There Is Still Light

He finds her in a nameless city that’s darker than night.

“Hey,” he says. He sits down on the curb beside her.

She glances up, smiling a little. Her eyes are twinkling, part wonder, part mischief. Much like whatever is glinting from her chest, obscured only by the fabric of her shirt. He does not know which one of those is the cause of the increase in pace of his heartbeat.

He shades his eyes with one hand until she looks back down. “Hey. I'm pretty sure I’ve seen you around.”

He laughs like she's said something funny. “Back at you. I'm Aaron.”

She tilts her head and thinks for a moment. “BH436,” she says abruptly. “That's mine.”

“Really?” He sounds skeptical.

“Yep. Can barely remember my actual name.”

He laughs again. His breath fogs over, moon-silver against the black air. He's not shivering, though. Neither is she.

“You're not what I expected,” he says, picking at a thread on his jeans.

“Really? I’ve been told I'm incredibly bright.”

Aaron’s lips quirk like he wants to smile. “You're funny,” he says. He sways toward her as if pulled by some fundamental force, then jerks himself out of it abruptly, sitting up straight. “I want to go to the beach tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She grins. He does too, once he gets the joke. “I think you're the funny one.”

“Do you really? I’ve been told I'm crazy. An actual lunatic.”

She laughs so hard she slips off the curb. She curls into herself in the gutter, clutching her stomach. He watches her fondly, then stands up and holds out his hand.

“Let’s go now, then,” he says, and she hesitates, then reaches for his hand. His skin is freezing, but then again maybe hers is just warm.

—

The oceans are freezing over.

She winces as they step onto the cold sand. “My bad.”

He shrugs as he walks past, all the way to the icy shore. “Least of your worries.”

She kicks forlornly at the sand. “Thanks for the reminder.” She glances at his back. “Is that why you came here? To remind me?”

“Originally it was to watch the sun rise for the last time before jumping into the water. But like I said, you aren't what I expected.” He smiles over his shoulder at her. “So yes, I'm reminding you.”

She drags her toe through the sand, drawing a circle around her feet. “You're not going to ask me why?”

“Would it help if I did?”

She steps gingerly out of the circle, then draws another, smaller one a few steps away. “It might.”

“Alright. Why are you here?” He finds a big stick and helps, drawing in a circle on the other side of the first.

“I'm going to die,” she says.

Aaron stabs with his stick to draw tiny dots for stars. “Not for a while. You're still young.”

“It’ll kill everyone I've ever known when I do.” Her voice shakes.

He glances up at her. “They’re all gone anyway.”

“You'll die, too,” she says, like it matters or something.

He rotates around the first circle and draws another. “Is that a bad thing? That we’re mortal, just like them.”

She laughs humorlessly, looking around. “Like who?”

“Don't be so sure,” he says, pointing further down the shore with his stick. She squints. There's a tiny point of light, very very far away.

“A bonfire?” she asks, and he nods.

“They're more resilient than you think. It's not too late.”

They finish the drawing in silence. When it's done, he steps back into the first, centre circle. She tiptoes over the sand, until she finds a smaller one. She stands beside it.

He stretches his hand out toward her. She stares for a moment, then reaches back. Their fingertips do not meet.

—

“The planetarium,” he says, abrupt in the silence, and she turns to look at him, hyper-focused. “That was where I was going when it all happened. Before everything turned into this.”

He has always been fascinated by the stars. All that silence and open space, stretching out into forever. That was before he realized it was so cold out there his blood would freeze in his veins and that there was nothing for him to breathe. Before he realized that there are easier ways to reach the stars.

“Really?” she says. She has twisted her whole body to face him. Her presence is so encompassing, even now when there’s no one around but a sleeping city. All of her focused on him feels like far too much.

He grips the lighter in his pocket harder. “Well, I was actually going to the local donut shop, but…”

She leans back on his hands and laughs. The sound is swallowed by the night. The breeze, the crashing waves, and the spirits.

“What about you?” he asks, and he’s glad her smile has yet to fade because he doesn’t want to know what the look on her face might’ve been otherwise as she says, “Freedom. For me, it’s always been this.”

—

“Okay,” she says finally. They've wandered into a forest so deep they can almost pretend the sky isn't broken.

“Okay?”

She nods. “I'll go back.”

He smiles at him. “Good.” She stops walking, traces the bark of a huge oak with her fingertip. “They write love stories about us, you know.”

He stops walking too, watches her instead. “But we only just met.”

“I know. Crazy, isn't it?” Her finger stills, and then she turns and walks toward him. She rests her palm against his cheek. Her hand is very cold, and it is growing colder, but her eyes blaze amber.

“I'll see you tomorrow?” he offers, smiling a little.

He holds his hand out to her, and she reaches out too. Above his hand he carefully dangles a silver chain, slowly letting it pool on the cup of his palm, and at last, the glinting heart-shaped locket. Heavy, he notes. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows better than to ask when he could simply curl the locket in his palm and reach further to lock his middle finger with hers.

He laughs loudly. Intertwined with his fingers, she begins to glow. He steps back involuntarily, and she grows brighter and brighter, until he has to turn his head away and squeeze his eyes closed.

When he opens them again she is gone and it is daytime. The sunlight is kind on his face. He tilts his face skyward and smiles, and then he too, wishes he could climb into the sky and slip into orbit.

It’s cold out here, but he can still feel the coldness of her hand on his cheek, of her warm light on his face. The soft edge of her glow slips around the horizon like an outstretched hand.