Altair, Deneb, Vega

It was late in the night when the last of the sunlight finally filtered from the sky. The underbellies of clouds were still painted in orange and purple hues, though they were dimmer now, a soft hint of color in the fading black.

They hadn’t seen the sky in four days; Mirriak, Ebeneer, and Weilan were reaching the end of their research project. Month after month of studying caves and the veins of magma that flowed inside them like blood had left them longing for the sight of the sun in the sky after spending night after night sleeping inside cold caverns. The three of them were content to never step foot in a cave again, but each other’s presence made the survey all the more bearable – all the more wonderful.

Ebeneer was an optimist when it came to these sorts of things; he was grateful for the opportunity to spend so much time doing what he loved with the ones he loved. In his eyes, Mirriak and Weilan were paradigms of intelligence and awe, and the fact that they agreed to work with his thesis and scout the great Keplan surface for caves was something he imagined he’d always thank them for. 

It was the nights after a long day’s work that he loved the most; the three would return to their makeshift tent and fall asleep under the stars. Ebeneer made a stew from mushrooms he foraged nearby, Mirriak collected firewood, and Weilan pitched up a tent for them. Over dinner, they spent their evening laughing and swapping stories they had already heard hundreds of times before. When they were together, Ebeneer felt he could not stop smiling; it made his cheeks hurt and burn with cheer, beyond his power to stop – yet, even if he could, he’d never choose to put an end to this. 

Mirriak was the first to retire. She settled between her two partners and denied a blanket, blaming the heat swelling in the air as her reason why. She listened to them as they mused on science and philosophy, questions that had no answers, until she finally let her exhaustion win. She slumped against Ebeneer’s side. The sight of it made his heart skip a beat.

“The poor thing,” he mumbled softly, adjusting so that he was more comfortable. After so much walking, his bad leg ached more than usual, and it made him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth now; though he had his cane, the flare-ups were exhausting. The fact that they were reaching the end of their project was both a welcome relief and a bittersweet finale. 

Weilan noticed the flare-up. Quietly, he offered him the last of the tea he had made. “Drink. You’ll feel better.” 

“I’ve already made it this far, haven’t I?” he teased, waving a hand. Weilan eyed him warily before relenting, setting the thermos back down. His care was always quiet, more often unsaid. It was a rarity the geologist treasured more than the crystals he studied. 

Ebeneer glanced down at Mirriak. His hand rested at the side of her head as she lay curled up next to him; gently, he filtered strands of her hair through his fingers, as smooth as silk between his knobbly, calloused knuckles.

He traced the outline of her face; her long nose sloping down from her dark eyebrows, dotted with freckles that only seemed to glimmer when she smiled in the sun. She pressed her forehead against the side of his hip, and with one hand, reached for him as she slept, only satisfied when she felt the soft fabric of his cardigan. It wasn’t often that he saw her this way: still and content, happy to be nothing more than a person, not the stoic empress she was doomed to become. Affection burned like fire in his chest. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and she smiled in her sleep. 

When he looked up, he saw that Weilan was watching them silently, head cocked thoughtfully. Just as always, he was keen on observing. It was something Ebeneer admired.

He admired this, too; this sense of familiarity – Mirriak, Weilan, and him. 

“She’s always so pretty,” Ebeneer said softly, smiling at Weilan. He couldn’t help but compliment; with his chest so full, he had no choice but to let his affections spill into the warm summer air. “And you’re always so handsome!” 

Weilan said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched into half a smile. The sight of it made Ebeneer giddy; his charm was intangible and ever-present, always just beyond Ebeneer’s reach, as if he was one step ahead of him. Weilan had a way with him that made him melt like ice; he made his stomach twist and his chest tight. Above all, he made him so, so happy. Just like Mirriak. He was putty in their hands as long as they promised to mold him back together.

“Today was fun,” he said, hoping to bring a bigger smile to Weilan’s face. It was a game of his. “I’ve really enjoyed all this, but honestly, I’m looking forward to going home.”

Again, he was silent, only humming in reply. After a moment’s pause, he finally spoke.

“I hope you realize this is temporary.”

Weilan’s words threw him from his joy. He looked back up, eyes wide. Whatever Weilan meant by it confused Ebeneer. Did he mean the pain in his leg? That was a sweet thing to say, if false. Or maybe he meant their research; considering they’d be finished soon, it would make sense.

