12
Considering pulsars, Pulse was one of the younger ones. They felt if they had more experience, decoding these emotions would be elementary. They excelled in music, a true savant in that regard, but this? This was a challenge.
They sang the hymns of the galaxies—the constant truths, as they are nicknamed—and couldn't figure out why it was so difficult to name the things that swirled inside when Leo came to mind.
They rolled the cigarette between their lips.
Leo danced between different thoughts in Pulse's mind.
In rhythm to the stars in the skies, Pulse played scenes of Leo in their head.
From romantic plays of affection and lighthearted soliloquies of admission—nothing in particular with no order.
It was a jumble of performances until Pulse had to shut down scenes that made their chest tremble.
Quark had been peculiarly quiet.
"What are you thinking about?" Pulse asked.
Quark was sitting up, hunched over, and facing away from Pulse. He looked like he was coming out of a daze when Pulse started talking.
“Thinking about what?” Quark replied.
“Anything, I guess. You've been pretty quiet. I thought maybe something was on your mind.”
"Well—Well, a bit. I mean yeah. I mean, well..."
Pulse sat up, taking the cigarette out of their mouth. “Okay, what did you do?”
Quark looked like he was going to protest against the accusation. There were two attempts to object, opening and closing his mouth before the words could be spoken. Bowing his head, he bared his crime—pulling out a book he hid in his arms: 'Lonely Liminal Labyrinth.'
“You stole the book?” Quark hung his head when Pulse asked. He wouldn't look at them.
"Yeah. Leo just looked so sad. I thought, perhaps I could give it to her next time we see her..."
Pulse shouldn't have, but they smirked. “You little rebel.”
"Stop," Quark swatted their shoulders gently. "I need to figure out how to present it. Leo would not like that I stole it..."
“Or maybe she'd be so delighted she won't care?”
“Yeah, that could be true too, but...”
“But we don't know Leo yet, do we?”
That was the winning question. The grassy field waved to and fro like a sea. The Choir—the green and purple nebula, the gold speckle of stars, and the swirls of lavender clouds that hugged the hollow, crescent moon—was quiet.
“That's another reason I stole it,” Quark admitted. “I was hoping to read it. I felt like if I did, I could get to know Leo. The real Leo. Not this dream we've seen so far.”
Pulse nodded. "She does seem to be putting on a face for us, yeah." They rolled the cigarette between their fingers. It was hard to believe Leo would hide something from them. She seemed too overt and audacious. "Did you learn something then?"
"That's the tricky part. The whole book's coded. It's in a dreamer's language. Not to mention, I have to do two steps to translate it. I need to know Leo's mother language before figuring out the celestial terms."
“That is tricky,” Pulse agreed. “But I don't think it's impossible. There has to be a frame of reference somewhere. You think Gamal might help?”
"I doubt it. Only because that woman scares me."
Chuckling, Pulse agreed. “We will sleep on it tonight, then. You look pretty tired anyway.”
Quark fell back, rubbing at his eyes. “I am, I am.”
Beside him, Pulse lit their cigarette. There would be some time before sleep took them, too.
“What happened between you and Leo, anyway?” Pulse squeezed in the question as Quark began to doze off.
His words were slurred as he replied. "She kissed me..."
“Oh?”
“Yeah... it was wonderful...”
A breeze blew Pulse's smoke away. It was cold and smelled clean and earthy.
Pulse's inner energy felt hot enough to keep them warm.
It was refreshing for them, but Quark was shivering.
He was doubled over, trying to retain his body heat.
Pulse took off their jacket to put over the dwarf star's arms, something they did without hesitancy.
That was when the star pulled Pulse in, mindlessly seeking their warmth.
'He has to be touch-starved.' They wrapped their arms around Quark. His hair was so soft on their chest. The flyaway strands tickled Pulse. Brushing the hair away, Pulse took the time to study his face.
Of course, he had a natural gray tone to his skin.
A dim glow escaped between his eyelids, dancing as he dreamed.
Intimations of pink were apparent in his cheeks.
It solves the mystery of how his cheeks went through a multitude of different shades of pink when he was flustered.
His facial structure was oddly delicate and subtle, juxtaposed against the more chromatic palate.
Nimble fingers curled into Pulse's shirt, almost as though in his slumber he was scolding Pulse for rudely staring.
Pulse held in a bemused laugh. They watched Quark stir as Pulse laid back with him on his chest, how easy it was for his head to find the right nook. One leg tangled around Pulse's thigh, and Pulse felt a little hitch to their breathing.
'Oh no.'
The night was long. Pulse, now more than ever, could feel how time stretched on.
It was their least favorite part of dreaming; feeling time.
Feeling the minutes, counting the seconds, realizing it stretched hours and hours into the night.
It became darker—the lavender was violet, the nebula dimmed; the Choir rested for today because now, Pulse was late to their warm-up.
All that time, they watched Quark. They watched the way his cheeks would speckle with light, how his chest would rise and fall. Pulse had a book of words to depict this scene, and as that book became longer, they realized the trouble they were in.
They tried to reason: Quark was a cute guy, a dashing dwarf, this was a reasonable reaction to have as he braided their legs together.
'Wasn't it?'