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North Star isn’t doing great.
He really thought his resolve would have been much firmer regarding Clover’s sendoff. He manages to traipse toward the raft with a confidence he certainly doesn’t feel. He manages to deposit first the revolver, and then the safety glasses.
Hopin’ you won’t need them, wherever you’re goin’. He thinks, tenderly. But you ought to be taken care of, regardless.
And then they’re on their way, swaying laxly with the current of the river. Maybe, if he only kept staring, he might be able to hold tightly to them for just a little longer before they drifted away and into eternity. Rigidly he remained ashore, eyes fixed to the bobbing shape of the raft until he could squint no more and it became merely a speck of brown against the horizon.
As he blinks, his stupor fades just enough that he almost vaguely expects to see Clover’s very figure poised at his side if he only inclines his head. But they’re long gone, by now. He knows that well enough, but his body is still, so steady in a tether to a habit so deeply entrenched that he almost doesn’t really believe Clover had only been in his life for but a few hours. They seemed much more like heartbeats, now. Much too brief. His eyes sting with a familiar anguish– one he’d hoped never again to become so acquainted with,— and a hand goes up to scrub frantically at his face. “Damn it,” he says, to no one in particular. “Damn it. And I told myself I wouldn’t cry.”
“Go on.” Comes Ceroba’s low, measured reply, and envy and something sour he doesn’t want to name twist at North Star’s heart at her composure. It was times like these where he ached most for even just a fraction of her restraint, because he was certain his dam was liable to burst at any moment. “No one is listening, out here.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head, as though the gesture on its own might be enough to wring away his despair. “Don’t think they’d have wanted me cryin’ like a baby.”
“I don’t think they’d have blamed you, Starlo.”
He sighs, thrusting one boot into the ground and then grunting dissatisfactorily at the mud that clings dejectedly to his soles. Elsewhere a clod of the bluish mud lands unceremoniously near a figure clad in cloak, and Ceroba shoots him a look.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” North Star calls, watching the figure’s head jerk in his direction. He tips his hat as a gesture of goodwill, and the other monster nods stiffly, expression shadowed by velvet and obscuring dark curls.
“Quiet, that one, ain’t they?” He muses, lowly.
“There’s nothing wrong with quiet, Starlo.”
“Ain’t say there was. Just that they were.” He replies, hands raising placatingly. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen ‘em around.”
“His name is Dalv,” she explains, her whiskers twitching once in what he assumes is vague amusement. “He came a long way to be here.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard you talk about him.”
Her ears swivel back, almost guiltily. There’s a note of regret in her voice that makes the rays framing North Star’s face tilt inquisitively when she next speaks.
“I know. It… it’s a long story, but not one we should get into right now.” She amends, seemingly having read his curiosity without even looking. “Go on. Introduce yourself.”
He blinks. “Huh?”
“You look like you want to.”
He splutters, alarmed partly at how easily she’d caught him, and partly at how rattled he was that she had. “I- I mean..”
“You should.” She continues, unaffected. “He’s… lonely. Clover was the first real friend he’d been able to have in a long, long while. Delivering the news of their passing, it…” she shakes her head, ears sagging now.
North Star winces. “Lord. Suppose… suppose it’s the neighborly thing to do, then, all that considered.”
“Be gentle.” She urges, softly. “He’ll appreciate it.”
Emboldened only slightly by the little that he’d gleaned from their exchange, North Star attempts to right his slumped shoulders and cross the clearing towards the figure cloaked in plum. He clears his throat, then darts just out of the path of a wayward bolt of lightning as it abruptly arcs by. He hadn’t even had a chance to process the hasty gasp that had come just before the burst and he takes a brief moment to recollect his sense before he speaks next.
“Hey, uh… Dalv, was it?” he tries, brushing ash from where his poncho had been caught. “I’m- I’m real sorry to startle you. One hell of a blast you got, there.”
“No, no, it… oh, it’s quite all right. You-… I’m terribly sorry to have reacted that way. Is… there something with which I might help you?”
It’s all he can think of to say. “It’s just… you look like you knew their heart. You were the first to meet ‘em, that right?”
Mournful, aching, kohl-lined eyes flick to meet North Star’s own.
Oh.
“Um… that I was, yes. Though, it.. it was my heart, really, that was touched.” He casts his gaze unto the ground where his cloak pools limply at his feet. “Clover, they… were the first friend I’d had in a long time.”
Sorrow grips at North Star’s gut like a vice. “...I can’t imagine what it was like gettin’ this kinda news, then.”
“Was it… did they… suffer?” The next time Dalv meets his gaze, his eyes are wet, brimming with tears. “I know that’s a strange question, but…”
He does think the question strange, admittedly, but then he thinks better of making it known. “Nah. Don’t reckon it’s all that strange,” he lies, tugging down the brim of his hat to shadow his tears as the memory resurfaces. “They went out how they wanted.” The wound of Clover’s passing was still much too deep and far too fresh, the weight of their limp, cooling body still dragging heavy upon his shoulders. He almost might have been content with them disintegrating in his hands. Perhaps then the sag in his arms wouldn't feel so substantial. “...N’ how they lived. Puttin’ other folks ahead of themself.”
“I only wish I had known of what they were going to do,” mourns Dalv, self-reproach clouding his gaze. “Perhaps… if I had, I could have-.. have talked them out of their decision. I’d have… given anything, to have avoided this.”
Bitterness gnaws at his heart and he swallows down the defense churning just behind his teeth.
You, me, and lord knows who else. It's what he wants to say. I couldn’t do anythin’. What makes you think you could’ve?
It’s not him. It’s ugly, and angry, and indignant, and then it sputters out in his belly like bad root beer.
“I don’t know about all that. Don’t reckon they’d have appreciated it. They, uh… were real determined.” It's what he says instead. “Made peace with it.”
Dalv seems to shrink back, hands wringing tremulously together.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“Certainly,” he replies as though in surrender. “I’m sure they were.. intentional.” He draws his hood. “I’m sorry for being presumptuous.”
Damn it! You don’t have to concede to me, Starlo aches to reassure him, alarm setting his rays to prickle. Ceroba had asked him to be gentle and even in the pits of his sorrow he couldn’t even manage that. This isn’t a fight. I’m your friend. I’m listening. You’re not being presumptuous. The right words— all the right words— are simultaneously on the very tip of his tongue and tangled silently, unhelpfully in his lungs. Elsewhere, he swears he can feel Ceroba’s glare singe his flesh. I know, he wails, inaudibly. I’ll fix it.
“You-… you’re not bein’ presumptuous. You couldn’t have known. None of us did, till they made their choice. You- you, n’ me, and the rest of the underground are wishin’ there was more we coulda done. Don’t blame you, neither.”
“That is… both reassuring, and not,” he tries, shuffling his feet. “Um, the… ceremony, it… was lovely.”
“Glad you could make it. We, uh… we’d have included you in the plannin’, had we known about you.”
