freckles and constellations

Violet is sitting on the edge of the ship, legs dangling over the side into the void below. She’s playing her ukulele - nothing too complicated, just a simple chord progression. C, G, Am, G. She kicks her leg in time as she strums. Above her, the night sky gleams, and it reminds her of being a kid, half asleep in the backseat of her mom’s car late at night, staring out the window as they drove home. She starts singing quietly.

“Hey, hotshot,” says a voice from behind her, and Violet startles and stops playing as Aria swiftly sits down next to her. “I didn’t know you played the ukulele.”

“Oh, yeah, I picked this up when we were in San Francisco a few days ago. I’m not very good at it.”

Aria raises an eyebrow. “Violet Soluce? Not a prodigy at every instrument?” She laughs. “Hey, you’re better than I am.”

Violet’s too busy staring at Aria - the way her hair bounces when she laughs, the bright white of her teeth, the crescent grin at the edge of her mouth with a dimple that Violet hasn’t seen before - to process quickly. She laughs quietly and holds her ukulele closer self-consciously.

Aria’s expression changes. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry, it looked like you were having a moment and I shouldn’t have interrupted, I’ll just go-”

Violet grabs Aria’s ankle as she’s standing up. “No! Stay. Please. If you want to.”

Aria looks at her, surprised - Violet blushes - and sits back down.

“I’m glad you joined me. I want to learn to trust you.”

“You don’t trust me?” Aria says, and she sounds so wounded that it hurts Violet.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant, I’m sorry, let me rephrase… I want to learn to trust. I want to learn to be trustworthy.”

“I trust you.”

The words spill out of Aria’s mouth, quickly, abruptly, genuinely, and Violet realizes that she doesn’t know if Aria’s ever been more heartfelt. The cocky grin, the raised eyebrow, the casual posture are all gone. Violet doesn’t know how to react. “I trust you too.”

Aria looks surprised again, then smiles. “Hey, do you want to keep playing that song?”

“Oh, uh, sure. If you’re okay with hearing me sing.”

Violet starts strumming again, and she opens her mouth and starts singing, and she closes her eyes. And so she doesn’t see the way Aria looks at her, starstruck. She doesn’t see Aria breathe out in awe, watching Violet’s face, pale and luminous like the moon, dotted in freckles like craters, scar running down her cheek like the impact of some brave rocket.

When Violet opens her eyes, Aria is staring at her in wonder. “Woah,” she says, and she grins, not the coy smirk she normally has, but a genuine grin, curling up towards a dimple, lips parted in awe. “That was so good. Your voice is… so amazing.”

Violet blushes, and all she can think to say is “Your voice is pretty, too,” and that just makes her blush more.

Then it’s Aria’s turn to blush, her cheeks darkening as she stares at Violet in surprise before smiling and looking away. “…thank you.”

And that’s the moment where Violet realizes, ‘oh. We’re both in this.’ And there is something between them now, something powerful, some force that they’re floating in, and Violet doesn’t want to break it, so she doesn’t say anything, even though there are so many things that she wants to say.

“Did you write that song?” Aria finally says.

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it a bit. It’s just a draft right now.”

“What’s it called?”

“I’ve been thinking of it as The Massachusetts Midnight Express.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Really?”

“You’re so talented! That’s such a cool name for a song! You’ve had a ukulele for just a few days and you’re already writing music?!”

All Violet can do it stare at this girl who’s lived on a spaceship for years, who saved her from a fire demon, who fought a monster alligator, who runs into danger headfirst with antique pistols at the ready and the stars in her hair, who’s now acting like the act of writing a song is more magical than any of those things, and something throbs in Violet’s heart, wondering if Aria even knows how sweet she is.

“You’re amazing,” says Violet.

For a second Aria looks like she’s been shot, all surprise and confusion, before she smiles wide. “Vio, you’re so wonderful.”

“Aria, you are too. You’ve been living here, mostly alone, for so long, after being hurt so much, and you still care so much about others. You’re so brave, and kind, and I really mean it when I say that I trust you. And I don’t trust very easily. But I know that if I fall, you’ll be there to catch me.”

And suddenly Aria’s entire confident facade crumbles around her and Violet can see how deeply that made it through to her, can see in Aria’s expression that she doesn’t believe those things about herself, maybe never has, but is desperate to be that person that Violet sees her to be. Violet doesn’t know how she knows this. Maybe she’s making some of it up. But she can tell. In this space they’re sharing together, this 2 AM floaty feeling, they don’t need to say all of their feelings to share them.

Aria blushes deeply and covers her mouth and nose with her hand, as if trying to contain some emotion, and while Aria’s voice normally sounds light and casual and fluid, it comes out as a light squeak when she says, “You’re really pretty.”

And god, Violet wants to kiss her. She wants to climb into her lap and wrap her arms around her and kiss her so hard, and kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, a kiss for every star in the sky. But she’s scared to break the magic of this space, the magic of the unsaid, scared to move and dispel this starlit sanctuary, and so she just says, “You’re really cute,” and they both sit in that as they blush.

“I trust you,” says Violet. “I know it’s hard to believe that about yourself. Trust me, I know. But you’re the sweetest, kindest, most determined and loving person I know.” They’re looking into each other’s eyes now. Aria’s are wide, the dark brown reflecting the twinkling starlight, and Violet can’t help but to admire the soft curl of her eyelashes.

“I trust you, moonrabbit,” says Aria, and Violet doesn’t know when they moved closer together but she can feel Aria’s breath warm on her face, and she’s blushing so hard, and she knows Aria can see it. They know. They both know, and they both know they know, but they’re not going to say anything. Not now. This is a time for the unsaid. It’s magic, and Violet doesn’t want to undo this charm. Not now. They both linger there, staring at each other. Violet doesn’t know for how long. It could be a minute, or five, or sixty.

Violet wants to do something, to say something, to kiss her, but finally, all she can say is, “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Aria says, leaning back, and the spell is broken, and Violet instantly regrets saying that. “We should probably get some sleep…” and Violet can tell from the look on her face that Aria doesn’t want to leave this.

And so she grabs Aria’s hand, and suddenly that floaty magical feeling is back, burning hot like the tail of a comet, as Violet says, “Actually, do you want to stay up with me?”