Chapter Text
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
Darkness spread across the entire region, but in the Kingdom of Science, the night was still young. Inside the castle, the air was thick with smoke and the clinking of glasses. For one night, the grand dining hall had been transformed into a festive space.
After months of rigorous work, Xeno’s team was celebrating a successful year. Every goal they had set had been met with almost miraculous precision. Although everyone seemed to be enjoying the occasion, Stanley Snyder could hardly take his eyes off the chief scientist, who that night seemed more cheerful and uninhibited than usual. And that, for him, brought not comfort… but alarm.
Xeno was raising a glass of wine, his third or fourth by now, while laughing one time after another, chatting with the mechanics team. His eyes had that slightly unfocused look Stan recognized easily: the alcohol was beginning to take its toll, blurring the lines of Xeno’s usual composure.
Stan sighed. He approached with steady steps, took him by the shoulders, firm but gentle, and lifted him effortlessly away from the table.
“Xeno, you’ve had enough.”
Xeno turned toward him with a lopsided smile, eyes half-closed, and cheeks slightly flushed.
“Oh, Stan, always so serious, so… protective.”
Stan merely snorted. His expression was stern, almost impassive, but in his gaze there was a mix of worry and resignation. With a smooth motion, he took the glass from Xeno’s hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I just don’t want you throwing up on your blueprints tomorrow.”
Xeno didn’t resist. In fact, he seemed amused. He looked at Stan with a curious, almost teasing expression, leaning his weight slightly against him.
“Look at you. You’re always telling me I act like a worried wife, but now… you’re the one watching every step I take.”
Stan let out a short, dry chuckle, almost involuntary, as though that remark had forced its way out of him. But his entire body stiffened when he noticed Xeno straightening a bit, closing the distance between them even further, and gazing at him with an unexpected intensity.
“I’m looking after you because you’re drunk.”
“Well…”
Xeno leaned forward, and the space between them disappeared. His warm, sweet, wine-scented breath brushed against Stan’s skin, who held his breath. There was something different in Xeno’s eyes, a clarity within the haze, that made his words feel dangerously sincere.
“If you’re going to take care of me like this every day… I wouldn’t mind being your wife. Or, in my case, your husband.”
Stan froze. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The noise of the hall became muffled, distant. There was only the two of them, suspended in that instant. Their eyes met, and for the first time, Xeno didn’t look away. His jokes were usually light and harmless, but this time… there was something else. Something raw. Something honest.
Stan felt heat creeping up his neck, igniting his cheeks like embers. His breathing grew erratic. His emotional armor, always intact, was beginning to crack.
“What did you say?”
“That if you’re going to keep taking care of me like this, I wouldn’t mind marrying you. Having someone worry about me every day… sounds pretty good, don’t you think?”
The silence that followed was thick, electric. Stan remained still, lips trembling slightly, unable to form a coherent response. He lowered his gaze, as if trying to hide the fire burning in his cheeks.
“Did you blush, Snyder?”
Stan avoided answering. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how. His pulse was a wild drumbeat in his ears. He simply took Xeno’s arm with extreme care, as if he were made of glass.
“Let’s go. It’s time to sleep.”
In silence, he helped him out of the hall. The corridors were long, lonely, lit only by softly flickering lamps, almost conspiratorial in their glow. Xeno didn’t resist. He leaned lightly on Stan, trusting, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His breathing was slow, relaxed. They walked together in a comfortable silence, different from before.
When they reached the bedroom, Stan guided him with unusual tenderness. He helped him remove his shoes and tucked him under a thick blanket. He lingered for a moment at the bedside, as though unwilling to leave.
Xeno looked at him with half-lidded eyes, his expression a blend of exhaustion and affection.
“Good night, Stanley. You’re… charming when you worry about me.”
Stan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even try to feign indifference. He turned off the light, closed the door softly, and stood in the hallway for a few seconds, as if his body refused to move. His heart pounded as though he’d run a hundred miles. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, feelings, and questions.