Dalv dips his head, almost regretfully. “I am glad Ceroba asked me to attend, regardless.”
And thus runs dry the reserves of North Star’s charm, he thinks, once silence falls upon the Waterfall clearing. Had Ceroba not been engulfed in conversation with Martlet he might have considered asking for her help in bridging the gap.
“Hope you don’t mind me askin,” He begins again after a time, voice still raw both with resurfacing grief and newfound awkwardness. “Thought I’d ask if you might like some company gettin’ home. Don’t reckon tonight is a good night to be doin’ things alone.”
“N- no, I suppose not.” Dalv doesn’t quite manage eye contact. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t believe I got your name.”
“It’s North Star.” he replies, extending a hand. His lip quirks into the gentlest, most comforting smile he can muster despite the circumstances. He’s unsure if it lands. “It’s a pleasure.”
Tentatively, Dalv takes hold.
The walk is silent, the crunch of shoes against terrain long having escaped the realm of much-needed distraction for North Star. But, then, what is there to say? The Sheriff’s hands flex uselessly at his sides.
Good going, Starlo chides.
He opts to break the silence, desiring not to drown in his own venom. “You know ‘em long?”
Dalv jolts and North Star half-expects another lightning shower to singe his clothes. “I’m… I’m sorry?”
“Clover,” The sheriff amends, smiling patiently. “Did you know them very long? I know y’said you were one of the first of the monsters to meet ‘em, but I have no idea when they came down here.”
“Not nearly long enough,” Dalv replies, somberly. “Yourself?”
“Mind if I steal that answer?”
The briefest inkling of a smile tugs at Dalv’s lips, though much too brief for North Star to gauge whether it is the product of discomfort or mirth. Regardless, he files the instance away as a victory. I hope that means you’re not afraid.
There’s a note of hesitance in Dalv’s voice the next he speaks and Starlo swallows the hope immediately. “Well, wherever they are, I… I hope they are home. I hope… they are happy.”
“Yeah. Me too. S’what my deputy deserves. And ain’t that what they wanted, all along? To go home?”
“Deputy,” Dalv echoes, glancing up at his companion with a wary curiosity. “I wasn’t aware they were a deputy.”
“Oh- well, I’m the Sheriff of the Wild East, y’see. Always been a little fascinated by humans, if the getup wasn’t a dead giveaway.” he gestures towards his hat and the mildly-blackened poncho draped about his form, pleased now that the subject of Clover had shifted from their untimely passing. “So when Clover showed up in my neck of the woods, I obsessed a little. Naturally. A- and maybe things got a little outta hand when I named ‘em deputy. But you know what’s neat? They… didn’t give up on me, even when I was bein’ foolish and- and attackin’ ‘em. They made me get my act together, they did.”
“They have that tendency.”
“You reckon?”
“I only mean that we all… attacked them. And yet… they remained so kind, and… and then they changed our lives.” Dalv draws his cloak more tightly around himself, fabric bunching between clenched purple digits. “And then they left. I- I wonder if they truly grasped the extent of their impact. I… I hope so. I hope they know how much they meant to us all. A—.. and how much they continue to mean, of course.” He abruptly glances away, staring at something North Star can’t see. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”
North Star shakes his head, though Dalv can’t see the motion. “Nah. Ain’t no shame in it. And you’re right, you know. I reckon they did. Folks like that… they gotta be at least a little aware. Seems like Clover always knew all the right things to say.”
“...Always.” Dalv echoes, if a little solemnly. “…I miss them so much already. Is that… strange? To miss someone so severely, when… you had barely even known them a day?”
“If it’s strange, then strange is a badge I’ll wear with honor.” He dabs haphazardly at his eyes with his poncho. Dalv’s throat bobs with a hum of what Starlo hopes is contentment, or agreement, or even just acknowledgement.
“Hey. You know what the best part about all this is, I’ve realized?”
“What?”
“That, in a lotta ways, even now, they’re still doin’ good things.”
Dalv pauses to consider this. “…I suppose they are, yes. They’re.. what made me want better for myself, I think.”
“And lookie here,” he ventures, gesturing vaguely between himself and the small, shadowy figure before him. “I made myself a friend, cause’a them. A real stand-up guy, too, I think, and I’ve only just met him.”
Dalv’s eyes widen, ringing themselves with something North Star recognizes instantly as hope, and his lips part in a gasp.
“...You and I… are friends?” comes his subsequent, soft inquiry, and something warm and protective and just a little bit piteous pierces the Sheriff’s heart at his disbelief.
If you’ll have me, Starlo wants to say.
“Of course we’re friends. We are now, anyway.” North Star declares instead, leaning in. “Anyone who was a friend of my deputy is a friend of mine. Especially if that someone speaks so kindly of ‘em.”
“Friends, then…” he wrings his hands together once again, fingers trembling as though unable to quite hold the weight of North Star’s invitation. “Yes. I- I would like very much to be your friend, North Star.”
Good for you, thinks Starlo bitterly. Sometimes, I can’t stand him.
This time, the accompanying silence feels much less suffocating. Starlo thinks he can live with that. He says nothing, but the grin that splits his face is full of promise.
In time, (and with tentative direction from Dalv) North Star comes upon a deceptively quaint redwood cabin settled just off the worn, snowy path. Hedges, caked in snow, sit pressed to the sides of the home, and the lantern fixtures hoisted on either side of Dalv’s door cast gold unto the ground below. For a brief moment North Star is bewildered at the thought of this shadowy, jumpy monster living somewhere so inviting.
“Uh- guess this is you.” He says, finally.
“Um, yes. This-... this is me, yes. My-... my place of residence.”
North Star whistles. “A nice place you’ve got, here. Cozy.”
“Thank you, North Star. And I- I never would have considered the move, if not for Clover. I-.. I believe I owe it to them to- to really live my life. To.. to be. To make friends, pursue my passions… It’s… quite scary. But I’m comforted by the thought that perhaps this is something Clover would have wanted for me.”
“I reckon they’d be real jazzed, too, if they could see you now. I’m happy for you, myself.”
“…Thank you.” Dalv’s fingers twist at a wayward curl, pupils flickering shyly towards the snow beneath their feet, and North Star can’t help but feel a little endeared. “And- and thank you for your kindness, in getting me home.”
“Don’t you worry none.” replies North Star, who sports a charmed grin watching the deep purple curl spring free from his grip. “You always got a friend in the Wild East, mkay?”
“Thank you. And, well.. I suppose you’ll.. always have a friend in Snowdin, too. Unless, of course, you.. um, you already have a friend in Snowdin. Then you’ll always have.. another friend in Snowdin. Oh! I’m.. sorry, I’m- I’m rambling, again.” He scrambles to cross his threshold.
“I tell ya’, Dalv. yer’ a hoot n’ a half,” North Star chuckles, feeling strangely warm despite the Snowdin cold. “I’ll see you ‘round. Don’t you forget you’re always welcome in my jurisdiction. Promise you’ll come by to visit— I’ll give ya’ a proper tour. You just call for ol’ North Star if ever you're in town and I’ll come t’ya runnin.”
