Some days, I'm colossally aware of my existence.

Days when my mind reverts back to its old habits and tries to convince me that I'm taking up entirely too much space in the universe — in all observable ninety-three billion light-years of it and beyond.

Days when my mind doesn't wait for the clock to hit the 3 a.m. mark before it wanders back to him.

Days when the lonely little child living in my subconscious thinks louder than I do — the child that was, and always remains unwavering in his belief that the safest place he can find is in the memories I have with Finch; in the silent nights we spent talking endlessly in hushed whispers under the stars.

In the streets ringing with our laughter on days we'd sneak out together and escape to the small sushi restaurant around the block, tucked away in an even smaller booth that we called ours.

In his warm embrace, chest pressed to my back so closely I could almost feel his heart beating right behind mine; skin and bone the only thing keeping them from pulsing alongside each other. In the long arm wrapped around my waist, in the fingers fanned across the skin under my pecs, in the huff of laughter against the nape of my neck after I'd finish speaking in an almost-whisper about primordial black holes and hypernovae and the grand universe and apologize sheepishly, embarrassed and afraid that I talked too much and listened too less.

In the, "keep going," he would mumble into my shoulder, and in the pretense that the tremor that went up my spine was from the chill in the air. "I'm always listening to you, Sky."

In the way he would say my name. Like it was safe in his mouth.

Some days, I'm colossally aware of my existence without him by my side.

Is this how the Earth felt? I wonder, watching tiny droplets of water hit the glass and drift down in my unfocused vision, When it sat by helplessly and watched the continents drift further and further away from each other until pangea ceased to exist?

Two gentle taps on the back of my hand bring me out of the half-conscious state I was stuck in, and I blink away from the window of the restaurant to meet Meera's dark eyes; soft and doused in concern.

"I called your name three times."

I look down at my plate, and the last few bits of food on it make me realize I'd been absentmindedly pushing it around for a while now. "Sorry." It comes out quieter than I had intended.

"Don't be," she says, voice light and teasing. "I like your name."

When I meet her eyes again, I can't quite help the very small quirk that appears at the corner of my lips. "Don't say things like that to me if you're just going to follow it up with 'I literally have a boyfriend'," I joke despite the heavy feeling still sitting atop my chest and threatening to crash through.

"Well, I got two hands for a reason," she says with a playful raise of her eyebrows, reaching for my wrist to make a point. I let go of the fork in my other hand and cup my cheek, looking down at the table where Meera now holds my hand in both of hers. When our eyes meet again, the smile on her face is smaller. Timid. Like she's afraid to be shut out even before she reaches the door. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes, the word is almost at the tip of my tongue. Almost, almost, almost, but never quite there. Most days, I wake up feeling miserable and lonely and go back to bed afraid that I never healed from the things I was put through. Never did, never will. I stay up staring at the ceiling wondering how people survive the trauma after the war ends. I close my eyes and try not to feel like every space I occupy has been temporarily borrowed from someone else, and fail. Every day.

"We have twenty minutes before break's over," I say instead, voice hoarse in a way that makes me feel like I'm giving all of my secrets away without speaking of them.

She lightly squeezes my hand. "Twenty minutes too long." My fingers tense in her hold at the idea of being asked about the things inside my head again, but she tilts her head to one side and says, "Tell me something about one of your space people."

I mimic the position of her head, the tiniest spark of amusement now evident in my smile at the words. "My space people? What kind of phrasing is that?" She's always had a way with easing the heaviest of weights off my shoulders, and it's probably why she's my first and only friend at the University. "I'm going to refer to ichthyologists as 'fish people' now."

"I don't think merfolk would be too happy about that." She ignores the unimpressed look I throw her way, and lowers her voice, looking up at me through her lashes. "Tell me about one of your space people, Sky." My expression morphs into one of disgust at the reference, and she pointedly ignores that as well, shaking my hand a little. "Come on, professor."

"Never refer to me that way after making jokes that awful, first of all," I deadpan, and she giggles a little, falling forward before straightening back up. Her eyes are twinkling with mirth; warm and open. I've always been in awe of how expressive she is. "Don't refer to me like that at all, actually."

"You talk about going on dates one day and kinkshame me the next —"

I purposely, loudly clear my throat to interrupt her. "Do you know who E.E. Barnard is?"