Was he just playing…?
Or was he serious?
What did he mean by that talk of marriage…?
A thought crossed Stan’s mind. One that made his breathing even faster, one that completely threw him off.
What if he feels the same?
He ran a hand over his still-flushed face, trying to calm himself, but the heat wouldn’t subside.
“Damn it, Xeno…”
That night, Stan didn’t sleep. Sitting at the edge of his bed, his eyes stayed fixed on a small, shining object resting on his nightstand: a ring. He’d had it made months ago, when he didn’t yet understand what he was feeling, but now, he couldn’t ignore it. Crafted from a bit of silver found on an expedition to the northern zone, he had asked Brody to keep it a secret. He’d wrapped it in a neatly folded handkerchief, with words written in his own hand.
His heart pounded hard. Maybe, just maybe… Xeno felt the same. And for the first time, the possibility of being together didn’t seem so far away.
༺☆༻
Xeno woke with a start. The light of sunset filtered through the window slats, bathing his room in a softness that contrasted with the chaos inside him. His head throbbed sharply, his mind still clouded by the haze of the previous night’s memories. The bitter taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue, and instantly, dread washed over him as he remembered what he’d said to Stan.
“God… it can’t be…”
He sat up, covering his face with his hands as if he could erase his shame in a single motion. Cold sweat dotted his forehead, and his breathing quickened with every thought that struck him.
He recalled every word he’d said to Stan while drunk—his heart’s desires laid bare, wanting to be his husband, to be cared for and protected only by him. But he couldn’t remember Stan’s flushed, silent reaction; his mind had filled the blanks with the assumption that Stan had just been uncomfortable.
He’d spoken too much, without thinking of the consequences. How could he be so stupid?
Sitting on his bed, Xeno felt fear crawl up his spine. He didn’t want to lose Stan’s friendship, didn’t want their relationship to turn strange. He didn’t believe Stan’s feelings were the same, in fact, he was sure of it.
Stan was a decorated soldier, an attractive man who had always drawn the attention of both women and men alike, but who showed no interest in anything beyond his work. There was no way he felt the same; it was impossible that his feelings were anything more than the long-standing friendship they had preserved despite everything.
“No, I can’t lose him. I have to set everything straight.”
Xeno jumped out of bed, glanced in the mirror, and saw his disheveled face. His hair was a mess, and his eyes carried the mix of hangover and anxiety consuming him. His heart raced, as if trying to run from the situation.
“I’m going to fix this.”
He got ready quickly, wrapping himself in his lab coat as if it were armor to shield him from his emotions. He headed to the lab to work as usual, hoping Stan would come by so he could make an effort to save their friendship and keep those feelings locked away.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle, Stan had woken early. The air felt different that morning. He began the soldiers’ shooting drills, and they were surprised. The commander was in an unusually good mood, not even bothering to hide it.
Once training ended, he sent them all to check the perimeter. Stan showered, dressed, and sat in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. He fixed his hair, applied makeup to bring out his eyes, and made sure he looked his best. He had the foolish hope that Xeno could see the best version of him that day.
“Today’s the day. I’m going to tell him.”
༺☆༻
Stan checked his reflection in a hallway window for the tenth time. The glass showed an impeccable man: hair perfectly slicked back except for the characteristic lock falling over his forehead, suit clean and perfectly fitted, makeup flawless with not a single smudge. This was perhaps the most effort he had put into his appearance since awakening in the new era. Today, there was no room for imperfection.
He took deep breaths, again and again, his lungs never feeling full enough. His right hand trembled slightly, but remained clenched in a firm fist. Inside that fist rested the ring, a tiny circle of metal that felt as heavy as the entire universe.
He stopped in front of the main lab door, where he knew Xeno would be since early morning. He knew him too well; not even a hangover would keep him from his obsessive routines. By now, Xeno was surely surrounded by chalkboards, test tubes, and impossible formulas.
He raised his hand and knocked three times, sharp against the quiet hallway.
