it’s happening to someone she loves. She tucks her against her and hopes it’s enough.

“God, God.”

Suletta closes her eyes at Miorine’s anguished prayer delivered without reverence, just despair and regret.

There is absolutely nothing she can say to take away the mass of guilt pressing down on her shoulders, but she can lead her home. She murmurs things, promises she intends to keep, comfort she hopes Miorine will take. She rubs a slow circle over her heaving back, praying it’ll coax her to breathe, to let the storm pass. She rocks her back and forth in the rhythm of a sleepy heartbeat, holds her tight with all the strength she can muster, doesn’t cry so that Miorine doesn’t find another thing to feel guilty about.

She listens to her cry, sobs fading to hiccups and sniffles and gasps for sweet, sweet air. She waits until Miorine relaxes before uncovering her, biting into the inside of her cheek as she tracks bloodshot eyes and tear tracks on her skin. Miorine closes her eyes the moment she cups her cheek, leaning into her touch.

Tenderness settles heavily in Suletta’s chest. She leans forward and kisses away her tears, takes her sadness in her mouth and tastes the ocean of it, its depth and relentlessness. It’ll come for her again because Miorine is kind and gentle and good. It’ll be another while if they’re lucky, so Suletta presses her lips against Miorine’s eyelids and hopes she can see clearly again, now that she’d washed away the past from her eyes.

Miorine exhales shakily and lifts her chin to kiss her oh-so-shyly.

“Are you okay?” Miorine asks, resting her forehead against hers.

“I’m okay. Thank you for relying on me.”

Miorine kisses her again. “Thank you for letting me.”

“How are you feeling?”

Miorine’s breath hitches like she might start crying again. She inhales deeply and sighs slowly. “Tired and sad, but better.”

Suletta hums. “Do you want to go back now?”

Miorine curls her fingers into her collar. “Not yet?” She asks in a voice so small, like there’s a part of her that thinks she might not deserve it.

“Okay. We’ll stay here for as long as you want.”

Miorine laughs a little, and Suletta is glad to hear it. “We might be here forever then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Tell me that again when you can’t feel your legs anymore.”

Suletta is… not going to tell her that they’re long past that.

They lapse into the quiet of the aftermath, something light and relieved. Suletta looks up and blinks at the horizon, caught off-guard by the sunset. The tips of the grass are dipped in gold, and they dance timidly to the songs carried by the wind. The sun touches her skin with a gentle warmth, coaxes her to look a little longer, invites her enjoy the show of pinks and oranges and yellows. She thinks maybe this is why Miorine loves Earth.

“Mio?”

Miorine hums against her neck.

“Tell me something about Earth?”

Miorine pauses then shifts so that she can see what Suletta is looking at. “The sun is a star,” she begins, and Suletta can’t help but listen to the gentle lilt of her voice. “One day, it’ll die, but before it does, it’ll grow a hundred times bigger than it is now. It’ll be 2,000 times brighter too, and Earth won’t survive it.”

Suletta nods – this makes sense, because she doesn’t know anything beautiful that can withstand the test of time. “We’re lucky then.”

Miorine takes her hand and slips her fingers in her spaces. “Why?”

“Because we get to see this and be here for a while.”

Miorine’s hold tightens, and when she breathes, it shakes just a little. “You’re right.”

Suletta nuzzles into her hair. “Tell me another?”

Miorine does, and for a moment, everything is infinitely easier.

The house is just right. Suletta doesn’t know how else to describe it, and she means it in the best possible way. It feels like Miorine’s living quarters back in Asticassia – bigger than usual but still humble. She ambles into it as her mother and Miorine begin grilling the realtor on plumbing and materials and holes in the roof. The space is wide open with a staircase leading up to where she assumes the bedrooms are; the large windows let the mid-day sunlight in, warming the floorboards and letting its deep brown peek through the dust. It has four bedrooms, if she remembers correctly, one downstairs and three on the second floor.

She spots the backdoor, and it pulls her at her strangely. She tilts her head at it.

“Please let this be the one,” Ericht grumbles.

Suletta laughs lightly. “This is only house number four.”

“Why does she have a list of 20? Who has the time? How does she have the time?”

“It’s probably Mom’s fault, you know.”

“Yeah, because Miorine asked her to get involved.”

“Eri,” Suletta giggles as she tests the doorknob. “Why do you sound so tired? You’re not even walking.”

“Speaking of, are you tired? You’re not being dumb about the chair, are you?”