A timid smile plays upon his lips. It’s the biggest one North Star’s earned all night, and something in him swells with pride. Another personal victory. “I’ll.. I’ll certainly take you up on that, North Star,” Dalv’s reply billows from where he gropes his doorframe. “I- I promise. Do get home safely.”
With the remnants of his goodbye and their promise fading from the air, North Star tips his hat and makes for home.
“Thank you so much for being kind enough to host me tonight, North Star.” It’s the first thing he hears when he approaches Dalv backstage.
“Thank you for bein’ kind enough to show out like that, Dalv.” He breathes in reply, still too overcome with awe to say much of substance. “That was… incredible. Truly. A- and you really write it all yourself?”
“Um, that I do.” he gently runs a hand through his curls. “That piece in particular was intended to be a sort of homage. To- to our friend, Clover.”
“Really, now.” He turns to retrieve Dalv’s travel cloak from where it sags upon a chair. “Well, I think they’d have loved it.” His voice quivers on the words, and inwardly he thanks the Angel that Dalv is not privy to the brief quivering of his lip. “You ought to be proud. It was really somethin’.” He says, almost as softly as the way he drapes the fabric onto Dalv’s form and perhaps even as softly as the gasp he earns in turn. Somewhere in the recesses of Starlo’s mind, it occurs to him that this is the first he has ever really touched the organist. His hands linger awkwardly on the clasp of the cloak, now, long after it has been fastened, and then it isn’t until Dalv gazes back up at him with some kind of careful gratitude that he shakily relinquishes his grasp. One hand drifts uncertainly unto the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly at his nape. “Sorry about that.” North Star murmurs, throat suddenly feeling quite dry and with rays prickling with embarrassment. “Figured an adjustment was in order, is all. You oughta’ be lookin’ yer’ best. Not- not that you don't usually..”
“…I don’t mind.” Dalv replies, words breathy and uncertain. He’s not looking at North Star, no— rather, his fingers trace tenderly at his clasp, right where North Star’s own hands had only just been. He seemed mystified. Was that a flicker of surprise in his eyes as his nails mimicked the very path North Star’s fingers had taken? A flicker of joy, even? Starlo wills himself not to hope.
“I’m.. I’m glad.” He clears his throat, awkwardly. “…You, uh.. you reckon you’ll need any help gettin’ home?”
North Star knows he doesn’t, not really, but Dalv– smiling, now– meets his gaze to spare him a nod, and so he can’t help but to smile, too.
Again begins the walk, though where North Star is anticipating silence he is instead welcomed into the throes of conversation.
“I-.. I must say, North Star, it… your hospitality means the world to me. I can only hope I might repay it tenfold, one day…”
North Star blinks, admittedly a little startled not to have spoken first. He hopes his nerves are not immediately evident as he moves to reply. “It’s, uh… the wild east’s breed. We- uh… well, on the surface, they’ve got what’s called southern hospitality, so… I thought I’d put the ol’ Wild East spin on it.”
“I wasn’t aware of such a concept,” Those big, round, kohl-dark eyes flutter up at North Star and render him absolutely useless. “Thank you for educating me, North Star.”
“You- you just call me Starlo.” The insistence lightens his chest. It’s a delightful reprieve from the hollow ache he’d felt any time Dalv had ever addressed him by his formal title. “We’re friends, remember? You oughta know my real name.”
“…Oh. Ah, yes, I… suppose we are, Starlo.” The corners of his mouth crinkle curiously, as though he were tasting the name, and Starlo grins, feeling something warm pulse in his chest. “It’s… a lovely name, if I may say.”
Lovely. It’s not an adjective Starlo’d ever truly considered might be attributed to him, much less his name. Had parading around as North Star really caused him to forfeit his softer tendencies? Starlo worries that maybe it has, because being the Sheriff of the Wild East has never made him feel quite like this. Whatever this was that throbbed hotly, steadily along in his chest went beyond pride, certainly.
“Nawh.” He finally huffs, and by now the chill of Snowdin has set in just enough to reduce the dismissal to vapor. “Go on.”
He thinks he’s recognized the way to Dalv’s home, by now. As they reach Snowdin, Starlo’s eyes proactively scan once for the path where the snow has been worn away, paced into deceptively precarious ice, and then again for Dalv’s home, cloaked in gold light.
Instinctively Starlo’s hand finds the rear of his waist to inch him away from an oncoming puddle. “Careful there. Icy patch.” He says, and Dalv stiffens, chest puffing out in a gasp. Still he lets himself be guided around the obstruction, face flushed magenta.
“Wouldn’t have wanted you to slip. You all right, there?”
“Yes, I- I am fine.” replies Dalv, after a time. His hand remains clutched to his chest, as though the gesture of chivalry had stolen away his breath. “You- you are very kind, to me.”
No, not nearly enough, thinks Starlo.
“You sound surprised.”
“That was… new, for me. To be… touched, with such tenderness.”
“Wasn’t gonna let ya’ fall.”
“Apparently.” He bows his head, suddenly deeming the snow much more interesting than Starlo. “...Thank you.”
He swipes his wrist sheepishly along his upper lip. “Don’t you worry. Anytime. Let’s getcha on home, hey?”
Home Dalv gets, and with another coy, grateful bow and hushed words of thanks, he shuts his door.
Eerily, though, for reasons Starlo cannot yet place, he swears he can still feel the arc of Dalv’s waist pressed into his palm as he makes for home.
“You been eyein’ that window like you expect somebody to bust in. What’s eatin’ you, Dalv?”
“Oh!” Dalv blinks himself out of his trance, eyelashes seeming to flutter right in time with Starlo’s heart. Even though his new friend’s visits to the Wild East had become much more frequent as of late, the routine did little to settle the way his soul warmed each time his form, cloaked in plum, would come swooping into the saloon.
Even now, as he recounts some cowboy heroism from his latest find from within the dumps of Waterfall, he almost immediately brings to a conclusion his tale when Dalv’s undying interest begins to flicker into worry.
“Oh, no, please, um… do pardon my anxiety, Starlo. It’s just that it’s gotten awfully late, and Pops gets antsy if I am not back in time to tuck him safely away in his closet.” His fingers begin to worry incessantly at the ruffles on his cuff.
“Oh. That all?” He grins, hoping his face might hide the disappointment that twists at his heart. “You oughtta’ know by now we won’t take it personal if you gotta step out. For any reason. We weren’t tryna keep you so long, honest. Mind if I tag along? Getcha’ on home?”
“You ought to know by now I won’t object to that.” Dalv echoes, before a sheepish flush blooms from just beneath his collar. Suddenly, Starlo is no longer disheartened.
“That.. did I use that correctly? Ought to? Oh, stars above.”
He is now even less disheartened.