“Come in.”
Xeno’s unmistakable voice sounded firm but distracted. He stood with his back to Stan, completely absorbed in scribbling formulas on the board. Though he had clearly heard the door, he didn’t turn.
Stan paused in the doorway for a second, taking in the scene as if to etch it into memory. Then he closed the door softly behind him.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Yes. But first… I need to tell you something.”
Stan felt his chest tighten, as though an invisible hand were squeezing his heart. He gripped the ring harder, clinging to that little piece of hope. He wasn’t going to back down. Not now.
“I’m listening.”
When Xeno turned, his face tensed at the sight of him. Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop.
“I wanted to apologize for last night’s stupidity.”
Stan frowned, confused. He still held the carefully wrapped handkerchief in his hand, hidden from Xeno’s view.
“Apologize?”
“Yes, those silly things I said, it was all a joke. I just wanted to see your reaction.”
“So… you were playing?”
“Of course. None of my words last night were serious. It was a game.”
Stan swallowed hard, feeling his throat burn. The confidence with which he had entered the room was beginning to crumble.
“Since when do you enjoy making that kind of jokes?”
“It’s just that last night, with the wine… my judgment was clouded. That’s why I wanted to apologize. Saying something like that… how could I be so stupid?”
Stan lowered his gaze, hiding the hand with the handkerchief behind his back. Xeno noticed, but didn’t think much of it, he was waiting for him to speak. The ring still burned in Stan’s palm, mocking him.
“It’s fine…”
“Thanks. The last thing I need is for things to get weird between us. But I apologize, such a tasteless joke, I don’t know what I was thinking…”
Stan felt the world sink into his chest. It had all been a joke. A stupid joke. And he had believed there was something real, something meaningful.
“So, what was it you needed?”
Stan hesitated for only a second before glancing toward the door, as if searching for an escape.
“Uh… I have to go. Routine inspection.”
Xeno turned back to the board, not catching the tremor in his friend’s voice. He smiled, relieved. Everything was back on track, routine, friendship, safety.
“Oh, of course. Will you bring me a report when you get back?”
“Yes, whatever.”
“All right. Take care, Stan. And don’t let a crocodile eat you.”
“Sure.”
There was nothing sarcastic in his tone, as there usually was. No smile, no teasing look. Just a single word, dry and cold, as if something inside him had gone out.
And when Stan stepped out, the hallway felt longer than ever.
༺☆༻
Stan left the lab with quick, almost mechanical steps. Every breath was an effort, the air heavy in his lungs. He just wanted to get away. Away from that damned place, that damned lab, away from the man who had just broken something he didn’t dare name.
He had no words for what he felt. The pain was dull and deep, thick like the fog that sometimes covered everything at dawn. It was emptiness, disappointment… but more than anything, it was sadness. A cold sadness that spread through his chest like a crack.
And then he felt it. The ring. The stupid ring still in his fist, digging into his skin from how hard he had gripped it. He clenched it one last time, teeth grinding in frustration, before looking up.
In the distance, down the bright central hallway, he saw Max walking casually as always, a bouquet of flowers in his arms—probably for Luna.
“Hey, Max!”
“Oh, Stanley, what’s up?”
Stan approached without slowing. His face was a mask of forced neutrality. Without warning, he extended his arm and firmly handed him the closed handkerchief.
“Take this.”
“What is it?”
“A ring. Give it to Luna or something. I don’t care. Goodbye.”
“B-but…”
Stan had already turned on his heel without looking back. He didn’t want to hear answers, questions, nothing. He walked aimlessly, shoulders tense, his pace quickening as if fleeing something invisible that threatened to catch him.
Still confused, Max carefully unfolded the handkerchief. What he saw left him frozen.
The ring gleamed under the artificial hallway light, polished silver, delicately and finely crafted, as if every curve had been shaped by hand. It wasn’t just any ring. It was something special.
And then, the inscription on the inside of the handkerchief left him speechless.
To the brightest star in my sky.