STARDUST. diego hargreeves

prelude

Here they are, like two dancers standing on opposite sides of a ballroom.

Their eyes meet, and the music begins.

They're important, both in demand, and everybody wants a piece of them.
As they try to make their way towards one another, eyes never straying, they are dragged away time and time again. A million different dancers, all desperate for a moment of attention, hoping to win even more.
They're important, both in demand, and everybody wants a piece of them.
Or so it seems.
Perhaps it's less that everybody wants them, and more that nobody wants them together.

The dance continues, shifting form and genre with every step, but nobody seems to care. Or even notice, for that matter.
If it has all of the other ingredients for a good dance - the politics, the intrigue, the tension - who needs quality in movement?

The first of the two dancers is the sun. He is strong, bright, warm, and he is unavoidable. If he is in your sight, he is in your mind.
He tastes like ice-cold water and steel, he smells of pride and determination, and he feels like midday in summer. Everything about him looks bold and unafraid, he is undeniable.
He is presence. He creates the day, and by virtue of that, creates the night as well.

The second dancer is the stars. He is soft, quiet, unassuming, but if you take the time to look closely, he is the most beautiful sight to behold in the night sky. He is charming, and he is kind, but he is so easily overlooked for the grandeur of the other celestial bodies.
He tastes like secrets and sugary tea, he smells like wildflowers and unquenchable curiosity, and he feels like hidden smiles and an adventure that was unexpected but not unwelcome. Everything about him sounds like underestimation and potential.
He is beauty. He is the most ancient navigator, and he is the last light left in the darkness.

The music speeds up, and the dancers' movements match, both desperate to reach the centre, to reach the other. It's an urgent desire, an all-consuming one, but a desire that the dancers are forced away from time and time again.
After all, they're the sun and the stars, they shouldn't be seen simultaneously.

The sun moves, and the stars are moved, over and over again. Trapped in an impossible waltz, stuck in decorum, until someone breaks out.

Who does it first is unclear, but it doesn't matter, for quicker than anybody can comprehend, the dancers surge towards one another.
The music stops. The players and guests alike wait with bated breath.

The two celestial bodies meet in the middle, standing still in front of the other, unsure what to do now that their goal is completed.
But as a single note emits from a violin, they each smile. They will keep doing all they know how.

So once again, the sun and the stars begin to dance.
But this time, it is on their terms.
They thread their fingers and hold the other tight. They're not willing to ever let go, not now that they're holding on.

The stars think that the sun is perfection in every sense.
And more importantly, he thinks that the sun is the antithesis of those who have hurt him before.
The sun cares about him. The sun is willing to put himself in danger for him. The sun isn't just trying to use him for his own personal gain.
The sun is bright, but he makes sure not to outshine the stars.

The sun thinks that his partner is perfect too.
He thinks that the stars are like nobody he's ever known.
The stars are curious, dangerously so, but not in a way that is fueled by cruelty or coldness as he has seen before. No, the stars are soft and kind. The stars want to help everyone, he wants to make sure everyone is safe.
And, most of all, the reason the stars are so curious is that he deeply craves to understand a world that he so devastatingly doesn't.

Before the stars, the sun thought himself to be incomparable, but now he sees that it's not true. He is nothing when put against the other dancer.

After all, what is the sun, if not simply a star itself?

and the boy was made from stardust