A Touch of Stardust For a Hint of Freedom

Part 1

His eyes shone as if the stars were being projected from behind them; every time they would shut the world got a little darker. A breath was a moment of relief to his boyfriend, Lucian, a moment that ensured he'd gaze into the stars for another three seconds and then he'd blink. And it would go dark again. But it was okay because as long as he'd take another breath, there the stars would be. Lucian loved to star gaze, and now he had his own personal view of all the stars he wanted and they shone like torches that would only flicker for a second every few and that seemed like a small price to pay.

Einstein said time is relative, for you it's now, for him it's gone - just a memory dripping out of his mind as his soul melts into the palm of someone no one knows but grasps on the belief of, as if the hope of something more will stop the ache of the time turner called life. And they don't sleep. Why waste time when it's desperately falling through the gaps in between your fingers? And no matter how tight he holds them together; every star dies eventually. But stars create the galaxy. And therefore the galaxy is full of dead or dying stars; but that doesn't mean the collateral damage when the core of it cools and there's no more hydrogen left to be burnt hurts any less. If anything, it hurts more. Knowing he's just going to be another number added to the statistic of 'those taken too soon'.

Of course, Lucian understood the risk of loving a star. It was a ticking time bomb just waiting to blow and destroy everything in its way; but he couldn't help himself. It was worth the risk, surely? His bomb had a name, and it was Pavo, and he'd give his life for him, even if it was him who he'd give his life to. His smooth, supple skin that stretched across his body in shades of blue and purple, filled with imperfections - lumps and dents and marks. Scars told stories and his love had gotten enough of them to write a novel - maybe one day he would do it for him, maybe he should. He'll tell the story of Pavo and a love once lost, and it would be tragic; he would tell about the burn marks and how his skin was used like a simple ashtray - no good for nothing but putting out fire. He'd tell about the stars and his stars' love of thunder. He'd tell about the bandages and the blankets. And how when the bleeding started they all seemed the look the same, and no matter how much they tried, the white always stained red. Blankets and bandages thrown, and thrown away like some kind of game of 'who can waste more cotton first?' a dying star trying to live? Or a lost man trying to die?

Because; sometimes it was all too much.

Their love had started like music to a deaf girls ears: it couldn't be heard, but when your hand was positioned in the right place you could feel it, the vibrations of a racing heartbeat mixed with the shy glances and blown pupils; it wasn't to be missed. They talked of ideals; a garden as far as the eye could see or a life Pavo could live by himself. But you see, Pavo had taken Lucian's world from him without knowing, he'd become the embodiment of the stars and all things natural; instead of star gazing, Lucian watched in fear that every breath would be Pavo's last and he knew that was no way to live, they both did.

But they never changed a thing, carried on tiptoeing around shattered glass as if they'd forgotten what a broom was and looking into Pavo's eyes as if one day he'd figure out what made him so addicted to it. He'd learnt to dart his eyes towards Pavo; either when no one or everyone was looking. To ensure the world knew he was in love or to double check that a breath hadn't been lost in the time he'd shifted his gaze.

He'd loved stars. He'd loved Pavo too. But it seems now he'd become so lost finding the stars in Pavo, he'd forgotten to really love both; caught up in making sure he'd got his medicine in time or ensuring that Pavo had not noticed the ever-growing pile of neatly folded clean short sleeved shirts that he'd stopped wearing and started replacing with the same dirty long sleeved ones that had frayed at the ends of the sleeves where he endlessly picked at them nervously; for Lucian, everyday filled him with anxieties of what may go wrong, and his creased shirts were proof that. It was cold, and he wasn't hiding anything because Pavo hadn't asked, or at least that's what he told himself. It was his way of making sure his star, his light, his love, wouldn't close his eyes for too long; holding back tears like he has once before when their love began, he hated when it got dark so he never let it, spitting excuses of how life was too short to live with their eyes shut. When in reality he was scared he'd lose even more stars because of Pavo and he's not sure he could do that, because they're all he's got left. And nights where they slept became restless as he constantly checked to see his lovers chest rise and sink in a rhythm that makes his mind rest a small bit. Enough for him to shut his own eyes before it would start to wander again and images of everything that could go wrong would flash through his thoughts; the same way a shooting star flashes through a clear sky.