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"What was your family like?"
The question makes Loop go utterly rigid for a second, a violent shiver through their spine. Fizzles go through their body, accompanying the metaphorical movement of the sensation. Fascinating.
"You could have worded that differently, Stardust."
Yeah, you could. Undeniable that guilt clings to you seconds after letting the question fall out. But. It wasn't your intention, and Loop knows.
"…Does that mean you don't want to talk about it?"
"I— hmm." Loop settles. Their hands sit idly on their lap, pressed together. You have come to recognize the minute tells of Loop's mood, the little reactions that would pass imperceptible to most, should you not have the knowledge that these are things you do, too. "Not exactly. I…"
You wait for Loop to relax, breathe in, and:
"Just wondering why that question, specifically?" Just as you know what they're doing, here. "What's on your mind, Stardust?"
You take the bait regardless.
You shrug.
"I was just thinking. We… are different in a lot of ways." Circumstances, you mean, but do not say it. It is not your pain to voice it, not really. "So I was thinking about how deep do the differences go, you know?"
"You want to compare?" The bite on Loop's cheery question hurts, even if it's deserved.
"If you want to, yes."
You are curious, too. Loop ommited a lot of information about themself, and for a while after the loops they continued to do so. Most of what you know, regrettably, originates from your little altercation with them, things that slipped through the cracks much as they did during your conversations with them in the loops.
Loop was alone for so long.
Loop hums. You wait as long as they need to. And approach them a little, pressing your knee to theirs.
They flinch.
"I… sure, yeah. I suppose I should talk." Only for Loop to relax a moment after, shoulders slumping. "I just… don't know where to start."
You hum.
"You could tell me the differences…?" You suggest. "Tell me an easy one."
"…okay." You watch Loop hesitate, fingers twitch, as if they're going to move. The motion is familiar. Then they pull in a breathe, and: "One of them is that, hm, the Kid wasn't our snack leader."
You gasp.
"I— how? No, no, why??" You can't imagine your little group without Bonnie's snacks. You willingly admit that you've been better at eating because of Bonnie to begin with. And they've gotten so good at it, too, eager to learn your favorites.
"I know, right?" Loop snickers. You try to smile with them. "Not to say that they didn't have snacks ready for us. The… title just never happened." Oh, that's… A little less bad?? You… don't know. Loop looks distant. The motions of a smile that don't quite reach their voice.
"Did they hold our items at least?" The question comes softly.
"No, the Researcher did."
You try to imagine it; Odile handing out the items, instead of the loud echo of Bonnie's boots running to give you snacks, countless times reminding you that you weren't alone.
It's as if you're peering into a reality that isn't yours.
You shift in your seat.
Loop continues talking:
"My Fighter was a little more awkward than yours. Had sweaty hands. He never… I've never…" They trail off. You nod. "And Mira, she… was so brave. She confronted me once, to tell everyone what was wrong with me. I never told her." A chuckle. "I wouldn't be here if I did, hmm?"
Neither would you.
You stay silent. You can only offer the little comfort of the side of your body against theirs, even if they sway and shiver at the contact.
None of this is fair.
"Your family is similar to mine, yes, but… they aren't them." They could never be them.
They miss them.
You grab Loop's hand, interlacing their fingers with yours.
"I know. It's your family still, Loop."
They hum, peering at the joined hands. Darkless pressed to lightless. Mirror only in feeling.
"Are they really, Stardust?"
You hear the desperation dripping in their voice. The thin spark of something both you and Loop know intimately to be dangerous.
Hope.
The scene feels reminiscent of another memory. Of eyes that expect you to know something.
You squeeze their hand.
"They are. If you let them."
"Mhm."
As you acclimate yourself with the mortifying ordeal of interacting with your fellow party members… They, for some reason, get very excited at the prospect of hanging out with you. Everyone wants to invite you to something different.
You hear your name uttered so many times it gets… overwhelming, honestly. Another reading session, an invite for a drink, a question if you want to figure out clothes, a booming voice insisting you join them for games or cooking… Too much.
Inevitable, to not sink into self-doubt, to not search for any reason that might justify their actions that goes beyond a simple desire to just hang out with you. It's difficult to grasp an answer, when you want it to be anything but simple.
Inevitable, also, that it confuses you.
This is the first time that something you'll later identify as odd happens. It's the Researcher… no, Odile, that speaks up, her words escaping you, but something about giving you space, for your comfort. Your Stardust's job, when you can't get out of a situation yourself.
Strange is that it happens again, not many days after, when you zone out in the middle of a conversation, reasons unbeknownst to you, just happens sometimes (guess that's the perks of having a traumatized brain, haha!). Point is: she notices. And she picks up on your blunder, steering the conversation away from you.
And, well, it's not like Odile never did so before, more like… You've never noticed? Different train of thought and such. Which is terrible to admit, you know. Some friend you are.