“Spot on. What, you aimin’ for deputy or something? Plannin’ a move out east, now?” Starlo huffs, grinning with what he knows to be far too much fondness for such an innocuous exchange.
“I just figured.. when you speak, it.. you draw monsters in, I think. And with such conviction, too, it’s.. Inspiring..”
Starlo isn’t sure what to make of that. He also isn’t sure what to make of that deep, velvety gaze piercing directly into his SOUL.
It begins again.
“I’d have brought my coat if I’d known I’d be out so long,” Dalv frets long after the pilgrimage begins and the Snowdin snow begins to crunch beneath their feet. Once a quick glance reveals to him Starlo’s pitiful expression of guilt, however, he frantically waves his hands in apology. “Oh, no, no, please don’t feel bad. It isn’t your fault. I.. I enjoy spending time with you. And.. and you work very hard, too, Starlo, so I don’t blame you for losing track of time.”
“Still. Don’t like the thought of you shiverin’ your tuchus off.” he mumbles, then pauses to worry at his lip. After appearing first to ponder something he promptly shrugs off his poncho and drapes it unceremoniously unto a now quite-confused Dalv.
“Oh, Starlo!” his protests are muffled by the tasseled fabric until Starlo maneuvers it just enough that his horns– and subsequently, the rest of his head– are able to slide through without further struggle.
If he was smiling before, Starlo is certain he’s grinning like a complete fool, by now.
“Oh, Starlo, you… your poncho. You can’t… oh, you shouldn’t be sleeveless in Snowdin. I’m at least accustomed to the cold, but… you really should take it back.”
Instead, his concerns are met with Starlo extending a hand to smooth over his freshly-wayward curls. “I’m a Sunnyside. I run hot. Sides, s’.. real nice on ya’, so don’t you worry. You look, uh… nice’n toasty.”
Smooth, North Star quips.
His attempt at coquetry, however shoddy it, is rewarded with a view of those deeply soulful eyes he had so come to adore. Though the cold gnawed incessantly at his rays, he figured he could at least excuse the coloring in his face with the endless, biting chill of Snowdin. Admittedly there was not much he could do about the smile and so he hoped that it might be received with the same warmth currently raging through his chest.
“Thank you,” comes Dalv’s soft reply. He experimentally rolls a tassel between his thumb and index finger, gaze returning firmly to the ground, and suddenly Starlo yearns again to brush a hand against his body. “Though I can’t imagine it’s all that pleasant, wearing this in the Wild East every day.”
“I just gotta be real good about washing it.”
When they do finally come upon Dalv’s cottage, and Starlo takes his leave with his routine hat-tip, it isn't until Dalv has watched him completely vanish into the swirling, glittering snow that he makes the harrowing realization that he, in fact, has been left with Starlo’s poncho. The scents of both corn and something undeniably him waft from the fabric, settling first into his lungs and then setting a fierce heat upon his cheeks.
“Oh, and I suppose now you’ll probably be expecting me to return this.”
“I meant to return it when I got to the Wild East, I promise you. I have no idea how I could’ve possibly left home without it.”
“Mhm. Right. You sure you weren’t just tryin’ to get me into your house, Dalv?”
“Starlo!” comes Dalv’s scandalized gasp. “How utterly indecent! I- I won’t even dignify that with a response!”
“I’m pullin’ your leg.” Starlo’s arm winds around Dalv’s shoulders to give him a friendly jostle, but something in him keeps him from resolving the gesture by pulling his arm away. “What, are you sayin’ you don’t want me darkenin’ yer’ doorstep?” What follows his question is perhaps Starlo's best attempt at an exaggerated, pitiable pout. Dalv worries at his lip with a fang, then glances shyly away.
“I-.. do not misunderstand me, Starlo. I would love for you to visit, someday, yes. But ideally not because evidence was planted on my person.”
“Hey, now. I- whatever you’re getting at, I deny it. As Sheriff of the Wild East, it’s my utmost responsibility to uphold the law wherever I go. If I’m hearing reports of stolen property…”
“Well I never!” Scoffs Dalv, affectionately. “I’ll not hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing, Mr. North Star.”
“You wound me, Dalv. Can’t believe what you’re standin’ here accusin’ me of. Can’t a monster make sure his friend ain’t chilly without him suspectin’ an ulterior motive?”
“...Do you have an ulterior motive?” Dalv challenges, dubiously inclining a brow.
Starlo scoffs. “I- I bet you can’t even spell ulterior motive.”
And then it happens. Dalv laughs. He laughs, and it is a gorgeous, unrestrained sound that carries like song through the wind and pierces the very depths of Starlo’s being.
“Angel above, that… that laugh. Ain’t ever heard you sound happy like that. I- I love it.” He’s inexplicably breathless. “I mean– I should be makin’ you laugh way more, if that’s what you’re gonna sound like.”
That’s more like it, cheers North Star, who Starlo imagines is pumping a jovial fist somewhere. Meanwhile, in the real world, he’s clasped his hand tightly against his mouth to sink his teeth admonishingly into one finger.
“Wow. Uh… I… I ain’t sure what just happened, there.”
Dalv’s smile fights to be freed from behind his own palm, lashes angled low. “You- oh, you mustn’t say things like that, Starlo.”
“I cannot tell a lie.” He presses his hat to his chest, chin raising as though he were reciting some deranged oath of fealty. The facade fizzles instantaneously, a snicker hissing from his lips as Dalv now unabashedly grins back up at him. They hold each other’s gazes a moment, though one much too long for Starlo’s liking because something in Dalv’s eyes softens and makes his points go ramrod straight.
That’s cruel. Don’t look at me with that face, Dalv. North Star sobs. I’m only a man.
“You gotta nice smile, too.” He murmurs, dumbly.
“Starlo…” at this, Dalv, despite it all, seems almost to deflate. “Really, you… shouldn’t.”
North Star is emboldened.
“Oh yeah?” Breathes Starlo, a little desperately. “How come?”
“You-… because you’re the Sheriff, Starlo.” Dalv says it as though it should be obvious, but something in Starlo crumples with hurt at the thought.
He tries, oh, he tries to negate sounding as though he’s pleading. “I’m still just a monster, Dalv.”
Dalv’s jaw works with another unsaid deflection, but Starlo decides instead to save himself the ache and Dalv the fight. He clears his throat, weight shifting awkwardly between his feet. “A- anyhow. M- moving along.”
The silence is substantially heavier, this time, not unlike the endless Snowdin snow that Dalv’s home sits upon.
“Thank you again for lending it to me, Starlo. It… was very kind of you, even if your intentions were less than pure.”
“Keep tellin’ ya I don't got a clue what you’re talking about.”
He earns another giggle.
“…I-I do appreciate it, though. Really. I… I will see you soon.”
“Hey, uh..” Starlo ventures, blinking free from his stupor to slip a hand into the waning crack. “Real quick. Not- not to keep you any more, but…”
“Oh,” Dalv blinks, then scrambles to push the door back open. “Yes? What is it?”
