Wings

27: I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream

NPOV

Track: Once Upon A Dream, Lana Del Rey

Among the stars, I burn. There is no feeling. There is no consciousness, only subconscious and existence in its most basic and yet most complicated form. I exist, and I do not. I am, and I am not.

Being a star is being alone. There once was a time when I viewed the stars from a planet's perspective. They all looked so far away from the planet, as if all the stars were conspiring together, whispering and laughing while I was too far away to hear. Often, when I used to exist, when time was a simple thing, when space was a matter of meters, and when gravity was a downward force, then I remember looking up at the stars and experiencing a terrible thing called loneliness. How is it that all the other stars get to be so close together, while I was down on earth? It seemed unfair.

Now, among the heavenly bodies where time and space are as fickle as the future and where gravity is collapsing me into myself, an inward force, I see the truth. From here, the stars all look so far away. As if they are conspiring and laughing and talking without me.

Every star in the universe looks out at the great expanses and wonders why it is that they are the one who is alone. And yet, it is all of us. We are together in our loneliness.

Stars are not supposed to feel or remember loneliness, but my subconscious remembers concepts stronger than most: the concept of love and of hurt, and of a golden boy who is simultaneously the most and least human, and of kissing and of flying and of protecting.

It is these things—these fleeting moments, nearly remembered and almost grasped—that keep my loneliness burning like the hydrogen within my core.

I do not see the expanses in the way that humans do, and yet I perceive them all the same. And after burning and burning and burning, there is a call from across the cosmos—a voice that's supposed to be smooth like honey, but is broken from a raspy throat.

"Nico?" comes the voice. "I—I don't know if you can hear me. I love you. God, you're an idiot. You martyr. I can't believe you. I—listen, I'm going to get you back here, alright?"

The golden boy—William Solace. My memories exist when he calls me—brought to the surface by the currents within me and by a prayer made from a point so far across the universe, no human technology would be able to see it.

But stars are not bound by the limits of human technology, and my consciousness drifts toward the prayer.

Will Solace, an angel by every definition except literal, sits atop a hill with his hands clasped together in front of him. The grass sways back and forth beside him, and his face is stained with tears. A few meters away, a firefly floats through the air, emanating a faint glow like magic.

"I love you," repeats Will. "I love you, and I am so mad at you for sacrificing yourself. We could have fought the army—we might not have made it out, but at least neither of us would have been left behind. What do I do now that you're no longer here with me?"

The wind is making him cold. I stop it, giving the air permission to rest and settle. I cannot speak—I do not have the gift of verbal communication anymore—so instead, I tempt the firefly into flying toward Will's hands, and it lands on his thumb. Will sees it, becoming very still so as not to scare it.

The firefly blinks its light, steady and sure and unconcerned about issues such as love and loss. Or perhaps it is more knowledgeable in that category than any of the rest of us.

The insect flies off Will's thumb, floating in the air toward where Will perceives me to be in the sky—though he only sees a faint white dot poking a hole into the sky, I am here, burning, burning, burning.

Will sobs, and he unclasps his hands to wrap them around his middle, hurting and longing and unsure of how to go on.

"I miss you, Nico," he says. "I don't want to lose you. I'm going to get you back." He swallows, trying to push away tears. "I'm going to start planning immediately—I'll talk to you every night until I figure it out. Goodbye, Nico—but not for forever. One day, you will be down here with me, or I will be up there with you."

And that is the end of the prayer, so my consciousness drifts back to me, and I continue to burn.

Word count: 816

A/N: I feel like this chapter is eerily similar to Discolored's "Maybe I Belong Here." Do you guys see it too, or...

Next chapter we get to see Will's brilliant (?) plan. Anyone have any guesses? IMO it's kind of a funny plan, but the tone may end up just being angry, considering the circumstances. But like if you ignore the tone? It's a funny plan.

Yours,
Sunny