Suletta shakes her head even though she knows Ericht can’t see her in a house that doesn’t have running water, let alone cameras. “I’m really okay. I’ve been working on my stamina, but I promise I’ll use the wheelchair if I need to.”

The steps aren’t too steep, and she leans her weight gingerly, having learned her lesson from house number two, where she’d nearly lost a foot to the abyss underneath the floorboards. It creaks a little but doesn’t give, and her crutches dig into her armpits as she figures out how to make it down the steps. She doesn’t mind. She likes that it’s a new thing to get used to after months of plateauing in her recovery.

She sighs in relief as her feet come in contact with the uneven ground.

“Okay?”

“Yep!”

She pulls her gaze from her feet and considers what’s beyond the backdoor. She blinks at the sun and assumes it’s facing east. The house doesn’t have neighbors, sitting too deep in the countryside for any of that.

A garden, she realizes. Modest like the rest of the house and a little worse for the wear, but Suletta spots the vines crawling up the fence and the memory of rows dug into the earth from times long past. There are weeds and flowers, dried-up bonsai and hanging pots. There’s nothing on the porch, but it would make sense, Suletta thinks, if there had been a rocking chair on it once or maybe even cushioned seats shared with a partner, a child, or a family.

Once upon a time, someone loved this piece of land. And once upon a time, the earth beneath her feet loved them back.

She could see Miorine here, hunched and sitting on her heels, hands dirty and gentle. She’d be here if the day were especially hard, or if she had the time, or simply because. Suletta can see herself here, too, sitting side by side with Miorine and risking her back, insisting on adding more compost or fertilizer just because she thinks the tomatoes are a bit pale. Or they could watch the sunrise together on the porch, spend an hour or two in the quiet before Miorine has to go and be someone bigger and Suletta has to start understanding what she needs to build a school on Mercury.

Ericht, too, can sit with her here long after Miorine has left for the day, until the sun gets too hot and they have to go inside to escape it. She’d have to listen to her complain because Ericht likes the hustle and bustle of the city, but she’d also smile to herself when her sister inevitably tells her that she’s okay with being bored out of her mind if it means that she gets to spend time with her.

Their mother, Suletta suspects, wouldn’t want to be caught dead with a trowel and a gardening hat. She’s gotten softer and gentler, but Suletta doesn’t doubt that she’ll stare, unimpressed, at whoever would be brave enough to try to get her to wear gardening gloves or touch the fertilizer. But Suletta can also see her sitting on the porch, sipping tea and criticizing whatever mundane e-mail Miorine decides to send her way if only so she doesn’t have to deal with it.

There’s space here for the life she’d almost missed having.

“Suletta?”

She startles out of her daze. “I’m here!”

Miorine pokes her head out the backdoor, eyes immediately landing on her. “You disappeared.”

“Did I worry you?” Suletta asks sheepishly.

“It’s not like you could’ve gone far,” Miorine mutters as she slips out the door.

Suletta snorts. “You never know. What if I tried running?”

Miorine glares at her. “Like you did last week? On crutches? Do you want to remind me what happened?”

Suletta shuffles to her and bends down to press an apologetic kiss on her cheek. “At least the floor was padded?”

“Padded or not, it’s not fun to find you sprawled on the floor, Suletta.”

“That’s… that’s fair.”

Miorine reaches up and pinches her cheek, ignoring her whines. “What are you even doing here?”

“Oh, right,” Suletta straightens before sweeping a crutch to the space. “Look!”

She moves behind her so that Miorine can see everything, taking a moment to appreciate the little things: the way Miorine leans back against her, the way she’s warm, the way she fits under her chin. It’s always lovely to be close to her, and it’s always a happy thing to be allowed. She hopes she never forgets, that she won’t ever take it for granted like people so often do when they get used to having something.

“I think this is it,” she admits, feeling shy for reasons she can’t explain.

Miorine snorts. “Because of the garden?”

“No,” Suletta pouts. “I mean, yes, but it’s not just that. It’s that… I can see us here. You and me and Eri and Mom.”

Miorine hums but says nothing, probably thinking about all the downsides they grilled out of the realtor and weighing it against what Suletta’s saying.

“I miss seeing you being just you,” she continues. “And I miss sharing that time with you. I know we have a lot to do, but we can make time, right? We can at least grow tomatoes, I think. And watch the sunrise. And just… be us here. What do you think?”

Miorine hums. She nudges her weight back to let Suletta know that she’s about to walk away. Suletta doesn’t stop her.