“Well – of course,” Ebeneer scoffed. “We have to publish our report, after all.”

Weilan tilted his head downward, looking up at him. “That isn’t what I mean.” 

“Then what do you mean?” He asked. He readjusted but winced at the pain in his leg. He pulled it into a comfortable position, then turned back to Weilan. What was he talking about? His question was evident on his face, it seemed, as it earned a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ebeneer,” Weilan said. Quietly, he leaned over and dimmed the lanternlight, still burning to keep them visible in each other’s presence, but dark enough to allow Mirriak her rest. “You’ve known this already, haven’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. Weilan sat still, seconds passing; the silence made Ebeneer squirm. 

“Weilan, maybe we should wait until Mirriak’s awake,” he finally started. “Please. She’s resting.” 

“I’m well aware,” he said in response. He sat straight up, hands resting atop his crossed legs. Weilan was always difficult to understand; he always wore a collected mask, one that could never be broken. Even his smiles were hidden underneath that look of his. It was something Ebeneer always admired; now, however, it left him amiss. 

He realized then that this was something Weilan didn’t want Mirriak to hear. It was something secret, meant for only Ebeneer to know. He worried about what it could be. His hand idly fiddled with a strand of her hair.

Weilan continued. “Our survey will be ending soon. We’re already bound for Pasri. After that, we pass through the mountains, and then we’re back to Zomir. Once we finish our work and publish our findings, we’ve reached the end.” 

He was right about that. Their research survey was almost complete; for the most part, they had already collected all the information needed. They had traversed countless caverns and cataloged all of the magma chambers they could find. It was the perfect experience for a budding geologist like Ebeneer, but it brought with it a sense of company Ebeneer clung to tighter than anything else.

And he had realized halfway through that he didn’t want it to end. Now that they were here, faced with a week left at the very most, he could barely come to terms with it.

He turned his head back down to Mirriak. He cradled her cheek in his hand. “What a sad way to see it,” he mumbled. “Can’t we consider it a new chapter? That’s much nicer, don’t you think?”

“You’re too much of an idealist,” Weilan responded. “I know you accepted that job offer on Jhone – what was it? Lunar surveyal?” 

Ebeneer swallowed a lump in his throat. He turned his head away. Only a few weeks earlier, he was offered the key to his career, something to establish the rest of his life as he’d know it: he was going to scout lunar landscapes for the Jhonian government, searching for resources that could be utilized by the planet. It seemed like a dream, something so wonderful that he wondered how someone like him, so meek and quiet, could land the job in the first place. 

But… it meant he had to leave Kepla and return home to Jhone. While he was eager to see his home planet once more, he couldn’t abandon Kepla so easily – not when Weilan and Mirriak lived there.

He accepted the job only because Mirriak convinced him to. She wanted the best for him. It’ll be a wonderful opportunity, she told him. And you can tell me all about it when we see each other again!

That promise was what made him hopeful. It would be long-distance, and he would visit Kepla whenever he could to see them. They’d stay together. 

Perhaps it was foolish to see it that way. 

“Did Mirriak tell you?” He asked. His mouth was dry. 

Weilan leaned back then, resting his weight against one arm. His gaze slid down until it landed on Mirriak, resting silently. With his free hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then wrapped it around Ebeneer’s.

“She did,” he admitted. “She’s not keen on conceding to the end, either. It’s a good job for you, though. I know you’ll be happy.” 

Ebeneer froze. His hand was numb, pins and needles prickling under Weilan’s fingers. For a moment, he sat with his mouth agape, trying to force himself to speak. It came out in a whisper.

“The end – Weilan, you’re not saying…”

Weilan nodded.

“You’ll be gone. I’ve already been accepted into Kepla’s astrophysics research institute. Mirriak must tend to her own path as the future empress. She has no room for a place in our lives, and nor do we in hers. You know that.” 

Baffled, he straightened his back. He stared at Weilan with an incredulous look. What was he talking about? The three of them were in love – to say that they had no future together was ridiculous!

He pursed his lips, gritted his teeth. Where he was wound up with anxiety, Weilan was cool and collected. “But – you can’t be serious! We’ll still be close, won’t we? Don’t act as if we’ll all go radio silent as soon as we publish this!” 

