An Astronomer's Guide to Falling Angels

Chapter 29

Lukas's living room was warm with the soft buzz of conversation, an attempt to stave off the grief that clung to all of them like a second skin. Tyr sat at the centre, listening intently as Oda and Meredith shared story after story about Arty—her antics, her stubbornness, her ridiculous sense of humour.

"Remember that time Arty broke into the school's theatre?" Oda began, her grin wide despite the ache in her voice. "She wanted to change the set design for the school play. Said it was boring as hell. We had to sneak in at midnight with cans of spray paint, and she turned that whole stage into a work of art. Nearly got expelled, but it was worth it." She chuckled softly. "The play was trash, but everyone only talked about her set design for weeks."

Meredith shook her head, leaning back in her seat. "That's so Arty. She never did anything halfway." There was a flicker of pain behind her eyes as she added, "And she always dragged the rest of us into her mess. Like that time she convinced us all to skip gym and sneak off to that abandoned warehouse? She said it was haunted, and we all believed her—next thing you know, we're running for our lives because of some stray dog she swore was a ghost."

James, who had been quiet until then, let out a soft laugh. "I remember you telling me that. You said that you twisted your ankle running away and Arty was laughing the whole time. You told me that she called you all wimps, but was the one to drive you to the hospital and take care of everything anyway."

"She always made everything sound like an adventure," Lukas added, a smile tugging at his lips. "Like the time we got lost on that hiking trip. Everyone was panicking, but Arty? She sat us all down and told us ghost stories, just to keep our minds off of how lost we were. I think she was scared too, but she didn't show it. She just... kept us calm."

Louis, sitting by the window, glanced at Tyr. "You know... Arty was a lot of things. Chaotic, reckless. But she cared. She really cared about all of us." Her voice softened as she looked down at her hands. "I just wish she didn't always feel like she had to handle things on her own."

Tyr sat quietly, absorbing every word, a sad smile forming on her lips. "She sounds like she was everything I imagined her to be. It almost feels like I did know her. I really wish I'd come sooner... maybe I could've known her the way you all did." Her words were tinged with regret, but there was gratitude in her eyes too.

The room grew quiet for a moment as they all sat with their thoughts, each memory of Arty both a comfort and a wound.

Louis was the first to notice Astor as he came down the stairs, his steps quiet, his face pale and hollow. She gave Oda a gentle nudge, and Oda quickly stood, moving toward him with concern.

"Astor?" she asked softly, her eyes scanning his face, worried by how he was gripping the stair railing for support. He looked so fragile, like a gust of wind could knock him over.

Astor blinked, his eyes distant, as if he wasn't fully present. "I never told her," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I never told Arty how much I loved her."

Oda's heart broke at the sight of him. She reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it didn't seem to register. He continued, his voice flat, as if the words were being pulled from him without his consent.

"I never got to say 'I love you.'" His eyes welled up again, but no tears fell. He just stood there, gripping the railing, his body slumping with the weight of his confession. "I was always waiting... I thought I had time."

Oda opened her mouth to say something—anything—but she knew no words could fix this. She tried anyway, her voice soft but firm. "She knew, Astor. Arty knew. You don't have to say it."

But Astor shook his head, his knees giving out as he slowly sank to the floor, curling up against the stair railing. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his head on them, looking too tired to cry any longer. He just sat there, mumbling under his breath, his voice too soft for anyone to make out the words.