Chapter 38— Shoot / Star Takes a Rest

"Shoot. You'd better get up here."

After reading the text, Yuri slipped the phone back inside his pocket, rose from the bed, and practically sprinted up the stairs. He rounded the corner and stood in front of the stairs. He looked into the living room.

Yomotsu was leaning forward at the edge of the couch cushion, with his hands over his face. His elbows were resting on his knees, and Yuri could see from the movement of his arms that his hands were shaking. Through those shaking hands, Yomotsu's sobbing came out muffled. There were a couple dark spots on Yomotsu's khakis, from where some of his tears must have landed.

Mercy was still next to him, although she was not touching him. She looked over Yomotsu's shoulder and noticed Yuri. Her expression was soft.

Yuri moved to Yomotsu's side and knelt down by him. From the floor, Yuri placed a hand firmly on Yomotsu's shoulder. Yomotsu kept his face in his hands. His crying could be heard more clearly from this shorter distance.

A quick glance toward Mercy was enough to reveal her condition. She stared forward, not at anything in particular, not with an intense glare but with a sort of loose helplessness. She occasionally looked at Yomotsu. She occasionally looked at Yuri. But as she pressed her thumb into her palm, one leg crossed under the other while the other leg dangled, she neither pulled back nor pushed forward. She was, alternatively, like an orange-brown Autumn leaf on still water; it felt to Yuri as if she might go away forever if the wind blew her.

Yuri looked back at Yomotsu. He squeezed a little harder on his friend's shoulder. He heard the sobbing weaken a little. Yomotsu then lowered his hands from his face, just for a moment—and Yuri could see Yomotsu's red expression, scared like a child abandoned in a grocery store, sad in a way Yuri had never seen him sad before. Yomotsu went forward and wrapped his arms around Yuri. Yomotsu's head went into Yuri's shoulder, and Yomotsu cried into his friend's suit. Yuri held him and, over Yomotsu's shoulder, looked at Mercy. Then he closed his eyes. He did not want to look at her—not right now. It was not right.

"I'm sorry," Yomotsu mumbled into Yuri's clothes.

Yuri held him tightly and asked, quietly, "What for?"

"You have to see me like this, and… I can't imagine that is a pretty sight."

Yuri held the embrace for as long as Yomotsu's needed. To Yuri's surprise, that was not long at all. Yomotsu quickly pulled his arms from behind Yuri and straightened his posture. He sat upright in the couch, and Yuri, watching Yomotsu, rose to a full standing position.

"Sorry," Yomotsu repeated, facing forward. He rubbed his eyes and wiped his face off on his arm. "I'm… I'm fine."

Mercy stood up and created some distance between herself and the two. She went around the couch and approached the edge of the carpet, where the living room was bridged to the little dining room. Yuri looked down at Yomotsu, who now turned his face up toward his friend. That way it appeared, Yomotsu was looking him in the eyes. His face was still red from the sobbing. He offered a light smile. "I'm fine," he repeated.

Yomotsu nodded and the turned his head back toward Mercy. She was standing by the dining room table. Her head was low, and her right hand was clasped around her left forearm. "I should probably get going," Mercy said, quietly. "I have… A lot of things I need to get to, and I'm sure you two will need some time to yourselves…"

She looked up and caught Yuri's eyes on her. She did not smile or frown. She just looked back at him, and then Yuri noticed her eyes flicker back to Yomotsu. She moved toward the door. He watched her put her shoes back on, sometime during which he heard Yomotsu rise from the couch. Mercy placed one hand on the door knob and, with the other, made a little wave toward Yuri. She lifted the hand halfway up, and her fingers were curled in just slightly.

"Bye," she said quietly.

"Goodbye," Yuri returned.

Yomotsu said nothing. Yuri turned toward him, and he saw that Yomotsu was indeed facing where she stood. His face was turned toward the door, and Yuri was watching his face when she closed that door and left the house. It was only after the soft retreat that Yuri looked back and, for a short while, stared at the white door and thought about the person who had just stood there.

