Sometimes - on nights that are particularly quiet, when the sky is clear and their heart's not in such a bad place - they can hear their favorite star singing to them.
Not clearly with every sound resonating through their body. Not like it used to be, in a voice like a chorus of grand church bells. Not with every word - the language one their heart knows but their human tongue battles with - perfectly distinguishable. Not like it sounded when they were lighter and brighter. Not like it did before him.
But they can hear it.
It's present as they lay in bed and think of Lambo's boisterous laugh and I-Pin's charming blush and Fran's warm hands.
Present as they close their eyes and tells themself they have Nana's affection and Bianchi's pride and Tsuna's protection.
Present as they teeter on the line of awake and sleeping and remembers their parents, lost and separate from them but still present in the heart they helped make good and kind.