“Be rational. I don’t say this from any sort of selfishness. Mirriak has her future to focus on, just as much as we do ours. Do you really think she would be allowed to marry two of her college friends?”

“No, but –”

“There is no exception,” Weilan interrupted. “This has been fun, but you must accept that we cannot let this go further.”

Ebeneer fell silent. He sat trembling, waves of confusion and worry and grief slowly coming in from a low tide. How could Weilan do this? How could he so willingly accept that this was ending? Would he not fight to keep it? Why didn’t he care? They could do something, they could – Mirriak could find a way to employ them, to keep them close. They could stay together. 

The idea felt more frail by the second, tearing and collapsing. 

He realized then, when warm streaks tore down his face, that he was crying.

Weilan leaned forward. He placed a hand on his cheek and wiped away a stray tear. Ebeneer knew him well; he knew Weilan was never one for physical touch; this – holding his hand, wiping his tears away – was more than he often ever gave. It brought a seriousness that made his’s heart heavy and sick; it made him feel childish. Who was he to weep about something that he already knew was going to happen? He could hear Weilan chiding him, even as he remained silent and solemn: there’s no use crying over the inevitable.

He curled into Weilan’s touch. 

“Ebeneer,” he mumbled. 

“No,” he said in reply, his tone too sharp and cutting. “Don’t say it.” 

Weilan sighed. With that impenetrable demeanor of his, he leaned forward and kissed Ebeneer’s cheek. When was the last time he kissed him? He didn’t often do it. He didn’t like the sensation, he had said once.

He held Ebeneer’s face in his hands. Though Ebeneer’s hands were rough and bruised, Gara’s were impossibly smooth against his skin. 

“You must consider the reality of things,” he said. “There is no way for us to share our lives together the way that you want. You have to accept that.” 

Ebeneer sniffled. His glasses were crooked. He felt so small; he felt so stupid. 

“I know,” he murmured. “I – I just… sometimes, I like to imagine that… that it’s just us. All three of us living together, and I imagine we’re all so happy, and we love each other, and…”

“Ebeneer.” 

He pulled away from Weilan’s touch. Smearing the palms of his hands against his bleary eyes, he turned until he could no longer see him. He couldn’t bear the sight of the two of them. “Don’t,” he said, voice shuddering. “Don’t.”

Weilan was silent behind him. He could hear the sound of the crickets outside, loud enough to be deafening. Finally, he broke through the silence; he heard the sound of him removing his coat, and when he looked back, he was folding it into a makeshift pillow.

“Sleep,” he told him. “We’ll begin finalizing our report tomorrow once we return to Zomir.”

Ebeneer wanted to protest. He wanted to shout and cry and beg him to tell him he was lying, that they would stay together. He wanted to pound his fists against Weilan’s chest until he wrapped him up in his arms. It would be a pathetic display, but he desperately wished to speak his true thoughts aloud. He loved Weilan too much for this; he loved Mirriak too much. He could not let go as easily as he. He wondered why Weilan wanted to, anyways.

Slowly, Ebeneer readjusted, laying down next to Mirriak. His sniffles and jagged sighs were the only sounds in the melancholy night. He stretched to turn out the light, then brought his arm back over Mirriak’s side, where he nestled his head on top of hers. Weilan, too, settled close to them, resting a hand on her shoulder. The three lay close together and soaked in the last of the day’s warmth, but Ebeneer felt too far distant, even as he felt Mirriak’s soft breath course through her chest, rising, falling, rising. 

He was silent for some time. He did not want to sleep, only because he would grow one day closer to the end. However, he realized then that Mirriak was watching him. She was awake. He didn’t know for how long. 

He brought a hand to her cheek and stroked it with his thumb. She opened her mouth to speak his name, but he hushed her sweetly.

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “You need your rest.” 

Mirriak smiled. Now satisfied by his words, she shifted and returned to her sleep. He stared at her for some time before glancing up, where he saw Weilan’s eyes piercing through the night, dark and knowing, surveilling every word Ebeneer spoke but leaving his own approval – or lack thereof – forebodingly unsaid. 

It was the first time Ebeneer could not recognize the look in Weilan’s eyes.