Miorine frowns at the garden, though Suletta can tell that it’s not in a bad way. She’s thoughtful, and it comes as no surprise when she eventually drops to her haunches and touches the soil, scooping a handful without hesitation. She moves on to parting the weeds, maybe to see if there’s anything in between that might’ve survived the years it’s been left behind. She sighs when she’s done, the exhale turning into half a laugh.

Suletta smiles. “So?”

Miorine walks back to her and then presses soil-caked fingertips against her cheek. Suletta doesn’t mind. There’s something right about the way Miorine’s hand smells like the earth, as if she could coax anything back to life given enough time. That’s the kind of place Suletta thinks this house could be. Somewhere they can be, somewhere they can breathe, somewhere they can be happy.

“The plumbing needs work. There’s no electricity.”

Suletta grins. “I think I saw holes in the roof.”

“We have sixteen more on the list.”

“It’d annoy Mom if we didn’t look at them.”

Miorine brightens, and Suletta has to laugh at that.

“Do you want to look at them?”

Miorine scoffs. “I’m tired.” She softens. “But I also think you’re right.”

Suletta feels her heart leap, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Miorine murmurs, smile dipped in something sweet before it turns into a smirk that Suletta loves for how mischievous it looks, how it hints at a more playful side to her. “Plus, I’ll never say no to anything that might annoy your mother.”

Suletta bursts into laughter, loud and belly-wide. She drops her crutches and throws herself messily into Miorine’s arms.

“Oh my god, Suletta!” Miorine yells into her ear, though Suletta can hear the laugh she’s trying to keep in her throat. “Don’t do that!”

“Well,” a new voice joins the fray, “Isn’t this adorable?”

“Your daughter nearly killed us. I’m not surprised that that’s your definition of adorable.”

“Hi, Mom,” Suletta greets over Miorine’s shoulder, still breathless and giggly, her back to where her mother is.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Tell your fiancée that she worries too much.”

“I’m right here.”

Ericht rejoins the living and drawls, “That’s rich coming from you, Mom. Even Miorine didn’t scare the realtor as much as you did.”

“I just want the best for my daughters,” her mother says in her usual saccharine way. “Is that such a crime?”

Suletta carefully peels herself off Miorine, kissing her cheek when she feels her adjust instantly, hands coming up to support her by the elbows. Miorine helps her turn around so she can see her mother, the worry frown staying stubbornly on her brow until Suletta has her crutches back in place.

“We think this is the one, Mom.”

Her mother pinches the bridge of her nose, mouth quirking in a half-hearted smile. “I had a feeling.”

“You can take the bedroom downstairs,” Miorine doesn’t offer as much as she does order.

Her mother looks like she has something to say to that but visibly decides to forego it with a wave of her hand. “That’s fine.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Miorine rolls her eyes. “You’re not even walking, Ericht. What do you have to complain about?”

Suletta gasps. “Yes! That’s exactly what I said!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re married in all but ceremony and papers. Can we go to the city for furniture?”

“I think it’s a little too early for that,” her mother laughs. “Why don’t we have dinner instead?”

“Mom, what am I going to do while you guys eat?”

“Don’t hack into things, or I swear to god—”

“Miorine, there’s literally nothing you can do to me.”

“I can at least throw you.”

Suletta tucks Miorine under her chin and feels her heart grow into something wrapped around her bones, all love and hope and joy. She knew that she could see them here, and look at them. Look at them. She feels Miorine lean back in the middle of sassing Ericht, and there. The same swelling in her chest, the same tender thing in her lungs, the same profound feeling she hasn’t been able to put into words. She’ll think of it someday, maybe while she’s helping Miorine revive the garden or when she stumbles into the kitchen to find her mother and Miorine bonding over their shared disdain for the business world or when Ericht’s keeping her company on days when her mother is out for physical therapy and Miorine’s at work.

Someday. What a hopeful thing to have.

(Miorine can’t remember having a better day than today.

The dance floor is a mess of overeager friends and family members flailing to whatever music Ericht has decided to play, some drunk on wine and champagne and whatever else Ojelo and Nuno came up with, others drunk on pure happiness alone. Everyone will have to send their shoes away for cleaning, and she snorts when she spots most of Earth House going around with bare feet, obviously having given up on trying to stay steady on the field with heels and dress shoes. Grins and laughter seem permanent, and Miorine tries to avoid looking at Elnora if only to stop another lump in her throat from forming, the one that had her blinking away sudden tears the first time she glimpsed the gentle smile her mother-in-law’s been wearing for all to see.

