"The Planetarium!" Historia nearly shouted in excitement when I gave her the offer. Her face was all smiles and sunshine. It made my bones and heart ache with a fulfillment that came every day like the sun and moon.

It had been a year since we met. It had been a ten months since we got together, but the moment we saw and talked to each other we knew that's when we really were together. It's the whole world was black-and-white sort of deal. I don't know. Guess I was never good with words like she was.

A year since we met, I smiled back at her, taking her hand and we hopped into the car to go to the planetarium, but my mind was going back in time. A year ago. Three-hundred and sixty-five days ago.

.

.

.

I didn't know why I was there. It was pouring rain and I couldn't stop fidgeting as I stood on the sidewalk across the street.

Admission Special: 50% off for adults!

The weight of ten dollars in quarters was heavy in my pocket, but the craving was heavier. I tapped my leg impatiently as I glanced further down the street to see the gas station. They'd have my brand—crisp and ready for ignition.

I told my ex that I would quiet. I had been clean for two months out of our five months, but it changed when I caught a man's pants down, his dick deep in her, and her glaring at me, glaring at me like how dare I find her cheating on me. She told me to get out, didn't even have the nerve to be ashamed, and that I forced her to cheat because…

What isn't wrong with you, Ymir? What isn't?!

Now here I was, walking to the gas station, ready to blow smoke through my body, cloud it and lose the edge of everything.

Here I was, I chuckled, listening to the absolute hush of the storm, hesitating about getting a pack with what was in my pocket or going to a stupid Planetarium. I don't know how stupid planets or stars could help me.

My hands kept shaking and my throat was constricting the more I waited. I needed to smoke—need—

You need to stop smoking. You need to get in control of your life, Ymir, but I can help! I can—

"I can fucking do it myself," I seethed, stamping a puddle with my shoes and walking across the street to the damn place. I could already see her fucking smug smile at the thought that she was the only one who could fix me, that I only quit because of her stupid ass, and that I'd break the moment she left me.

I swung the door open and strode in, dripping with water, and feeling disgusted with the clothes that were clinging to me. The person at admissions looked surprised if not a little judgmental.

"Here," I fished the change out of my pocket and slapped it onto the counter. Suspiciously, the attendant counted it out and printed me a ticket. I took it and went through the empty building. Who'd want to go here during a shitty day like this? Apparently me.

I couldn't even focus on the damn pictures or anything. I just had to walk. Sitting around would only make me wish I bought a pack.

Walk.

Walk.

Just keep fucking walking.

I kept going until I stepped into the main room that was inky dark with only a little slideshow of stars and planets above on the ceiling. On the side of the door was a sign—next showing in twenty minutes.

"What a waste of my money," I growled and was about to turn until I heard a gasp. I glanced over my back, away from the light of the door, but couldn't see anything. I walked back into the darkness of the room and there was another sniffle.

Was someone crying in here?

"I-I'm sorry." Her voice was soft and weak. I still couldn't find her, but she sounded young. I stepped near the seating isles, trying to peer through the darkness until I saw a blob of a person. The projection on the ceiling glowed brightly with some sort of star or thing and I saw her face.

She wasn't a child.

"Why're you apologizing?" I wish that someone else had said those words to me instead of a strange, but I guess it was ok.

"I—I—" whoa, she was crying pretty hard.

"Why're you crying?"

"I-I'm sorry!" She whimpered and I realized it came out harsher than I intended. I huffed, sitting at the end of the isles, staring at her.

"No… I didn't mean it like that. I meant—will you tell me why you're crying?"

She shook her head.

"That's fine. You don't have to tell me." Talking to someone, seeing their issues…it was a lot easier to distract myself that way than deal with my own. A very grateful distraction.

"Y—You can leave… I—I'm waiting for the next showing," she patted at her eyes with the oversized sleeves of her sweater.

"I missed mine, too." She was trying so hard to seem strong and that it was okay she was upset, but it was a lie. I knew it. She must've knew it, too.