It's not just her, either. Which makes matters worse.
Worse yet is the next realization, that comes just as easily, same as always:
You never noticed.
How much they care for you (How much you cared for them).
Here's the problem with trying to follow your Stardust advice: socializing is so hard!!! Literally the worst thing ever. Which is to say: you've never been good at interactions, not before, certainly not now. You never know what to say! You're so awkward at everything you try to do! How can you know if how you act with your Stardust is the right way to act with the party? Yes, sure, they're supposed to be very similar to yours, but… You don't think you can follow up with this particular promise.
You've never been good with those.
It helps when Stardust is around. Not to say that he's better at socializing than you, no, they're just as awkward (even more actually). The difference is they’re more familiar with the party, unlike you, who forgot your lines, who ignores them and can barely remember what it is that you bantered about, half the time. With Stardust there, you can listen and laugh at them being awkward instead, and still be in the conversation, in a way.
However!!!!!! Another problem has arised: Stardust is not around. They LEFT (!!!) you to hang out with The Fighter instead, most likely a ploy to force you to actually interact (what do you mean me hovering around you creepily doesn't count as following your advice, Stardust? Of course it does!). So. You are suffering. Doomed to perish trying to be a normal person that can socialize and talk normal about normal things. Like the weather or something. What do people even talk about anyway if not of their tragic backstory that made them commit a few atrocities?
Actually. How do people hang out?
Anyway.
You are with… Mirabelle. The Housemaiden.
She invited you to read some sort of book, as a part of she and… Odile's bookclub (Odile's nowhere to be seen). Which she has been wanting to do with you for a while. So. You decided to accept this time (Before she grows tired of you and stops asking). Why not?
Several reasons that you're not going to start listing, lest you end up undoing all the progress the party is soooo happy about. So. Yeah. Hangout time. No need to be nervous. It's just the Housemaiden. Mirabelle. There's no way you can ruin something as simple as reading together, is there? There should be nothing for you to worry about.
…Right?
Yeah. If anything happens you'll just. Commit a crime against your Stardust or something.
"What sort of books do you like, Loop?" Mirabelle asks, her big eyes dragging you out of your internal crisis, definitely not startling at all, never.
Hm. Books, huh…
You… don't remember. Which. Is fine. You don't remember a lot of things.
As a matter of fact, on the long list of things you can't remember, having a moment like this with (your) Mirabelle is included.
Awful, isn't it? What sort of friend can't remember spending time with them?
No. That's not an answer. She asked you a question. You should answer it instead of getting caught up in your own thoughts.
What do you remember, then?
You remember the party huddling together to look over her shoulder, a scene watched through eyes not your own, to read a diary of a child who couldn't possibly grasp the importance of what they lost (neither can you).
As an answer, you shrug.
"Hm…" She looks distraught. "Are you okay with mystery books?"
Are you?
"Whatever you want is fine with me," and at this your breath hitches, throat constricting over a name that you're still too broken to utter. "Housemaiden."
Hopefully she doesn't notice.
She hesitates, no comment on your slip-up. Yay…?
"…Alright, if you do not like it, let me know then!"
"I will." You nod.
She sits down then, opening the book on her lap, one hand splayed to keep the page open. You… do not follow, eyeing the puff with suspicion.
Mirabelle giggles.
You sit down, letting yourself sink into it before she can make any remarks about your hesitance. And…
"Pretty comfy, isn't it?" She beams at you, and something inside twists with the feeling, because... It feels…
Familiar.
"Mhm."
"I love it. And it's so spacious, too!" Indeed. It can fit the two of you easily. "I think you could even sleep if you wanted."
"Maybe I'll try later." You and Stardust's room don't have a nice puff like this one. "Could be fun!"
Mirabelle makes a confused face, in that cute little way of hers that makes you want to pinch her cheeks.
"Is sleeping really that fun…?"
Yeah, dummy, who says that. Ugh.
"It can be, if you have nice dreams~"
"Oh, I guess…" Mirabelle still looks confused. "I don't usually have nice dreams. I dream a lot about being late for class… even though I don't attend a lot of classes anymore."
You hum. Feels on brand for Mirabelle, ever so worried about her image and how she fits into a religion that doesn’t feel quite right for her, sometimes.
You wish you could tell her she doesn't need to.
She points to a page of the book.
"Um, so!! I don't have another copy… I hope you don't mind sharing with me?"
Oh. You. Kinda didn't notice that. Woops.
"Um, I don't mind, but…" You fidget. "Wouldn't it be incovenient?"
"M-maybe?" Mirabelle fumbles with the book, getting it up so you can look at it, too. "I-I suppose if our reading speeds aren't similar, it could be… How fast do you read?" Before you can answer; "I-I'm sorry, I never considered it! I didn't think too much about this, a-and."
