Author's Note(s): This is a drabble based off a modern au I made for Andromeda Writes. The title comes from a quote by e.e. cummings, which I thought was fitting. I may or may not do art for this, so hmu on my book blog (found on my profile page) if you're interested, and enjoy ~
Sybil Mira had always held an affinity for stars.
From when she was young, she would stay up countless nights, scanning the skies for twinkling patterns. She kept charts and diagrams; papers that wore thin from the constant touch of her fingers. Her room was covered in them, and as she would fall asleep her hands would graze them, as if trying to reach the originals themselves.
Of course, Sybil knew very well that stars were not touchable. They were cold pieces of rock floating through space, beheld only by the light distance graced them in.
But that didn't cause her to stop reaching, to stop gazing. It was that very distance that made her gravitate.
So it was only fitting, really, to grow up and get a job that would bring her closer.
Only to a different kind of star.
Serving as a personal bodyguard for high-end celebrities was not an easy task, and not as engrossing as stellar astronomy. A bodyguard had to deal with the rabid fans, the nosy journalists, the weird errands to run. Sybil spent more time hiding stars away then actually interacting with them.
That is, until Levana Blackburn.
Heiress, pop icon, entrepreneur and overall drama queen, Levana Blackburn somehow managed to be both everything and nothing like a star, in all senses. She was cold, and withdrawn; thriving off the attention of fans and onlookers without acknowledgment, but also intense, vibrant, with a burning energy in all that she did. Passion and apathy coexisted perfectly on her haunting looks, with a pout of her classic blood-red lips and shining auburn hair.
Yet there were times she seemed almost- touchable. Like the eternal spotlight on her life dimmed for a moment when she would brush her hand over Sybil's arm, or crinkle her brow, or snicker good-naturedly. Those times reminded Sybil of being a child, grasping for something before it faded into the light again.
And then- it happened.
A hectic day, a long car drive, and a late night with Sybil leading an exhausted celebrity to her room. With everything in order, she turned to leave, but was stopped by a grip at her elbow.
Deep, smoldering eyes staring up through thick lashes. Bags under those eyes, but still alight with a glow.
"Stay with me."
A stroke of her fingers, and Sybil crashed into space.
Touching a star, holding a star in her hands, kissing a star, felt like the fulfillment of an immortal longing. She was stripped clean; of clothing, of duty, of propriety, as she ran hands up a slender spine and watched pale skin illuminated in the moonlight.
That night was when she reached a star. That morning was when the star kept her.
And she hadn't needed the celestials since.