A 'v' of thought appears between her eyebrows, and I catch myself at the last moment from reaching over to smooth it off her forehead with my thumb. "Uh, the guy that found like, twenty comets?"

"Seventeen," I correct with a smile when she lets go of my hand to wave hers in the air with an, 'eh, close enough'. "He was one of the most ambitious scientists in the history of astronomy." She distractedly begins tracing the thin, dainty rings on my fingers, curious eyes fixated on my face. "Most people know him as the guy who has a star named after him, and that's obviously one of the greatest achievements in the world, really, but when you find out what his life was like before, and aside all those discoveries it begins to feel kind of..."

"Hollow?"

I pause at the suggestion, remembering how all the books referred to him as 'a neurotic man' right alongside the title of the leading observational astronomer of his time. "Yeah," I say, because it does feel hollow. To have all of these great accomplishments to your name but also having your unrest printed alongside all of it for people to pick apart if they chose to. "He started as an assistant photographer and sort of found a passion for astronomy along the way. But he also grew up without a father, a sick mother, no money, and he had dropped out of school when he was nine."

"Oh." The corners of Meera's lips dip down. "That's..."

"A lot," I supply with a nod. "This man worked like that for seventeen years. As a photographer's aide, I mean, and he held on to his love for astronomy the whole time. And when he finally managed to make his way to working in observatories, there were people that made his life really, really hard because of his lack of formal training."

The lines between her eyebrows are back.

"All of the political nonsense got to him so much that he lived with this... immovable concern of being belittled. I know people like to use the word 'driven' in his case, but he was scared that he would end up falling back into his old life if he took a single break from work." The idea of one's worth being rooted entirely on how much they contribute to the world is something I've been relating to more and more every day. "His entire mood depended on how clear the sky was going to look at night. Every day. Like stars were all he had in his life."

Meera leans back and shakes her head a little, making a wounded noise in the back of her throat. "That makes me feel like having a star named after him was not nearly enough compensation for how the world treated him."

"Yeah, and I mean, there's all these awards acknowledging his work too, but like," I pause, making a vague gesture in the air while I look for the right words, "it doesn't take away from the fact that he felt this burning need to prove his worth every minute of his life, you know? To the world and to himself."

She searches my eyes. "Like all of it would be for nothing if he didn't drive himself into the ground every day?"

I startle a little at the choice of her words, and my 'I think I know exactly how he felt' goes without saying.

"Yeah," I tell her, involuntarily squeezing her fingers for a split second, and averting my eyes to look down at the table again. "Yeah. Eventually, his sickness was the only thing that could stop him."

"That's awful," she murmurs, the frown reflecting in her voice and tone contemplative. "I feel like... like a lot of us are doing the same right now. You know? With this whole 'hustle culture', and stuff?" She clicks her tongue. "Always seemed like toxic productivity to me."

"Yeah," I repeat again, because just agreeing with her doesn't change the fact that I am the person she's talking about. The one doing the same as Barnard. And maybe that was her intent, although with no malicious intent, because she's giving me an impish look when I look up at her again.

"I feel like humans were made for better than this." Her eyes smile before her lips do. "They were made to... find things that make them happy, maybe." And then she cheekily adds, "Like looking at stars without knowing the name of every single one of them."

The huff of laughter that leaves me surprises both of us. "Or doing it without hoping that one of them would be named after us one day, maybe."

She pretends to think, tilting her head from one side to another a few times. "Eh, I don't know. That sounds pretty rad, to be honest."

"Knowing you, I doubt you'd be satisfied by anything other than an entire constellation, Meera, really."

"Okay, and? It's what I deserve."

On the outside, I react to the statement with a playful roll of my eyes and a light shove on her shoulder, but on the inside, I hear a voice say, Yeah, loud and clear. You do.

a/n

okay so fun fact, this chapter has been living inside my head ever since i first thought about this book. i had to keep it out of the old draft entirely because i didn't have a lot of words to work with, but with the expansion of the story now, it's going to be very important that i throw more light on sky and meera's friendship and honestly? i'm about to have the time of my life (also i'm a bit too excited because i'm re-listening to jack in the box for probably the hundredth time since it came out)

this was easily one of my favorite chapters to write because . space stuff, first of all. duh. and more on finch! tell me how we're feeling about more on finch!!!

thank you so much for reading!

completely off-topic but tell me about your current on-repeat song, by the way (please). that's a threat.