An Astronomer's Guide to Falling Angels

Chapter 16

Arty stood outside Astor's home, her breath visible in the cool night air. The house was quiet, shrouded in shadows, and the only sounds were the occasional rustle of the leaves and the distant hum of the city. She had come here a thousand times before, sneaking in through the same window like clockwork, but tonight felt different. The weight of the day pressed down on her—James, the fitting, seeing Astor earlier. She shook off the feeling and crept toward his window, peeking inside as she usually did.

The room was empty.

Arty frowned, scanning the space. The bed was unmade, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated Astor's desk, but there was no sign of him. She bit her lip, wondering where he could be when she heard the soft creak of a door opening. Quickly, she ducked beneath the window and pressed her back against the wall, her heart racing as she tried to listen.

From her hiding spot, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Slowly, she raised herself up just enough to peek through the window again, careful to stay hidden. Astor was there, walking into his room, his posture slumped with exhaustion. His usually tidy black hair looked a little mussed, and there was a heaviness in the way he moved. She watched him cross the room and sit down on his bed, his back to her.

And then she saw it.

His shoulders were shaking slightly, his head in his hands. Arty's heart clenched as she realized that Astor was crying.

Without thinking, she reached for the window. The latch was still loose, as it always was—for her. Silently, she slid the window open and slipped inside, landing softly on the floor without making a sound. Astor still hadn't noticed her. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, his hands wiping at his face as he tried to compose himself.

Arty stood there for a moment, frozen. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, it wasn't something she wasn't used to, but it shattered her each time. Angels like him never deserved to have a reason to cry.

"Astor," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The moment he heard her, he stiffened, sitting up straight and hastily trying to wipe away the last of his tears. He didn't turn around, but she could see him tensing, his hands still trembling as they brushed his face. "Arty..." His voice was shaky, but he didn't move.

Arty crossed the room swiftly, her heart aching at the sight of him trying so hard to keep it together. She reached him in seconds, gently pulling him into a hug from behind, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. For a second, he stayed still, but then he melted into her embrace, his body relaxing as he leaned back against her.

"Hey," she murmured, pressing her cheek against his hair. "What's going on?"

Astor didn't respond right away. His breathing was shaky, and she could feel the effort it took for him to steady himself. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice muffled against her arm. "Today's been tough," he whispered. "I... I couldn't take it anymore."

Arty's arms tightened around him. "What happened?"

Astor let out a shuddering breath, his voice soft and strained. "My mom... she wouldn't stop. She kept picking at everything I did wrong, every little flaw. She said I needed to be 'perfect' for the gala, for the family, for everyone. And I just... I just couldn't. No matter what I do, it's never enough."

Arty's chest tightened with anger. Mrs. Darling and her impossible standards. "I'm so sorry, Astor. I'm sorry I couldn't be here earlier. I should've come to see you sooner."

That made him smile, just a little. He let out a soft, breathy laugh. "You don't have to apologize. I just... I'm glad you're here now."

Arty smiled faintly, brushing a hand through his hair as she held him. "I'm always here, you know that."