They cradled it in their hands now. They’d picked it up after, of course. After it had been cast to the ground. They’d heard it clatter on concrete — they must have done. It was hard to remember now. Everything blurred as one.

And everything was clearer than the stars. Every moment so sharp. Even now.

But they’d been friends, hadn’t they? The two of them. They’d seemed kind, they had. Lili, that was their name. Or had that been another?

Lili. Andi. Alex. Jake. Hubert. Nick. Celia. Who else?

Repeat the names. A litany. All blurred as one.

Had they cried then? They couldn’t remember. There had been a night — was it that night? — when they’d gone up to the roof. Just to sit there by the door, nothing more. Just to sit. The traffic had streamed by somewhere below, but they couldn’t see it. The moon had drifted above, but they couldn’t see it. Had shone so clear, cutting through the night, a harsher knife than any other.

Were there stars? They couldn’t remember. There were always stars — but had they seen them? Had they shown themselves? Who could tell.

No stars. No moon. No traffic. Only void. Big void, wide void. Empty, gaping void.

Kind void.

There had been space there. Their back had pressed against the wall, and even now they remembered the texture of bricks through fabric on skin, the grit mingling with flesh still too tender.

It had hurt for days.

Even when it didn’t show, it had hurt. Even when they didn’t know, it had hurt. Even when they couldn’t see it. Always it had been there.

And the void had been there, too. Empty darkness, just sitting there. No questions. No judgement.

Just there.

Patient. Waiting. Open. Listening.

The void had been there, and it had been enough.

But that was then.

Now the silver chain slid through their fingers. When had they fixed it? Who? Had they bought the chain new? They couldn’t remember.

Torn open.

It had needed fixing, that had been clear. No damage like that could be repaired. The links had been torn loose. They hadn’t been able to collect them all.

What greater betrayal was there? They had been friends — they had — and then...

Trust violated. And all that they’d said after. Always gloating, quietly goading. All around — the whispers.

How the fuck were they still here?

And it was there. Light glinted on the stone in their hand, and it was there. Rose petals falling, concrete harsh in the sunlight—

Empty corridor, sitting alone, waiting—

Standing at the sink, drying the dishes, counting down the minutes til the end of class—

—the hands on their body every goddamned fucking time—

No! They would not think of it.

Hand on the chain from behind. Another hand on them. Flailing, kicking, screaming, trying to run, trying to get them off—

Torn loose. The aventurine heart had clattered on the ground, and they were left picking up the pieces.

They traced their thumb over the smooth stone now. Smooth. Gifted — which one? Never mind. It did not matter. It had endured a lot. They hadn’t been able to mend it, they remembered now. The decisions had all blurred. Too long ago now— and since then...? But it couldn’t be mended. They’d chosen the new chain themself. Silver, like the last. But perfect.

It was small. Comfortably there.

The silences had been worse. When there had been people, and they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. Falling apart from the inside, but the mask stayed on, the mask had to stay on, because if it was gone—

And the silences. Couldn’t resist. The lure dangled, and they had seen it. Swum to the light.

At least anglerfish didn’t hide their teeth.

Silence. They liked the silence.

But even in the crowd, they had crept.

And none had seen.

Where were they sitting now? Look. Feel. The bed beneath them. Sheets crumpled. Net curtains drawn, but the light spilled through. Soft, white light filtering through, like the moon that night. Because there had been the moon, and they had seen it. There had been wisps of cloud, and the moon had been there too. And there had been a puddle there. The roof had been dry, or the doorwell had been dry, but the water had pooled. And they’d watched it waver in the wind.

Sat there now.

Quiet enough.

Chain slipping through their fingers, the hundred silver links.

Like the forest. An army of pines, unbending in the face of these tremendous gusts, this storm of times past.

They would show them. They would show them all.

No.

No. They would not.

They would not show them. Fuck them — what use were they? What did they matter?

They would not show them.

They would show theirself.