"I—I—I don't want to sound mean…b—but you don't seem like the person that's into this stuff," her voice was so broken in more ways than one. It was like a flower crushed under foot, overshadowed by bigger things, and yet I could feel like it was still reaching for the sun. A reason to not be so sad.

I knew how it was.

"Nah, you're right, I'm not," I shrugged.

"Wh—Why're you here?"

Why was I here?

To stop smoking? That was a bunch of bullshit. This stupid place wouldn't help me overcome my addiction.

"I heard you crying." It was partially correct. I didn't want to tell a stranger my woes.

The girl was quiet, trying to cease her crying, and I will be honest—it was annoying. It was infuriating to see her trying to stuff it all back into that overflowing bottle I knew was there.

"It's fine. You can cry."

"E-Eh?"

"Cry if you need."

"Th-That's so embarrassing…" and I heard something bubble out of her lips. It was genuine, kind, and a bit choked up. It wasn't musical. It wasn't like the sun shone on me then. It was a tired, broken laugh, but it was her laugh. A laugh that made me smile.

"Why're you here then?" I asked. I guess she was letting me in now because she wasn't pushing me away.

"I—Its somewhere I've always wanted to go…"

"To go cry? Seriously?"

She laughed again and it was a little louder, vibrating off the walls, filling the very emptiness of space itself that flashed across the ceiling.

"N-No… Just a place…"

"Oh yeah?

"Y-Yeah."

It was easy talking to her and we kept slowly talking about everything but nothing at the same time. Social jousting is what I think my grandfather said, where you talk to someone about one subject that's actually entirely another. Never understood it now. When she said something I knew it meant another and I could only see as far as she wanted me to.

Then, if it was possible, the room got darker and the next show began.

"Is it ok?" She asked as she stood up, going to sit by me, and I nodded.

So we sat there, heads filled up with darkness, seeing on the light of stars that we'd never reach, never touch, and never be.

And she finally broke down the wall I always knew was there. I could only ever wonder who had tried, who had never seen past it, and who she ever let past as she spilled her feelings like ink to me, eyes never leaving the Heavens.

"I already saw it before," she told me and I glanced over, not caring for the show, and I saw it—a swollen lip, black eye. Her cheek had a cut on it with a tiny band-aid to try and hold back the world of hurt.

"Th—They said we're all made of stardust…and that made me happy. It makes me feel so small and that everything is even tinier… There are stars burning, planets orbiting…they're so far away, we only know something so small…It makes me feel…okay…to know that what's going on now isn't all of life."

Her voice even frailer but her words were something that branded itself into my mind. I didn't know her name, she didn't know mine, but I understood her now.

I watched as her hand went up to her cheek, feeling the cut, and that oversized sweater went down and I saw a chain-link of self-inflicted loathing on her arm.

"What's your name?"

She didn't even look at me.

"Historia." She said.

History.

Her whole body was a history book of abuse and self-harm. She was the embodiment of two ounces dream and a swimming pool of pain.

"My name is Ymir," I told her. My words burned inside my heart like something hot shot through it.

Historia was problematic. I could see it by the way she flinched when I moved. I could see it by the way she had to keep glancing at me, afraid I might suddenly do something.

Fix you.

That was the words my ex told me and I wonder how many people told Historia they'd fix her like she was broken.

"I know we just met and had some heart to heart," I licked my lips and she finally looked at me, downcast, shriveled like a picked flower, "but can we get coffee after this?"

"I-In the rain?" She spoke so fast as if doubting my intentions.

She was right though—who'd want to do something nice out in the rain?

Who'd want to do something positive with a negative?

Who'd want to be friends with a problematic shit?

"Doesn't matter," I said, "I like the rain."

And she said words that I loved.

"I do, too."

.

.

.

A year later she said the same words when I asked her something that billions of years of stardust, evolution, climate, meteors, pain, hurt, and love had amounted to.