“It… well, it’s just…” In a rare show of vulnerability, he lifts his hat from his uppermost ray, and holds it firmly to his chest. “Listen, Dalv, s’... it’s just that I–.. I been thinkin’ about you more than I probably oughta…”
Dalv blinks again. Slower. Much more intentionally, this time. “What?”
“Not– not in any sort of indecent or derogatory way, I mean! I just… you’re real kind. And clever. And I get real… giddy, every time I see you sittin’ at that ol’ organ, wearin’ them ruffles and cloaks and what have you while you… you play the most incredible music, and…” a tender, shaky chuckle stumbles out from his lips. He’s begging, now. “I just… I’m real sweet on you. That’s what I’m playing at.”
Dalv doesn’t quite respond in words. For a second Starlo feels himself deflate in the absence of a reply. He tells himself it’s simply a well-earned inhale rinsing the words from his lips. Somehow, he knows that it’s not. Amend. Amend, amend, amend.
“You don’t gotta say anythin’ back,” he breathes out, though more quickly than he would have liked. “I just… I thought you should know. You got a real pleasant way about you. Makes me feel like maybe there’s good stuff still ahead for folks like us.”
First, there’s a noise. A polite noise, a vowel-shaped noise Starlo could swear is almost a word. Then, quietly, Dalv steps back. Retreats. Then bows, stiffly, nervously, almost as though appeasing an accoster. Was that really what Starlo had become, propositioning this man in front of his home?
I said I would never hurt you, he wants to cry. I promised.
“Thank you for walking me home, Starlo. I’m.. I’m sorry. Good night.” He’s finally able to articulate, though by now his door has taken to tentatively pulling back shut.
Starlo’s smile dampens just moments after something inside him splits.
“Aw, shucks,” he murmurs, lilt fading with his withering expression. “I didn’t mean to upset you. That wasn’t my intention, Dalv, I swear.”
“It… you haven’t,” Dalv’s eyes pin shut and he shakes his head, though with a franticness so severe it seemed more as though he was trying to convince himself of that than Starlo. “No, really, you haven’t. You’re fine. You are. I just.. I really should go. It’s late, and… thank you. For tonight. I’m so sorry. Good night, Starlo.”
With only the unceremonious, breathy goodbye left to billow limply in the air, his door swings closed, and time slows.
“...Good night, Dalv.” He breathes, though… strangely, it feels as though his boots remain rooted firmly to the ground.
I love you. I still love you. I’ll still love you, he thinks.
He really should be taking his leave, now, but he can’t move. From within the cabin Starlo could swear he hears first the languid shift of cloth descending against wood, and then a resigned, dull thump of fabric against the ground. Then, silence. Or perhaps a stretch of shaky, swift breathing. Starlo doesn’t know. He doesn’t know because his head is spinning and something in his chest gives way to rot. Pathetic. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Something icy pierces Starlo’s very soul and ridicules him for daring to want, for daring to hope, for daring to love. It makes him sway on his unmoving feet, as though the frost is urging him to leave. To seek refuge. But just for a moment, he lingers. Perhaps to blink back tears, or maybe even just to bite back a plea for Dalv to step out once more into the snow so that Starlo might finish his sentiment. He does neither, and he does not put his hat back on. Instead, he keeps it clutched tightly to his chest, fingers worrying mindlessly at its brim while he tries to resist giving voice to the anguish welling incessantly behind his eyes. The cold gnaws fruitlessly at his pursed lips and vulnerable rays as he crunches home. Inwardly, he is already cold enough.
“Heya, organ guy! Not to alarm you or anything, but we’re pretty sure you broke Starlo.”
“Mooch!”
Yes, that’s right. That’s a name he’s familiar with. He’s in the Wild East, he’s sure, but it appears to lack in its notability when it lacks in its Starlo.
“Well I’m not tryin’ to be mean, I’m just making an observation!”
What? Dalv’s head swims, and his soul seems to swirl into the same murky current. He blinks. Once, twice, and then he inhales sharply as though he really had been tossed into the frigid torrents of Waterfall. But this wasn't Waterfall— rather, the amber sands of the Wild East burn into his vision, just as the heat pierces his skin. Sweat beads down his back like sin.
“Hey! Organ guy!” Mooch snaps her fingers, gaze unyielding.
“I’m.. I’m sorry.” He rasps, throat suddenly inexplicably tight.
Evidently unsatisfied with Mooch’s contribution Ed scruffs the smallest of the posse back down into her seat with an exasperated sigh.
“Real sorry about her, Dalv. Would’ve approached you first if I knew she was gonna do all that.”
“No, it’s- it’s quite all right.” Dalv shakes his head, smoothing over the ruffles at his collar in a fruitless vie for composure.
“You’re shaking. Do you need anything?” prods Moray, gently. “Maybe some water?”
He nods, numbly. “That- if it wouldn’t be an inconvenience…”
Moray simply shakes their head before rising gracefully to their feet to make for the bar counter.
“So you broke his heart?” Mooch’s scrutiny is in no way dampened by her small size, Dalv learns. Her piercing purple gaze brims not with anger, but fierce disappointment, and somehow that is even more awful than the former and it does nothing to soothe the ache in Dalv’s heart. “That’s the only conclusion I can draw, based on the way he was pacin’ and mumblin’ last night.”
“I don’t think this is really something Dalv needs to hear right now.” Moray interjects, rejoining the table, water in tow.
Ace, as Dalv recalls, briskly shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think Mooch is being tactful,” he begins, glancing sideways at his fuzzy grey companion. “but I do think he needs to hear it. He’s… not well, Dalv.”
“I.. I know,” replies Dalv unhappily. “I figured.”
“….Listen. We ain’t mad. I wanna make that clear.” Ed begins, tentatively sliding the growler of icewater across the table. “Just… real concerned. Star came home real dejected. Not like himself. Wouldn’t say what was buggin’ him. Y’all get in a fight?”
Some horrible cross between shame and panic swirls in his belly and makes him grip the edge of the table. The wood groans with complaint. The water eases his aching throat, but it settles coldly in his stomach and does nothing to settle the nausea.
“No, that’s- that’s not what happened. He just… he had just begun saying something so lovely, and genuine, and- and sweet to me,” he lowers his head, smiling sadly at the memory. Starlo, kind, earnest Starlo, who Dalv imagined had spent eons mustering the nerve it must have taken to spill his heart out the way he had only just begun to do.
He would consider himself lucky if Starlo ever wanted anything to do with him again, after this.
His vision blurs with unshed tears. “I- I got… overwhelmed, and- and like a coward, I retreated. I will not make excuses. I- I truly do not even know what it was that had frightened me so much in the first place.” He scrubs a sleeve across his face. “Goodness. I’m sorry, I really-.. I truly have no right to cry, not… not when this is all my own doing.”