"Yuri…"

Yuri turned to look at his friend. Immediately, Yomotsu clung onto him again; this time the hug was more desperate. He began to immediately cry into Yuri's suit, this time as they both stood, this time loud.

"I,… I… Don't know why…"

Yuri held Yomotsu with one hand, and the other hand he used to gently stroke the back of his friend's head. "Shhh," he said. "You talk too much."

It could never be accurately said that a star takes a rest.

Although appearing to creatures on earth as stationary, stars are always moving. Their cores are churning, endlessly converting elements and radiating energy. They draw forth other bodies in space and inspire a following orbit, and even if it looks like a star is at rest, the star is at the very least moving vicariously moving through that which it moves.

A celebrity is commonly called a "star"—a bright, beaming object that stands out amidst the dull darkness. That is what the common people are next to a star—indistinguishable, nothingness. A "star" athlete is the only one the people see, unless another body in the star's orbit happens to momentarily pass in front of it. Eclipses are fleeting, however, for those who are not "stars."

If a star took a rest, it would not really be a star. After all, what is a star if it is not bright? Brightness is not effortless. Without the constant effort of the star, no light would surface, and it would simply not be a star. What it would be is irrelevant—but, I suppose, you could say in that situation, "the star is taking a rest."

But it really, honestly, could never be said that a star takes a rest.

Always burning, always emitting, always giving life to the world, always guiding the traveler, always telling the futures of men and kingdoms, always inspiring exploration of the unknown—the star that takes a rest from these engagements could hardly be anything more than space dust. Perhaps what was thought to be a star was just debris that happened, in the light of another true star, to glimmer for a few moments, to reflect a touch of that real light which is not its own but another's—and maybe that is why it was mistaken as a star.

It could be said that a star that rests tends to stay at rest—but that is oxymoronic, because it could never be said that a star takes a rest.

"Yomotsu… Are you awake?"

No answer came through the closed door.

"Yomotsu?"

He was lying on his side, eyes closed, a sheet covering him from the waist-down. He had not bothered to change into his usual pajamas, and so he was wearing a grey t-shirt instead of his Transformation Suit top. Yomotsu reached over and gently squeezed the end of the mattress.

"I'm going for a walk. Come out if you would like to join me."

Yomotsu squeezed the mattress tighter.

Four days felt like four months, even if most of it was spent in bed. He rose to eat, but even then he ate little. Yomotsu played some video games, but everything connected to a memory, and every memory pulled at him too hard. Time dragged on, aimlessly—and, unsure of where this time came from or where it would go, he spent a disproportionate amount of time deciding whether to think critically about where the time should go or whether to let time simply pass on. A classic question: do you pull the plug? If so, when?

But when you have your hand always on the plug, four days can feel like four hours. He was living in June 25th, even if it was now June 29th. Any time that passed by was inconsequential—nothing happened that mattered. If your house gets hit by a meteor, you won't remember how you got a paper cut the next day. The positive opposite would be true, but in Yomotsu's case, he certainly felt like a crater had been made in him from some burning rock.

Four days passed since the meteor crashed—and he had scarcely left his room. He told Yuri he just wanted privacy, but really, he only wanted privacy so far as it prevented additional pain. What he really wanted he could not have, and to pretend that he could have it would be to delude himself. Really, he wanted to see Mercy, to speak with her, to find out that the meteor from four days ago was a dream, maybe even a joke. It would turn out to be a cruel joke, but he would only have to hate her for a little while. And even then, he would not really be able to hate her if she had been joking.

Whether he hated her now was another topic—he knew he had nothing really to hate her for, but he knew it would be easier to hate her, at least hypothetically. This idea felt wrong, however, because the thought of hating the young woman he loved not so long ago and still loved hurt him terribly. If he kept on loving her, he would have endure losing someone he really loved. If he now concluded that he hated her, losing her now and for the foreseeable future would be easier to deal with, but then he would hurt more for having to lose the love that was.

Yomotsu chose the honest route. He did not hate her. He loved her, but he was confused by her. And he was worried about her.