Behind the party, the garden and back porch have been strung up with lanterns, and Miorine can’t help the pride that grows into something tender in her chest as she considers the vines they’d guided into growing, the small tomatoes still hiding in the leaves, the bonsai they had somehow rescued despite the odds. Gardening had turned out to be the perfect physical therapy for Suletta’s fine motor control, and they had spent hours upon hours talking about anything and everything while shearing, digging, and watering the plants whenever the world felt gracious enough to give them time to breathe.

Suletta rubs her back as they sway in place. Miorine can tell that she’s too tired to try the kind of dancing they’d done for their first dance as wives, but she can also tell by the way she hums and pulls her close that she’s not ready to let go yet.

It’s fine, Miorine thinks as she nuzzles into her neck and presses a smile into her skin. Suletta could use the exercise, and Miorine’s just as unwilling to let go anyway.

“Are you happy?” Suletta asks in a voice so soft and hopeful that Miorine feels her toes curl.

Miorine nuzzles her way out of her neck, pulling back just enough to see her face. She’s beautiful in white, the glint of her dress matching the spark of joy in her eyes. The flowers in her hair are from their garden, white stephanotis grown especially for today and strung up to a makeshift headband. The permet scars on her cheeks are belied by a happy flush. Miorine traces them with her fingertips, watching Suletta’s eyes soften fondly, affectionately.

“More than I thought I’d ever be.”

Tears seem to leap to Suletta’s eyes at that, and Miorine laughs as she whines, “Mio, you’re going to make me cry again.”

“You asked!”

Suletta sniffles around a giggle. “You’re right, but still.”

Miorine shakes her head and leans in. She feels Suletta’s arms pull her closer in response as if there’s any space left to claim. Suletta meets her halfway, the press of her lips soft but no longer as hesitant as it once was. Miorine sighs against her mouth, resting her thumbs right over Suletta’s pulse, her own heart responding to the sprightly pace she feels. Her stomach swoops low; she’ll never tire of it, the knowing. Suletta loves her. It’s in the beat of her heart, the tenderness in her eyes, the questions she asks, the way she kisses her and holds her and murmurs her name.

Suletta nuzzles her nose and kisses her again, deeper this time but still slow like they have all the time in the world. Miorine hopes—forever, if at all possible.

“I love you,” she confesses like it’s the first time she’s saying it all over again, all heart and relief and hope, willing to be what Suletta deserves.

She doesn’t realize that she’s begun to cry until Suletta kisses the tears away from her cheeks. “I love you, too,” she whispers into her ear. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

She pauses, then huffs quietly, and Miorine chuckles. Suletta had told her about the feeling she gets sometimes ever since she pulled her out of space, the one she’s been trying to put into words.

“Still not the right ones?”

“Close, but still true though.”

Miorine pulls back so that Suletta can see her smile. “I know. Don’t rush it. It’ll come to you.”

Suletta pouts. “Because I’m a sap?”

Miorine bites back a grin. “Because you’re a sap.”

“You love it,” Suletta mutters.

“I never said I didn’t.”

Suletta—bless her—blushes. “Well… Okay.”

Miorine laughs this time.

Suletta grins at the sound like she always does, throwing a glance at the party. “Do you think it’s okay if we slip away?”

“A sap and sex-crazed. What have I gotten myself into?”

“N-Not for that! Or… well.” Suletta hesitates before she grows sheepish. “I want if you want.”

Miorine stares at her, unimpressed.

“You’re very pretty,” Suletta mumbles. “I kinda just want to have you all to myself right now.”

Miorine tries—and fails—to ignore the heat creeping up her cheeks.

She looks at the party, everyone who came to celebrate them, everyone who loves them, everyone who should know them enough to understand. Ericht and Chuchu will probably give them shit for it, and they’ll have to suffer the subtle but infuriating ways Elnora will think to bring it up, and there’s probably an ongoing bet about the likelihood of them disappearing from their own reception party, but well. Worries for later, she decides.

“I don’t see why not.”

Suletta choked on a laugh before picking her up in a bear hug.

Miorine scrambles to hold onto Suletta’s shoulders. “Put me down! You shouldn’t be doing—Suletta!”

“I’m fine, I promise. I trained for this.”

Miorine gapes at her. “This is why you’ve been taking extra physical therapy sessions?”

Suletta, the idiot, grins at her shamelessly. “Surprise?”

The huff of laughter that escapes Miorine is involuntary. If possible, Suletta grins wider. Miorine shakes her head and doesn’t hide her smile.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Suletta sets her down gently and kisses her happily. “I am. I really am.”

Miorine kisses her back and manages a breathless, “Let’s go.”