At this, the group appeared collectively to soften. Even Mooch’s ears pin sympathetically backwards and Moray seems almost instantaneously to appear at his side, napkin in hand. Gingerly, he takes a hold of it and then dabs delicately at his ever-welling eyes.
“I don’t really think either of you are at fault.” Ace muses, after a few seconds of this. “Star, he… he just loves hard. As I’m sure you’re already aware, he… can be a bit reckless. No one can blame you for not knowing how to hold it all, just as no one can blame Starlo for feeling.”
“But I-... I know he would never do anything to me that he thought would hurt me. Not intentionally.” Dalv sniffs, now feeling especially pathetic. “I- I ought to have known that. And now I’ve-... I’ve gone and ruined everything.”
“That’s not true.” Moray counters, gently sliding another napkin into Dalv’s trembling hands. “You didn’t.”
“Ruinin’ everything woulda been callin’ him a fool and slammin’ the door in his face.” Ed points out. “Ruinin’ everythin’ woulda been doin’ that and then leavin’ it at that. You care enough about him to come around lookin’ to fix things. That’s effort– that means somethin’.”
“You’re here, Dalv,” insists Moray. “That counts for something.”
Dalv shakes his head, more tears springing from his eyes. “No. You give me far too much credit. He won’t possibly want to talk to me,” he quivers, weakly. “I hurt him. And now I have the gall to return and- and what? Grovel for his forgiveness? As if I deserve to be heard out when I- I couldn’t even give him the same luxury?”
Ace stares hard at him from across the table, his eyes narrowing. “But you care about him.”
It's not a question.
It’s a good thing Dalv has long since stopped questioning it.
Still, he pauses, if only for a moment, because finally putting words to it sets his chest to seizing. Finally putting words to it makes it real. Therein had been the problem, right? That Starlo had been real, tangible, closer to Dalv than any other being— monster or human— had ever been, or had ever tried to be. In the past, the thought would have made him ache with wanting, would have driven his quill to scratch endlessly upon the pages of his diary. And yet he shook, fraught with overwhelm, when his utmost desire stood before his door and spilled open his heart. The way he had sobbed, that night, eyes stinging with self-reproach and regret when the heartbreak— self-imposed, of course— settled in to weigh down his being…
No more, he thinks, resolutely.
His voice is tremulous, when he speaks again. “Yes, but… how- how could I face him, after this? How- how could he face me?”
“He’ll face you the way he always has. You just have to be the one to take the leap, this time.” Ace responds, voice low and measured and knowing. “He’s been reaching all his life. It’s not often he gets to be reached for.”
“And you’re already halfway there!” Mooch pipes up, and Dalv could swear he sees Ace’s expression soften with her enthusiasm. “It’s just like Ed and Moray said– you’ve gotta care about him at least a little bit, because you’re not still in Snowdin.”
“...Oh, I care about him with all that I have.” He breathes, tenderly, relishing for once that the acknowledgement sets his heart to song rather than to fear.
“Then you really should go find him,” urges Mooch, her eyes wide and glittering with mirth. “And tell him that. Straight to his face. I promise you, he’ll listen. What reason would he have not to? He’s so in love with you, I bet you could cop 50g from his pockets and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.”
“She isn’t wrong.” Ace assures him, noting his immediate discomfort at the thought. “Anyone would be foolish to deny it. I wouldn’t bet on that disappearing because you got a little spooked, and you shouldn’t either. He knows you by now– or, at least, he should.”
“And if I know him,” Ed adds, flicking a few coins onto the table. “he probably wants to see you more’n anything.”
“Check the Sunnyside farm.” advises Moray. “It’s just north of here.”
“You’re… certain?” Dalv is already rising to his feet.
“As sure as he’s got five rays.”
“And tell us how it goes!” Mooch calls after him, saloon doors swinging shut with his exit.
Dalv arrives on the Sunnyside Farm, where the scent of corn wreathes around him and roots itself in his chest.
Starlo’s mother— Crestina, as he had once told him— answers the door, when he comes creaking up the porch stairs to knock. Her gaze, where Dalv is anticipating seeing blazing contempt, instead simply gaze down at him, soft with knowing. “You must be Dalv.”
“Yes, I-” he swallows, comforted only slightly by her presence. “I am so sorry to arrive under these circumstances, but I- I would like to speak with Starlo.”
She steps aside before he can finish, and the draft of the home buzzes past in welcome that Dalv does not believe himself deserving of. Still, he shakily steps inside, beelining first for the stairs (and not without sparing Crestina a grateful bow) and then towards Starlo’s bedroom door. He assumes it is unlocked, but he steels his resolve and raps thrice at the wood with a shaky fist regardless.
“Ma’, I’m fine. I really ain’t hungry.” Comes Starlo’s reply.
Dalv swallows, then musters the courage to speak. “It’s… not your mother,” he tries, SOUL hammering away in his gut. There’s a violent, abrupt shift of fabric– Starlo sitting up, he imagines. “It’s… me. May I come in?”
“...S’open,” comes his rasp, and fear surfaces again in Dalv’s throat like bile. Still, he presses on, twisting the knob and padding tentatively into the room. It’s dimly lit, with only the faint glow of star stickers overhead lending shape to Starlo’s form. Dalv chokes, words instantly dying on his tongue at the sight. Never had he seen Starlo so decidedly un-Starlo like. His trademark poncho and hat are strewn limply about a table in the corner and his glasses hang awkwardly off of his face.
The words come pouring out before he has even properly crossed the threshold. “I- oh, Starlo. I’m so sorry, I.. I don’t even know where to begin. My behavior the other night, it… was reprehensible. It- it truly was nothing you said.”
“I’m sorry for makin’ you feel like you had to run.” Starlo’s thumbs worry at the brim of his hat, eyes glancing anywhere but at Dalv. “I- I never wanna be the reason you feel that way.”
Oh, and how dare he? How could he remain so kind? So courteous, when he had so callously had his heart broken? So hospitable, even when Dalv dared to grovel pathetically for his forgiveness? So keen on ensuring his comfort when he hardly felt he deserved for Starlo to look at him with anything but hatred? Suddenly he was overwhelmed with the urge to reach for Starlo, to embrace that warmth and security that he had so come to love but that he hadn’t ever thought he deserved. Instead his hands remain uselessly plucking at the ruffles on his chest even though they long to draw the fabric of Starlo’s poncho up into trembling knuckles.
“...I could never be afraid of you, Starlo.” The consolation is but a shaky exhale on his tongue.
Starlo finally looks back at him, though his expression is unreadable. “Sure was what it felt like.”
“I can imagine,” he responds, voice hitching on the words. “But-.. but you’re wrong, Starlo. It… it was me. Everything that happened that night, I-... none of it was your fault..” he trails off, weakly.
“Sure it was,” he shrugs half heartedly, going right back to avoiding Dalv’s gaze as he drags a hand along his uppermost ray. “I mean-… is it- does it scare you, that–... that I’m sweet on you?”
