(RIAN'S POV)
Rian trudged up the narrow staircase to his cramped apartment, the telescope case bumping against his hip. His encounter with Nathan lingered like a dream, the echo of Nathan's music and the weight of their shared truths replayed in his mind.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the dim, cluttered space he calls home. A studio apartment above a laundromat, where the faint hum of dryers was a constant companion. The room represents Rian's life: organized chaos. Star charts and astronomy textbooks spilled across a rickety desk, its pages tagged and annotated.
A small telescope sat by the window, pointed at a sky too polluted by the city lights to reveal much. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, and a worn couch served as a bed most nights. On the wall, a single photo was pinned -- a younger Rian, around when he was sixteen, standing under the rural night sky with his mother, her smile strained even then. He didn't look at it that much, too many memories lived in that frame, ones he'd rather keep buried.
Rian dropped his bag and sank onto the couch, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. His phone buzzed, a text from his advisor at the university: "Observatory shift tomorrow by 8pm. Don't be late." He sighed, the weight and pressure of his double life -- student by day and stargazer by night -- pressed down on him.
He loved astronomy, but the grind of classes, part-time work, and the constant pressure to prove himself left little room for himself, for anything else, or anyone else.
His thoughts drifted to Nathan, to the way he'd asked and spoken about running, the shadow in his eyes when he'd mentioned leaving things behind... Rian recognized that look. He'd seen it in himself, in the years after he'd left home to escape his father's disapproval and his mother's silence.
The stars had been his refuge then, and they still were. But Nathan... Nathan felt like something new, something dangerous. Something Rian wasn't sure he was ready to let in.
He pulled out his laptop, intending to review notes for a seminar, but instead found himself searching for Nathan's name online. A few grainy videos popped up, Nathan busking on city corners, his guitar weaving melodies that drew the attention of small crowds.
In one clip, he sang a song about a boy who chased his dreams, his voice raw and haunting. Rian watched it twice, bewitched by the lyrics and emotion of the song. Nathan's music wasn't just sound itself; it was a window into a soul that had been through so much.
(NATHAN'S POV)
Across the city, Nathan sat on a worn mattress in a friend's spare room, his guitar propped against the wall. The space was temporary, like every place he called home since he was seventeen. A duffel bag held his life: a few sets of clothes, a notebook filled with half-finished lyrics, and a battered photo of him and his older sister, taken before everything fell apart.
The room smelled of stale coffee and paint, and the walls were bare except for a cracked mirror that reflected Nathan's tired eyes. He strummed a few chords, the sound muted to avoid waking his friend, Leo, who was crashed on the couch in the next room.
Leo is a drummer, part of the reason Nathan had landed in this city, chasing a gig that had fallen through days after he arrived. Now he's back to busking, scraping by on tips and occasional bar performances. It was a life he knew well, but lately it felt heavier, like the freedom he'd once craved is starting to feel like loneliness.
Nathan's phone lit up with a message from an unknown number: "Heard you play at the corner of 5th and Vine last week. Got a spot for you at The Blue Note next Friday. You in?" His heart leapt, then sank. The Blue Note was a step up in his gigs, a respectable venue for doing gigs, but it meant staying in the city longer than he'd planned. And staying meant risking roots and connections that he'd spent years avoiding.
He set the phone down and picked up the photo of his sister, Mara. She's the one who taught him how to play the guitar, back when they were kids sharing a room in a house that always felt cramped. Mara was gone now, due to a car accident three years ago, and Nathan carried the guilt of not being there when she needed him the most.
He'd been halfway across the country, chasing a gig when he got the call. Since then, he'd kept moving, as if stopping would mean facing the hole she left behind, and the guilt that came along with it.
His thoughts drifted to Rian, to the quiet intensity in his eyes when he talked about the stars. There was something grounding about Rian, something that made Nathan want to linger, to reveal more than just a rooftop and a few stray words. But that scared him. People like Rian, who saw too much, had a way of breaking the walls he worked so hard to build.
He wrote a lyric in his notebook: "Stars don't ask you to stay, but they burn when you leave." It felt like the start of a song, one he wasn't sure he was ready to continue, let alone finish.
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The next evening, Rian arrived at the rooftop park earlier than usual, his telescope case in tow. The meteor shower was peaking, and he'd spent the day distracted, his thoughts split between equations and the memory of Nathan's voice. He set up the telescope, the routine calming his nerves, then checked his watch. Nathan hadn't promised to show, but Rian hoped he would.
The door creaked open, and Nathan stepped onto the rooftop, his guitar slung over his shoulder, his leather jacket swapped for a faded hoodie that made him look younger. "Hope I'm not late for the show," Nathan said, nodding towards the sky.
Rian smiled, pushing up his glasses. "You're just in time. Look." He angled the telescope, and Nathan leaned in, his breath catching as a meteor streaked across the lens. "Damn." Nathan whispered. "It's like they're falling just for us."
They settled into an easy rhythm, taking turns at the telescope and shared stories. Nathan talked about a gig he'd played in a dive bar, how the crowd had sung along to a cover he sang on a whim. Rian shared a memory of his first telescope; a cheap model his mom had bought him before things got worse at home. The words came easier than Rian expected, each one a thread that weaves them closer.
Then Nathan's phone buzzed, and his expression darkened as he glanced at the screen. He silenced it, but not before Rian caught the name: Lila. Nathan's jaw clenched, and he looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the ring on his thumb.
"You okay?" Rian asked, his voice gentle and with concern. Nathan hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just... old ghosts." He forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What about you? Do you ever get tired of carrying all this?" He gestured to the telescope, but Rian knew he meant more than the equipment.
"Sometimes," Rian admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. "My dad thought astronomy was impractical and a waste of time. Said I'd never make anything of myself staring at the sky. I left home to prove him wrong, but sometimes I wonder if he was right."
Nathan's eyes softened. "He wasn't. You've got a whole universe in your head, Rian. That's not nothing."
Rian's chest warmed, the words settling like a star in his orbit. They sat in silence for a while, the meteors painting the sky above, their shoulders brushing as they leaned against the stone wall.
It was a small moment, but it felt like a promise -- one neither was ready to name, but both felt in the quiet spaces between their words.
As the night deepened, Rian packed up his telescope, and Nathan slung his guitar over his shoulder. "Same time tomorrow?" Nathan asked, his tone light but his eyes searching. Rian nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. "If you're lucky."
Nathan chuckled. As they parted ways, the city buzz felt less overwhelming, like the stars had lent them a fragment of their positivity to carry home.