She presses a harder kiss before pulling back abruptly, giving herself a second to enjoy the dazed look on Suletta’s face before taking her hand and leading the way back into their house.

She thinks she knows exactly what Suletta meant when she described the still-unnameable feeling to her, thinks that she feels it too as they rush into their home in a mess of giggles and stumbles and haphazard kisses, thinks that she may even know the words when Suletta stops just outside their bedroom to kiss her like it’s all she’s been waiting to do.

She’ll let Suletta figure it out. But if she’s right, then she hopes Suletta says it to her so she can tell her that she feels the same even after everything, no matter what comes next.)

Suletta wakes up too early. Miorine is draped over her, breathing something deep and slow into her neck, one of her hands curled into a loose fist just above her heart. Earth’s sun hasn’t come up yet, and she can tell by the stillness of the house, the lack of creaking and beeping that no one else is up yet. Her mother always wakes an hour after sunrise. Ericht usually keeps away from the communicator and limits herself to the home system until she and Miorine either sleep through their alarms or venture out of their room.

She thinks she’d been dreaming of Mercury, the aloneness she’d learned from it, the grit she had to have to be part of its people. Or maybe she’d been dreaming of space, the endlessness of it, the weightlessness. It hadn’t been a nightmare, she thinks. Just formless dreams from the life she’s had, moments that made her, time spent becoming who she is now. It makes her thoughtful and wistful in equal measures.

There’s no need to lie: it’s been hard. Terrifying and heartbreaking. But—

Just a month ago, the school she’d built on Mercury had its first classes from curriculums she and her family had spent so much time tailoring to what their people needed to know to survive the planet and what they may need to know should they decide to leave it still. A couple of weeks ago, she and Miorine hosted a proper housewarming party, this time with Nika and all the new friends they’d made along the way. Yesterday, she’d sat on the steps of their back porch and watched Miorine fold her hands over the smaller ones of the neighbor’s toddler, teaching him to touch the plants without hurting them, how to harvest the tomatoes, how to smell the flowers.

Some days, she can go without her crutches. On other days, when it’s cold or when she’s overexerted, it’s hard to make a fist. Every once in a while, when she has enough sleep, a proper meal, and an extraordinarily wonderful day, she can spend hours dancing with Miorine or learning how to play the piano side by side as her mother listens and teases them for their mistakes and Ericht pulls up internet searches about how to hit that chord with tiny hands like Miorine’s or just walk uphill hand in hand with her wife to try and find out where the sun goes when it sets.

Miorine sinks deeper into her in her sleep, sighing a little. Suletta keeps her close and listens to her breathe.

Three years now, since she thought she was going to die.

No one thought she’d survive it, but they believed that if anyone could, then it’d be her. She remembers what it had felt like in the long, immeasurable seconds before she drifted off into space, unmoored and untethered and alone. She remembers hoping that Ericht’s okay, that her mother has stopped fighting so that she can start living, that everyone she’s ever cared about made it to the other side. She remembers hurting deep in her bones with the pure yearning to see Miorine again, one last time.

She sniffles, and she has this strange urge to laugh and cry.

In the end, the words are simple.

She takes a deep breath, feeling it in every corner of her lungs. She lets her heart swell until it hurts a little, sheer gratitude in her soul, so much love for the life she has that she doesn’t quite know what to do with it all. The sleepy world blurs.

I’m glad I’m alive.

She covers Miorine’s fist with her hand, turns and lets the tears fall to the pillow so that she can kiss her forehead, pulls her closer.

Miorine hums, waking slowly. Suletta guides her hand up to her cheek and feels Miorine’s thumb brush against the saltwater there.

“Suletta,” she mumbles, voice still making its way out of her dreams.

“Mio,” Suletta answers quietly. “I’m glad I’m alive.”

Miorine presses her nose into her neck, stretching languidly.

(She’s been waiting, and for a moment, she thinks she’s dreaming. But Suletta is crying because the words are right and perfect, and Miorine wills herself to wake. She doesn’t care what time it is. She guides her by the cheek until they’re pressed forehead to forehead.)

Miorine blinks sleepily at her, smiling a little despite the hour, and Suletta aches with a fondness so warm and profound that it’s a wonder to her that anyone can feel this way.

“Say it again?”

Suletta laughs softly. “I’m so, so happy I’m alive.”

Miorine kisses her, just a press of lips against lips, lingering and tender. “Me too. I feel the same. For you and for me. I’m so happy I get to live this life with you.”

Suletta cries and giggles and kisses her just as gently.

She wonders what today will look like when the sun comes up.

She hopes that it’ll be a beautiful day.