“...It- it doesn’t, Starlo. Not anymore.” Dalv lowers his head, shamefully. “I do not really know if it ever did. I- I am just not used to being… wanted, so unapologetically. Especially not-... not by someone I cherish so much. It- it is not an excuse, Starlo. I respect you far too much to come here spewing excuses.”
He swears the faintest, wryest smile quirks upon Starlo’s lips, but how could anyone smile at a time like this?
“Wasn’t fair of me, bringing it up to you the way I did. Not when you were just trying to get home. It’s no wonder things got so weird. I’d have probably been pretty uncomfortable, too.”
“You… no, please, Starlo, do not make excuses for me.”
Starlo meets his eyes again. “I’m not.” Then his gaze flickers almost imploringly to the space on the mattress next to him, and Dalv draws in a tight breath. Stiffly he crosses the room the remainder of the way, then settles uncertainly atop the mattress. Reluctantly, he wonders if Starlo too feels the distance that stretches between them to be far greater than what the few inches of unoccupied mattress can possibly account for. He wills himself not to come to a conclusion, pushing down the bitter thought.
“...For what it’s worth, I think you should be wanted, unapologetically.” Starlo murmurs, gaze falling to his lap. “But I’m biased. Cause’... you know.”
“You… you couldn’t possibly. You can’t possibly.” He worries at his quivering lip with a fang. There he was again, deflecting, and he shakes his head as though it might drive the swirling, ugly feeling in his stomach to ruin. “You shouldn’t. Not me. You shouldn’t even be giving me the time of day. Not- not after… I should be grateful we are even talking.”
Starlo’s voice is low, soft with menace when he speaks next. “...You don’t come here and tell me what I can’t feel. I don’t care if you don’t think you deserve it. Hell– I don’t care if you break my heart, or if you run. But you can’t make me not want ya’, Dalv. You can’t ask me not to want ya’. And- and it hurts, thinking you might not trust my judgement, or that you came here askin’ me to stop.”
“I do. I do trust you, your heart, I- I would never ask you not to feel, I-” The plea isn’t even enough to choke back the gentle sob that bubbles from his throat. “I-.. I’m sorry. I keep hurting you, it seems.”
“Now- now hold on,” he deflates audibly, and his hand finds the small of Dalv’s back. “No, Dalv, it…” he sighs, futility seeping in like an unwelcome chill. “Angel above. Guess neither of us’re very good at this. You think you keep hurtin’ me, n’ I- I just keep makin’ you cry. I-.. I never want to make you cry.”
“I never want to hurt you.” His arm raises to his face, where it lingers for a time, and so tears soak white fabric gray. “I… I should have trusted that you would never say anything to me that you thought would make me react the way that I did.”
That wry smile stretches across his lips. “...If I’d have known, or- or if I was smart, maybe I just… wouldn’t have started talking. Might have saved us all this trouble if I’d just kept my mouth shut.”
“No!” Dalv yelps, and much too viscerally. “No, I… you trusted me enough to try to be honest with me. A-.. and I took that for granted, when I ran. It… I should be thanking you for trusting me at all.”
“Ain’t much to be thanking me for,” he chuckles. “Look where it got us.”
And then silence, again. Dalv knows its emptiness far too well, and yet there’s something especially jarring about Starlo not yet having filled it.
“I- I hadn’t even let you finish.” he mumbles, sadly.
He grins, halfheartedly. “But you knew what I was going to say.”
And I would give anything, thinks Dalv. To hear you say it in full.
Instead, more tears slip from his lashes and fall lamely to his lap. So it really was over, then.
“Of course.” He relents gently, feeling something in his ribs split in two. “Then… I suppose that is that.”
“That is— wait. Nawh, what-.. what the hell do you mean by that, Dalv? Don’t… don’t go talkin’ like that.”
“It is fine, Starlo, you… you are correct, to be finished with this charade I have put you through.”
“Wait! Wait!” He shoots to his feet, rays prickled in alarm. “Oh, no, Dalv, never… never that, you just-“
“I- I was too foolish to know what I wanted, and-”
“Dalv.” He cups Dalv’s cheeks in his firm, farmworked hands, and suddenly Dalv is grateful that he is already sitting down. “Stars above, I… I can’t just let you sit in this house, on my bed, n’ hear you talk about my Dalv like that.”
“Starlo-“
“Wait, damnit, just wait! Gimme… a do-over, then. Just- y’know.” He stammers, lips nearly gnawed raw, and Dalv can feel his hands begin to quake. “Cause’ you’re here, and- and willin’ to hear me out, and- and best believe that just cause things ended how they did in Snowdin don’t mean I like ya’ any less.”
Wait. Where had Dalv felt this helplessness before? He wonders if this is the uncanny sensation he’d so often read about in his discarded human literatures— Déjà vu, he thinks.
Starlo, pleading. And him, remaining uselessly motionless before him.
No more, he chides himself.
“No,” Dalv interjects, shakily but no less decisively, and he jabs a finger in Starlo’s direction so insistently it is almost unbecoming. “No, Starlo, I will not wait. I am done waiting, and taking. And you- you have done enough giving. So instead, let me- let me say to you now what I should have said to you a long time ago.”
Obediently, Starlo quietens, his eyes wide and hoping and quite wet. “Yessir.”
“I-.. I adore you, Starlo.” he struggles, heat welling up behind his eyes once again. “I… you make me feel as though I needn’t be unashamed for- for simply being. For- for a long time, I… I believed that maybe you were just a- a cruel projection that my mind had- had conjured in the shape of safety. I-.. I write about you, I’ve composed, I- I’ve dedicated an entire leitmotif to you, and I-... I now it’s as if I can no longer write a song that you are not in.” He tries to catch his breath, but the very ends of his composure begin to fray against his wishes and his body quakes as though no longer his own.
“I love that you walk me home, and that you are kind, and that you- you are you. Starlo, I-“ he tries again, desperately scrabbling to draw air into his chest that simply won’t come. “I love-”
Then his breath truly leaves his lungs when a warm, secure weight envelops his form and draws him in tight. Now, Dalv thinks he would be content if it never returned. He is certain that if he were to swirl away with the next passing breeze, he would perish a happy monster if it meant that his final moments had been spent wrapped securely in Starlo’s arms.
“I love you, Dalv.” He coos, voice low and warm and tremulous and more Starlo than Dalv had ever heard him. “More’n rainbows n’ swelterstones, more than buttered corn…”
Eyes glistening with triumph, Dalv tentatively presses his forehead to Starlo’s chest, letting the scent of corn and comfort and sweat and him wreathe around him. Safe.
“You- you mustn’t say that,” he sniffs, a shudder wracking his body with the motion. “Nothing is better than buttered corn.”
“You’re doing it again. I say you’re better than corn, you’re better.” He punctuates the declaration with a tighter squeeze. “And this is the Wild East, so you’re under my jurisdiction again. Means my word is law, and I’ll say it till you believe it.”
