Patrick's mind worked the night shift. He had concluded to himself it must be an artist thing, long ago. It was the very reason why he found himself sitting in the dim living room with a notebook in front him while the television glowed various colors on his pale skin and simple surroundings.

Though the late night show and commercials had become white noise to him, his brain still buzzed a demand to stay awake. Some nights it was good, earning him a potential song or melody that would collect dust. Others were terrible, where he was stuck thinking of the star girl he once loved.

Patrick stares at the page that only houses a few words he had jot down. He sighs disappointedly, frustration and drowsiness laced in the exhale. He hears footsteps down the hall. Curiosity snakes around his spine, forcing him to straighten his posture as he waits to see who is awake, hopefully not to join him in his uneventful night alone.

A woman with messy, tangled, wavy locks trudges into the living room. She looks down at Patrick, confusion claiming her features.

"Why are you up so late, 'Trick?" she asks within a sleepy mumble. Patrick snickers at the ironic question.
"I oughta be asking you the same," he jokes. Nia fails to crack a smile at the comment, but Patrick can still see her effort. He moves over on the couch, opening a space for her. Nia glances down at the man, then the seat before taking it.

"Thanks," she mumbles. Her ever-changing eyes stare at the television screen, curiosity stirring in the galaxies they possess.

"What are you watching?" she asks. Patrick snickers at the comment with a shrug.
"I have no idea," he answers earnestly. "I only had it on for noise."

Nia is silent. She nods at the explanation. She looks at the time, finding it to be two in the morning. Patrick watches her from the corner of his eye, his pen occasionally tapping against his notebook to occupy his fidgeting needs.

"About earlier," Nia begins.
"Don't worry about it," Patrick says. "You don't have to tell me anything—"
"No, you're right," the woman interjects. She turns to study Patrick, their eyes meeting. Patrick is forced to sink into the intergalactic abysses.

"You're right," Nia repeats. "I am closed off. I should have told you everything and tried to reach out to you about Stello and everything else. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Patrick repeats. A weak smile twitches at his lips.

Silence resides between them again. He knows that Nia is expecting more from him. He's that type of person, nothing has changed since they were kids.

"Why are you, though?" The words tumble from his lips, but he tears his eyes away from her and back to his nearly blank paper.

"It's stupid, really," Nia huffs, chuckling ironically at herself. She exhales and runs a hand through her hair; her messy bun becomes looser and more chaotic with the gesture.

"It's because of my dad," she confesses. "I don't have many good memories about him. I remember him yelling and fighting with my mom and him always being closed off. Even more so when they divorced.
"Then, my mom kind of shut down, too. Slowly, but I just didn't think to bring attention to it until everything went to hell."

Patrick nods slowly.

"How did she die?" he asks. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Your mom, I mean."
"Natural causes," Nia says. "She died in her sleep. At least that's what her neighbors told me on the phone. Kinda scary knowing that can happen to anyone, y'know?"
"Yeah," Patrick sighs. "I'm guessing you didn't tell anyone else? I'm surprised my mom did tell me anything about it."
"We both know your mom would have told you in a heartbeat," Nia chuckles weakly. "So, to answer your question, no. I didn't even fly back home. I was too stressed with everything else. Stello was only five and starting school, Ricky and I were still figuring things out."

His heart cracks at the mention of the other man. Patrick chews at his lip, hesitating to ask the question that burns on the tip of his tongue.

"Why did you leave him?" he asks. Nia looks over at Patrick; the man blushes, his head buzzing with second thoughts and insults towards himself.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers. "That's none of my business—"
"No, you're fine," Nia reassures. "I owe this and so much more to you."
"Nia, you don't have to—"
"I do, Patrick," she chuckles. "It's fine. You're fine."

Nia grabs onto Patrick's free hand, cupping it in her grasp. A breath hitches in his throat at the feeling. Just as he remembered— just as he had left her, the cosmos stir in her palms, stars and galaxies transferring to his own skin. He feels eighteen again. It scares him, making his hands perspire and heat up.

"The truth is," Nia begins, "I don't love, Ricky. I don't think I ever did, to be quite honest."

Patrick studies the woman beside him, shock and confusion melding together in his facial expression.

"Then, why did you marry him?" he asks. To that, Nia shrugs. A frown tugs on the corners of her lips.

"I was young and very stupid, Buster," she chuckles. "He's so... boring, honestly."

A laugh surfaces from Patrick; he doesn't try to hide it as it's too late once it escapes. Nia's frown disappears and is quickly replaced with her full moon smile, a giggle eliciting from her.

"Boring, how?" Patrick asks, his smile refusing to fade.
"He's just... boring," Nia fails to elaborate. It's enough to earn another chortle from Patrick. "He's, like, super into documentaries. His sense of humor is pretty bland. He's just... not what I want. He's not like the weirdos back home. He's not like you."

The comment stops Patrick, making his head reel back.

"Not like me?" he asks, trying to hide his confusion and glimmer of hope. Nia's own chuckles die down, a nebula of a blush dusting her cheeks. She looks down at her hands, still wrapped around his. She lets go, depriving the man of the solar systems he missed for so long.

"Y-Yeah," she stammers. "Like... not like the weirdos back at home."

She smiles sheepishly at the man. Silence claims the room again. Patrick remembers that the television is still on, the silence highlighting the hum of Late Night hosts' voices. He locates the remote and turns the TV off.

"I'm sorry," Nia huffs. "It's late. I'm not making any sense. Plus, we have work tomorrow and... Stello has school."
"No, yeah," Patrick stumbles, cringing slightly at the strange agreement. "If you want, I can pick him up again tomorrow?"
"Could you, please?" Nia asks. "I think he has a short day."
"I can take him to the studio. I'll send you the address in the morning," Patrick says with a smile. "It'll be a cool field trip, y'know?"
"Yeah," Nia chuckles weakly.

The room becomes awkward. Patrick studies the star girl beside him, wishing he could spill his guts to her. After all, her words probably were voided of meaning. Despite Patrick knowing that bit of truth, he still would believe every single lie she said to him.

"Goodnight, Buster," Nia says as she stands. She makes her way towards the hall again, the very same footsteps that earned his attention retracing their previous path.

Patrick doesn't get to say goodnight. She leaves too quickly for him to respond properly. Instead, he sets his notebook down and drapes the covers over himself as he lies down on the couch, waiting for slumber to fall over him. Hopefully, the memory of the conversation dies within his sleep.

A/N:
Hey guys! I'm really slacking off on this book oof... I'll be taking small breaks from this book while writing/updating it. So in the meantime, check out my newest Peterick titled On The Roof of Your Hotel! It only has one part so far but it'll be a side project while i work on this!

Much love and thanks!
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