here’s a fic that’s happy and then sad and then sort of happy at the end again. aka: where i write about different things that happen when bug and fire stay together (or don’t)Â
This is how it happens. Glowbug curls their hands tighter into their sweater and glances at the bedroom door. Sat on the edge of their bed, Glowbug kicks their legs slowly, skimming the soles of their feet across soft blue carpet.
They’re waiting, hopeful eager nerves fluttering in their stomach. Outside, a wave crashes onto the sandy beaches that are so common to their homeworld, but Glowbug pays the sound no mind. It isn’t until they hear the click of an unlocked door and slight, hurried footsteps approaching that they perk up, lure curling upwards and hope starting to shine through on their face.
Firefly opens the door to Glowbug’s bedroom, eyes alight, head held high, skirt swirling around their knees. “She said yes,” they whisper in awe. “I’m staying here.”
And Glowbug leaps forward, enveloping Firefly in a crashing buzzing hug. Glowbug’s voice hasn’t worked since they were tiny, but Firefly laughs loud enough for both of them.
Later, when they’re laying curled together on the bed, long after Firefly’s bright voice has fallen silent and Glowbug’s hands have stopped signing, somehow, Firefly’s fingers find themselves tangled with Glowbug’s. It feel soft, and warm. It feels right.
And for ever after that, people don’t ask for Glowbug, or look for Firefly. They see Glowbug-and-Firefly, who are two of a kind, who are never alone, who are always, always together.
Glowbug smiles more. Firefly laughs more. Years later, after the old caretaker passes peacefully away, it is Glowbug and Firefly who find the Starden. And they have never been so happy.
(Here is how it goes a little differently.)
This is how it happens. Glowbug curls their hands tighter into their sweater and glances at the bedroom door. Sat on the edge of their bed, Glowbug kicks their legs slowly, skimming the soles of their feet across soft blue carpet.
They’re waiting, hopeful eager nerves fluttering in their stomach. Outside, a wave crashes onto the sandy beaches that are so common to their homeworld, but Glowbug pays the sound no mind. It isn’t until they hear the click of an unlocked door and slight, slow footsteps approaching that they perk up, lure curling upwards and hope starting to shine through on their face.
Firefly opens the door to Glowbug’s bedroom. They push it open gently, reluctantly, and the hesitant expression on their face makes something in Glowbug’s stomach stutter.
Firefly’s voice is rough and quiet when they speak. “She… she said no.”
They won’t meet Glowbug’s eyes, and the stutter in Glowbug’s stomach sinks, a cold stone of dread blooming in their chest. They bring their hands up, sign slowly forming.
Firefly curls their hands around their arms, hugging themself. Their voice is barely more than a whisper. “Tomorrow,” they admit softly. “I’m sorry,” is what they add a horrible, silent moment later.
Glowbug’s hands drop to their sides, and they take an uncertain step forward. There’s a tight feeling in their throat, and it feels like something is squeezing their lungs. Tomorrow? They think. But that can’t be right.
I was sure we’d have more time.
It hurts to think about, so Glowbug takes a deep, silent, shuddery breath, and closes the distance between themself and Firefly. Their hands reach out again, wrapping Firefly in a slow, quiet hug. Firefly blinks in surprise, and they open their mouth to say something. But nothing comes out. And really, what do you say, in a place like this? What do you do, when the world turns inside out? There really isn’t any right answer, Firefly thinks.
They return Glowbug’s embrace anyway, trying not to think about the seconds slipping away, arms slowly tightening, and it’s only then that Firefly’s body shudders. They press their face to Glowbug’s shoulder, muffling the sound of quiet sobs.
Later, when they’re laying curled together on the bed, long after Firefly’s tired voice has fallen silent and Glowbug’s hands have stopped signing, somehow, Firefly’s fingers find themselves tangled with Glowbug’s. It feels soft, and desperate, and as Firefly squeezes Glowbug’s hand a little tighter, they both pretend to ignore the angry way Firefly scrubs at their eyes or the defeated slump of Glowbug’s shoulders.
They fall asleep like that, and none of their parents have the heart to wake them.
The next day, Glowbug stands on hot tarmac and watches as Firefly’s ship disappears into the clouds above. Their father puts a gentle hand on their shoulder and asks quietly if there’s anything he and their parent can to. Glowbug shakes their head slowly, and turns away from the airport. They fix their gaze on their shoes and the soft grass beneath their feet, and studiously ignore the tears that gather in their eyes.
And for ever after that, people don’t ask Glowbug about Firefly. They see Glowbug, shoulders drawn inwards, lure curled low. They see Glowbug, sitting alone in the corner of the classroom. They see Glowbug, picking red flowers from the sidewalk. They see Glowbug, and they don’t talk about Firefly.
Elsewhere, Firefly’s mother murmurs an apology. Firefly looks away from her, at the blue planet in the distance, and says nothing.
Glowbug smiles less. Firefly laughs less.
Years later, after the old caretaker passes away, there is no one who finds the Starden. Plants bloom large and wild. Moss and vines overgrow, covering the outside of the cottage. Budding stars grow less and less among the branches of the star trees, and blue leaves begin to wither and fall. The little stars take care of each other, as best they can.
For a long, long time, the Starden is a quiet place.
And then, fifteen years after Glowbug and Firefly don’t come to the Starden, someone else does.
A small ship, made for one, touches down in a clearing that is nearly choked with vines. A door slides open, and out steps a figure with two antennae and a long, brownish coat. Dino squints against the sunlight beating down from above, and thinks that there is no way this is the right place to drop off their cargo. But they can’t leave without being sure, so Dino starts down a nearly-invisible trail that will take them to the Starden’s old cottage. This little planet really is a beautiful place, they find themself thinking. Maybe they should come back here, when all is said and done.
Hidden in the bushes and the trees, the baby stars watch. And for the first time in a long, long time, they begin to feel something like hope.
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s