"I'm sorry, Yomotsu… But, I realized a while ago that I don't know how I feel any more, and I need to take some time to myself to understand who I am. As much as I really have appreciated all that you've done for me, I know I can't really understand who I am if I'm still in this relationship—or in any relationship, right now… I… I'm sorry…"

Yomotsu slid his hand back across the bed, until his hand found his side. He then brought his hand up to his face, and he rubbed his forehead.

"I don't know how I feel about us as a couple, but I want to still be your friend, if you would want that. I understand if you wouldn't, though… Just know that I will be there for you if you need me, okay? I just… I can't pretend to love you, if I'm not sure."

But that is not exactly what she told Yuri, right?

Had Mercy really lost that much certainty over the five days? She sounded like she loved Yomotsu much more when she spoke with Yuri, but when she actually told Yomotsu, the doubt was clearly in her voice.

Yuri told him everything in good detail. Yomotsu wanted to act more appreciative toward Yuri, but his mind was preoccupied. Yuri said he understood. He gave Yomotsu space, but he also tried to help. Yomotsu started to feel bad for rejecting the help, but he also did not know if he could blame himself for wanting to hide away from even Yuri. No one could help him right now, not even Mercy at this point. When a meteor hits, not a lot helps.

The difference between a meteor and a shooting star is, disregarding what a knowledgeable astronomer might say, mostly in intent and perception. A meteor is dangerous and destroys. A shooting star grants wishes. Meteors create craters; shooting stars create images of little crayon drawings of an ideal night sky.

A falling star, then, is a shooting star that is not going somewhere. Some would use the terms "falling" and "shooting" interchangeably, but anyone familiar with trajectory knows the difference. Something shot is going along a gradual curve to a clear end point. Something falling, if represented as a curve, would not get very far laterally but would sink to the depths of the y-axis.

So, Yomotsu was hit by a meteor—but was the meteor Mercy, or was the meteor her sudden doubts and feelings of needing to find herself?

Or is this a poor metaphor, and perhaps Yomotsu was himself the flaming object in space—but if so, was Yomotsu a meteor, a shooting star, or a falling star?

Or was he a star that was taking a rest (which, as we know, is not a star at all)?

He shone as the 12th; he created a following orbit. He acted as a guide for justice. Then something happened, and the star went to sleep and rarely went out of his room.

Yuri went for a walk, and the star took a rest.

"Thanks for everything, Yomotsu. You have been so great to me."

Yomotsu turned his head and buried his face into the pillow. He began to cry. He grasped at his grey hair and tugged with his fingers. He brought his knees in, lifting his rear a little higher into the air, and began to cry into his pillow.

"Why 'have' I been so great to you? What made it 'have'? What could possibly have happened, so fast…? Did I push too far? What were the warnings…?"

If a star takes a rest, then it was never a true star at all. He thought about this himself for a while, but that did not spur him into action.

"Was I not interesting enough? Was I not considerate enough? Did I not give you room to be yourself?"

She never said anything, except she said he was the best person in her life, that she loved him, that she never met anyone like him, that she enjoyed most of the things he enjoyed and that she enjoyed that he enjoyed most of the things she enjoyed…

To a child, a shooting star and a falling star might look the same, but Yomotsu knew the difference. One was going somewhere, and one fell flat. One was full of hope, and one only looked like hope.

At least, that is how he felt. By he knew that this relationship was separate from his success as a hero, that being righteous enough is not what love is about. Still, he felt nothing like a hero and everything like a young man who just had his heart hit by a meteor.

Mercy said she was breaking up with him because she needed to find herself and because she was having doubts about whether she loved him. She said she still wanted to be his friend and that she would be there for him.

He could not hate her for that. He was still worried. He wondered what could have happened, if any of this had been a result of something he had done wrong. This was the first serious romance Yomotsu had ever encountered, and it was cut so short.

He never saw her face. He never saw her body. He only heard her beautiful voice, and he only knew her happy laughter.

"It did not have to end this way," Yomotsu whispered to himself.

And that was when Yomotsu realized that he had to be a real star, after all, and that even a star taking a rest was never at rest.

After all, only a real star could burn this much inside.