Oh no. You've made Mirabelle upset!!! How did you even manage that?!
"H-hey, don't worry about it. It's really no problem…" Quick, quick, find a solution! You can't make Mirabelle upset, not this fast!! "I-I could read it aloud for you? Or we could both read aloud! Each a chapter…"
She pauses to look back at you, hands that hold the book slowly ceasing their trembling. Then she blinks.
"Oh that's a wonderful idea!" Okay!! Crisis averted!! You're good!!! Yay! "We could make voices for the characters!" Ah, a performance! Sure. If it makes her happy. "Can I start?"
"Of course. The stage is yours." That makes her giggle. Wow!! Maybe you didn't ruin this forever after all!
She clears her throat, and starts.
Whoa!
Actually, no. Not surprising that Mira is really good at reading aloud, her voice clear and concise as she navigates through the words. You do your very best to pay attention while Mirabelle recites, even if you're still feeling a particular brand of awkward discomfort.
It isn't long before Mirabelle initial nervousness fades away, the promised voice for one of the characters making you snort with amusement.
"That's how he sounds like?"
"Well!! The narration gives me the impression that Leander has a deeper voice! Fierce and scary!"
"Hmm, I can see that. Like a guy that's not used to speaking."
"See!" She beams at you. "Glad you see it!" Clear of her throat again, and resume.
Other characters get their own voices, too. You end up laughing at some, especially one that's supposed to be serious, but comes off as incredibly silly with her high-pitched impression.
"I-I'm sorry, I can't make many voices— Does it sound too silly??"
"No, no, don't you worry, I'm…" Oh. Realization dawns on you. "I'm enjoying it." Truly. Huh!
…That. Feels weird.
You try your best to look at her, scan her reaction. You'd hate for Mira to think you're teasing her, especially because this is supposed to be a serious book with a serious plot, in the middle of an interrogation no less!
But she doesn’t, which feels even weirder, almost enough to chase away whatever comfort this brief moment gave you. No, instead, Mirabelle sets her sights to the book again, resuming the silly voice.
She sends you little looks while at it. You do your best to stifle more giggles as she makes the voice as exaggerated as possible.
The way she smiles back tells you that Mira doesn't mind it, not really.
So you'll… try not to worry, either.
It's… surprisingly nice. To hear her again.
You like listening to her. You like seeing her smile.
You missed her.
When Mira continues to read through chapter two, you say nothing to stop her. She seems to be having fun anyway, so you just settle in more into the puff, and listen to her go on.
It starts to get comforting, sometime or another. The puff is really nice, and after a while her voice is all you hear, inside and outside of your mind, none of the usual chime of self-hatred you’re so accustomed to. You stop trying to read with her, resorting to getting comfortable in the puff, really all just like a bed, and just listen.
It’s nice.
Mirabelle’s warm next to you. Voice dropping to a whisper. As your mind gets foggy, you try to groan, try to say a warning for her to not speak softly lest you fall asleep, but all that comes is a string of noise too low to reach her ears.
You think of a moment where you were listening to her, unable to meet her gaze, and how she held you in her hands. So worried.
You wish she would hug you now. You wish you had enough courage inside of you to just reach out and ask— Mira wouldn’t mind. Or even hold your hand, just for a little bit.
You don’t do any of that, though.
That’s fine.
though this is not her it could never be her she is different yours is different she shone so bright a brilliance that could never compare this fake can only ever bring the comfort of familiarity and what is familiarity if not stagnation in itself
If anything, this and other interactions have served to teach you one thing: whatever it is that the Universe did to you, in the list of many things that it took away from you, love wasn’t among them.
You can’t help but still love. Even if they aren’t yours anymore, not really.
You missed them, after all.
Your family, that is.
And that’s why all of this happened, isn’t it? Why you’re still here.
You can’t stop loving them. The Universe can drag you away from your home, strip all that you know of yourself, stitch your very sin into your body in the form of a star, but it can’t take away how much you love, how you’ll keep loving, even as the differences are stark and the changes speak of much you’ve missed much you haven’t experienced could never experience as long as this is your reality.
You can’t stop loving them.
Your family.
Forever yours in your mind.
And, maybe, just for now, you can finally let yourself enjoy this; a silly moment with a Housemaiden too similar to yours that just wants to make you laugh, warmth at the pit of your belly as hands of a Fighter too similar to yours, trailing down your waist to make you an outfit that’d feel just as comfortable as your cloak, mirth filling you as you and a Researcher that sounds and talks like yours drinks with you, talking about a home that she can’t see as hers, affection that drips down and out of you as you and a Kid that is just as fiery as you remember shouts for you to come look for them, ready to resume a game never started, all of it comfort of familiarity that perhaps wasn’t all that long lost as you’ve come to believe it being.
And… Maybe, just for now…
You can let yourself be loved.