“Yes, Sheriff.” He chokes out, knowing better than to argue further. The sarcasm is lost on him– or perhaps it is not and he’s simply forfeited his agency to please his guiding star. It was the least he could do, after all, and the least he thought Starlo deserved.
“A- and I’m sorry to throw a wrench in what you were saying, there. I- I had to stop you before you could beat me to it.” He chuckles, though the laugh is equally as wet and tremulous as Dalv’s cries. “It was my idea first, now, wasn’t it?”
He nods limply against Starlo’s chest. “It’s only fair.”
“It’s only fair.” He echoes.
It’s not until the big, glinting Swelterstone overlooking the Dunes has flickered out for the night that they separate, and yet Dalv longs for his embrace as soon as it is gone.
And yet still, long after they finally set off again for Dalv’s home, guilt sits–rots– in his stomach, like stone.
No, he wants to shout at himself as it makes him sway with nausea. Please, let me be happy. Let me indulge.
“This okay? I- I can’t tell ya’ the last time I held hands with somebody. Hope you don’t mind if I get a lil’ clammy.”
“I’m sorry,” Oddly, he finds himself drawing up his hood. Shouldn’t Starlo be the one apologizing, for having such moist hands? He wishes he could laugh at the irony, but the sting of salt seeps into his tongue. “I’m so sorry. I do not- I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional.”
“Hey.” Jarring cold first meets Dalv’s palms– Starlo really was wracked with nerves– and then his face, when Starlo crouches to once again cup his cheeks. “Hey, what’s the matter?”
“You still find it in your heart to love me, after everything,” Dalv hiccups. “It is curious, Starlo, how incredible you are, when..” the words catch in his throat. “When I am so unworthy.”
“Now don’t you go saying things like that.” They’re Starlo’s words, delivered with all of North Star’s ferocity. “I won’t hear any of this unworthy talk, you got it?”
“But look at what I’ve done. I– I shut the door on you when you were only trying to tell me how you felt, and-”
“And look how that ended. With me, walkin’ you home like I always do, ‘cept it’s better now cause’ we’re hand in hand. And you know why that is? It’s cause’ you came back for me, Dalv. You made the choice to come back. I figure you’ve gotta love me at least a little bit if you're willing to go through all that trouble, right?” His lip quirks into a soft grin— an attempt at levity, Dalv thinks— but it fizzles almost immediately because he just can’t seem to make himself stop sobbing.
“Oh, Dalv…” Starlo groans, expression twisting as if agonized by Dalv’s own sorrow. And maybe he is.
“C’mere. Lemme hold you.” He moves to thumb away at steady rivulets of tears. “Oh, yer’ breakin’ my heart, here, Dalv. It’s okay. You just take your time. I gotcha.”
“But- but I..” he tries, sobs strangled.
“You’re okay. We’re all good, y’hear?” insists Starlo into a curtain of deep purple curls. His lips brush gently against the furrowed wrinkles of his forehead before moving up to lovingly caress the tips of his horns. All the while they sway, Starlo clutching Dalv as though he might be inclined to run again if he doesn’t. Dalv doesn’t think he could ever run again. Not from this. “It’s over. The hard part is over. It’s just us, now. Look at me. Remember what I said? I’ll say it till you believe it; and then I’ll say it some more after.”
“You… you are the best of monsterkind.”
Starlo draws him back in, palm pressed to the back of his head.
“I’m just monster. Nothin’ more to it than that. Yours, if you’ll have me.”
“I will,” Dalv breathes. “I will have you.”
By the time they continue their walk, there exists not even an inch of distance between them. Starlo keeps a hand tucked securely around Dalv’s waist, as if he might draw him into his side forever if he simply willed it, and often he leans over to kiss his curls, as though he might cease to exist if the routine ceases, too. Dalv never strays.
His home comes again into view, but it looks so forlorn, now, the red of its wood pressed into glistening white snow.
“...Starlo,” Dalv begins, breath billowing. “I know I cannot ask much of you, given… everything. But- but just for the night… I’d like it if you stayed with me.”
“Dalv, I would like nothing more.”
I don’t know that I can even put words to this undying warmth in my chest. But for my sake– and his, of course, especially his– I think I should at least try. Somehow, I managed to muster up the courage to escort Starlo to his family’s farm after his most recent visit to my cottage. I know Pops thinks me strange for being so giddy about it; he told me so when I returned, all smiles and with a flush that, admittedly, was not at all the result of Snowdin’s regular chill. I feel warm. No. Hot. And.. liberated, too. Strangely. So very liberated. It’s as though… when I’m with him, I don't have the room to be self-conscious. He simply won’t let me. It’s as though to him, loving me is… easy.
All the way there, he held my hand. You would think a farmer, with his calloused, working hands, would be unused to gentleness but his fingers had entwined themselves so gently with mine that I hadn’t even noticed they were touching. But perhaps the absolute peak of it all was when he stole from me a kiss, oh-so-tenderly in the doorway of his home where his family would bear witness to it. Once upon my lips, then again against my temple. As if it were second nature. It makes me blush just thinking about it, let alone my immortalizing it within these pages for eternity. I will never be able to reread this. How dare he be so innately warm, and loving, and so… unashamed? I admit, I… I envy it, just a little bit. North Star is, in some ways, all that I strive to be… but Starlo makes me feel as though I am enough simply for being.
Mr. and Mrs. Sunnyside were kind enough to offer me shelter (and also polite enough not to acknowledge our escapade) within their home considering the late hour, but I had to decline. It was out of necessity, I swear it!
How am I meant to keep my composure in upon the childhood home stomping ground of the most incredible monster and his family? How, I raise you?
And when I declined, do you know what he said to me? He said, verbatim, “Then I promise I’ll come see you real soon, sweet corn. You just get home safe.”
I’m his sweet corn. Isn’t that incredible just the darndest thing? (If he were here, he could verify that I am indeed using that correctly.) And there I was, completely unaware that not only could that even be a term of endearment but that it also makes my knees hopelessly, absolutely weak. And before I could collapse in front of him and embarrass myself further he removed his hat and then winked at me, before stepping inside and shutting the door.
Is it.. embarrassing of me, to kick my feet and grin like I am a monsterling again as I write this? Maybe. But I find I can’t really help it. He glows. No. He radiates.
Maybe I will learn to shine like that someday, so then I will not feel the need to ask myself such questions.
I’m feeling inspired. Perhaps… I will write a book. A tale about a kindhearted sheriff who always made it a point to ensure that everyone, no matter their history, might always be made to feel like they had purpose. That they deserve, without shame, to be loved ̶a̶s̶ unapologetically. ̶a̶s̶ ̶S̶t̶a̶r̶l̶o̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶
Starlo loves me.
He loves me.
…
It’s strange, for I am no stranger to wanting. But to be so wanted in return. I… am not used to it. But I.. I think I would like him to keep wanting me. And to keep loving me, because I̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ I love him, too.
I love Starlo, too.