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You’re maybe a little tipsy and maybe very giggly as you and Isabeau not-so-subtly sneak out of the inn in the middle of the night like a pair of forbidden lovers. Nothing about this is forbidden or even secret— one of you will likely end up mentioning your little outing in the morning, to which Mira will coo adoringly, Bonbon will mime gagging, and Odile will make a teasing and probably very accurate comment— so the mental comparison makes you laugh. Isa promptly and loudly shushes you for your outburst, but when you look over your shoulder at him he has the same goofy smile as always, so you laugh again and he does too. Both of you ignore the perplexed look of the night shift receptionist, and you just barely remember to triple check that you closed the inn’s door behind you on the way out.
The air is fresh, the wind carrying the sounds of not-so-distant waves. You’re close enough to Bambouche, now, that the sound of the ocean can gently sing you to sleep and fish is included in almost every meal. Last week you made Isa try one of Bon’s signature fish heads. You grinned and poked at him as he hovered it in front of his face, unsure of where to start. You already knew he wouldn’t find it that bad, really, but you were still a bit disappointed when you didn’t get a big reaction as he bit in to make up for his lack of surprise at a fish head being available as an option in the first place. He must have seen it in the House.
There's not really a nice place for you two to sit yourselves down, no lush grass or shaded meadows between stretches of trees. This region of Vaugarde is mostly rocky hills that you know give way to beaches at some point, but they're not close enough to be seen from the point you choose to stargaze. It's just outside of town with a view of the buildings below you and the stars clear and bright above your head, and it would be a little better, you think, if you had brought a blanket to lay on instead of cold, rough ground.
Isa doesn't seem to have any such concerns. He settles down like it's as comfortable as his bed in the inn. (Which, actually, is really good. Having a reputation of being “the saviors” can be nice sometimes, even if the concept of being known is still mortifying to you. It makes it more surprising that Isa can relax like this after experiencing soft mattresses again.) You sit down next to him, then recline onto your back, keeping your knees propped up because while it is a warmer night as it creeps closer to summer, sitting on rocks is still cold and uncomfortable.
When you're both settled, you look up.
This has been routine since you left Dormont. Every few days, so long as the sky isn't obscured by trees or clouds, you take the night to watch the stars. Sometimes you bring food, sometimes you don't; sometimes the others come along, but it's usually just you and Isa. He asks you a lot of questions about the stars; Odile does too sometimes, but in a more analytical way, whereas Isa’s are warm like asking someone about their hobbies. (Does stargazing count as a hobby?) Neither press you when you can't remember, which is often.
There's no questions right now, though. You soak in the comforting silence as your eye traces shapes you don't remember in the sky. You linger on each star before moving onto the next, giving each of the billions of eyes staring down at you their due acknowledgement. You wonder if Loop is one of them. You wonder if they are happy.
Probably not, if they have to watch you even still. You wouldn't be. Your performance is long over. There's nothing left to watch.
You're startled into a jump when you hear Isabeau’s voice to your side, delicate and hesitant like you might break if he says the wrong thing. To be fair to him, you might. “Uh, hey, Sif? Can I ask something? About the stars?”
The coarse grass rustles as you flip onto your side to look at him and nod.
He flushes dark as though he hadn't expected you to agree. You don't know why. You always talk about the stars. “Okay! Well, it's just that I always see you look back at this same spot in the sky a lot when we're out at night. Is there something significant about it?”
…You do? You never noticed. Isa really is observant.
“I don't know,” you reply, feeling dumb. Isa points, and your eyes naturally follow towards a section in the sky. It's the one you were just looking at. There's something there. But you can't see it. You can't remember its name.
You frown as you try to connect lines between the stars, but your pictures don't turn into anything coherent or recognizable.
“There's a constellation there, I think,” you add after a period of silence. “But I don't remember what it is. Just that it's important.”
It's important. It is. Because that's your patch of sky, isn't it? Your head starts to ache. You rack your brain for something, anything that might tell you what this is.
“It's— it's like craftology,” you sputter out past a freshly bit lip. “But with stars. There's something that ties you to some of them, it's…”
Come on, Siffrin. Think. A sharp pain hits the back of your eye. You bite the inside of your cheek. You can remember this for him, right? You can try and think of his, too! He loves when words tell him he's going to have a good day. It hurts, but you dig your claws deeper, deeper into the memories you're not allowed to access. You were born in… You're a…
The world starts to spin around you and suddenly you can't think anymore. You feel floaty. You're surrounded by stars. You remember this, searching so hard to recall something that the world disappears from underneath you. You taste sugar and iron. Lines connect the stars at the edges of your vision, but as soon as you look, they vanish. The name, it's on the tip of your tongue. You're a—!
A hand falls on your shoulder. You taste nothing. The pain all but fades.
…What were you just thinking about?
You turn back over to Isa, who has his eyebrows pinched in familiar concern. Did you do something? “Sif? You okay? You were doing the thing again.”
You feel your own eyebrows knit together, and the dull throbbing in your head ebbs in again. “What thing?”
He softens in relief. Look what you did. You worried him. “You're back,” he murmurs, smiling, and yeah, duh, you didn't go anywhere? You only lost track of your thoughts for a second. “It was the thing like when someone asks you stuff about your country and then you talk a little then go all quiet and spacey.” Oh. “Sorry, I should have figured you wouldn't know.”
You don't remember what he asked. You smile anyway. “It's okay, Isa. Maybe I’ll think of it later.”
You fall back into that sweet silence. Isa looks back up at the stars. You just look at him. Maybe it's the alcohol (you didn't have much!), maybe it's the lack of sleep, but he looks like a very good pillow right now. So, without thinking twice, you shuffle over to close the gap and lay your head down on his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead he puts his hand on your head and strokes your hair. You sigh and nuzzle into him.
Isa’s voice gently washes over you again. He’s describing what he sees in the stars above you. You don’t follow his gaze, content to just listen. He tells you about a puppy and a finch and a tree, and so many things that you start to feel kind of warm and fuzzy in your head.
You try to not doze off. You fail miserably.
When you come back to your senses, Isa has stopped counting stars. He’s brushing through your hair with his fingers. You're not sure what time it is, just that it's late. Or early. It depends on perspective, you suppose. There's no clock out here to tell you the time. There's only the stars and moon, which you think you used to know how to read. You don't anymore. It's only when the stars above start to blink out of sight one by one that you realize dawn is about to break.
...You've been out here a long time.
It seems Isa has noticed too. He laughs a little awkwardly when you stir on top of him. “You awake? Sorry. You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Your face feels hot. You shuffle a little to lay your good eye on his face. Good. You’re not the only one blushing.
You whine a little when he suggests returning to the inn, which is more than a little embarrassing, but you know he’s right. Your back is killing you, and if you feel stiff you can’t imagine how he feels having been laying on the ground for who knows how long. Plus, if you stay out any longer, you might fall asleep again or be late for breakfast, which is an offense that Bonnie does not take lightly.
You grab a small rock off the ground as you’re getting up and stash it in your pocket as a memento of your trip. You still haven’t gotten out of your habit of collecting various bits and bobs, but at least this time they’re not ingredients for a bomb.
…Would it be weird if you asked what Isa’s question was earlier? You contemplate on the way back to the inn. He holds your hand in his as the two of you walk. When you think of the conversation your head hurts and you squeeze his hand tightly. He looks over, but doesn’t say anything; you’ve gotten a bit better at properly talking, when something’s really bothering you.
And this. It isn’t really bothering you. Right? Whatever you said. It probably wasn’t important.
You think about it anyway.
You never do ask.