Mind Constellations

"Who's going to love you if not me?!"

The words hit me harder than a slap.

Silence swallowed the room.

"You..." My throat tightened. "You don't get to say that."

Sol's breathing grew uneven, but he didn't look away.

"You don't."

I laughed—a broken, ugly sound that barely resembled one.

"I gave you everything."

My voice cracked.

"I left my home for you. I left the people who raised me. I stopped talking to everyone who mattered because you said they didn't understand us."

I took another shaky breath.

"I trusted you."

The words barely came out.

"I asked you why Crowe left."

Nothing.

"I asked what happened to Jericho."

Nothing.

"I asked why every time I remembered something, you looked terrified."

Nothing.

"You never answered me."

My hands trembled violently.

"You just smiled."

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"And every single time... I believed you."

Sol flinched.

"Then I found your diary."

The color drained from his face.

"The lies."

A step forward.

"The experiments."

Another.

"The Ora-."

"...The orange juice," Sol whispered.

"The orange juice."

Everything finally made sense.

"I thought I was losing my mind."

My voice shook with every word.

"I thought the paranoia was just anxiety."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

"But it wasn't."

"I kept feeling someone watching me."

I turned toward them.

"Someone standing outside my door."

"You."

"I kept thinking someone was touching my things."

"You."

"I kept thinking someone was in my room while I slept."

"...You."

Every accusation landed like a knife.

"You manipulated me."

Silence.

"You isolated me."

Silence.

"You watched me."

Silence.

"You poisoned me."

The room felt suffocating.

"You made me believe the only person I could ever rely on..."

I pointed at them.

"...was you."

My voice finally broke.

"I loved you."

The confession hung between us like a corpse.

"I loved you so much that I stopped recognizing myself."

My eyes burned.

"And the worst part?"

I laughed through the tears.

"I still don't know what's real anymore."

A long silence.

"...What really happened between you and Jericho?"

Sol lowered his head.

"...Please."

No answer.

"What did you do?"

His shoulders shook.

"What did you do to Crowe?"

Nothing.

"What did you do to me?"

Finally—

"Why..."

His voice was barely audible.

"...Why do you keep looking for Ichabod?"

I stared.

"What?"

"You keep saying, Crowe."

"You keep saying Jericho."

"You keep saying, Ichabod."

His eyes were red now.

"But you never say my name."

They laughed.

It sounded painfully close to crying.

"You think you're the only one who sacrificed everything?"

His voice rose.

"I buried my own life!"

"I erased pieces of myself!"

"I became someone I hated!"

"I lied until I couldn't remember what the truth looked like!"

Every word echoed.

"I carried every sin because I thought..."

His voice cracked.

"...if you ever found out..."

They took one slow step closer.

"...you'd leave me."

"I should have left."

The words escaped before I could stop them.

Sol froze.

Completely.

Something inside them shattered.

"...Don't."

His whisper was almost inaudible.

"I should've left the first time you lied."

"...Don't."

"The first time you watched me."

"Please..."

"The first time you decided you knew what was best for me."

"I'm begging you."

"The first time you stole my choices."

Tears streamed freely down Sol's face now.

"I did it because I loved you."

"No."

"I did!"

"No."

"I couldn't lose you!"

"You never had me."

The words struck harder than any scream.

Sol staggered backward as if I'd hit them.

"No..."

"You loved the version of me that obeyed you."

Silence.

"You didn't love me."

Another step back.

"You loved someone you could keep."

The room was impossibly quiet.

Then, so softly it almost disappeared—

"...Who's going to love you..."

Sol's voice dissolved into sobs.

[Name] gathered the papers scattered across the room—stacking, sorting, discarding. Some went to the trash. Some to recycling.

That was when [Name] found the box labeled Memories. Memories [Name] had no desire to revisit.

Still, if it was to be recycled, it had to be opened.

Letters. Photographs. Small trinkets. Then a journal that carried more weight than it should.

And like those memories, [Name] cut themselves—a paper cut. Not deep, but deep enough to sink.

[Name] looked at their finger. Watched it without reaction, without movement, as blood slipped free and fell.

[Name] examined it—the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The paper cut was bigger than they thought.

It’s just a paper cut, you told themselves.

But why did it hurt more than it looked?

This wasn’t about the paper cut, was it?

“[Name]—” His voice softened when he found you. “What are you doing, Starlight…”

He stopped. His eyes fell to your hand.

“Starlight… you’re bleeding. A paper cut?” He reached for you gently. “Let’s get you a bandage.”

[Name] followed him back to the kitchen, rinsing their hands beneath the tap. The water ran clear, but the memory didn’t.

The dried blood clinging to [Name]’s skin reminded them of before— when it hadn’t been a paper cut, when it hadn’t been just one.

Old scars surfaced in their mind like ghosts, uninvited and familiar.

Crowe noticed the way [Name]’s shoulders tensed. The way their gaze lingered too long on their hands.

“Hey,” he said quietly, wrapping the bandage with care. Not accusing. Not panicked. Just there.

“You don’t have to be alone in this.”

Crowe kept his thumb steady against the bandage, like he was afraid too much pressure might make them disappear.

“It’s small,” he said softly, though his eyes stayed on their face, not their hand. “But you’ve been gone all morning.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening just a little. “That’s what scared me.”

The tap clicked off. The kitchen felt too quiet.

“I’m not mad,” he added quickly, almost tripping over the words. “I just—”

He exhaled.

“I know what it looks like when someone says it’s nothing and means it’s everything.”

Crowe glanced at their hands again, then away, as if giving you space even in the middle of worry.

“If this is just a paper cut, okay. We’ll treat it like one.”

His voice dropped.

“But if it’s not… you don’t have to explain it all at once. Or at all. Just—don’t shut me out.”

He rested his forehead briefly against yours, careful, grounding.

“You’re here. You’re safe. And I’m not going anywhere, Starlight. Not today.”

His hand lingered, warm and steady, a quiet promise he didn’t trust words alone to keep.

Crowe finished wrapping the bandage, slower than necessary, like the moment mattered.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want to pretend I didn’t notice.”

He met [Name]’s eyes then—open, worried, sincere.

“I can handle a paper cut. I can handle a bad day. Even a quiet one.”

His thumb brushed their wrist, grounding, not restraining.

“What I can’t handle is thinking you’re hurting and I don’t know.”

He swallowed, breath uneven for just a second.

“So I need one thing from you.”

Not an order. Not a demand. A request.

“If it gets bad… if it starts feeling like before, I need you to tell me.”

He shook his head gently.

“You don’t have to explain it perfectly. You don’t have to justify it. Just… tell me.”

His voice softened.

“I’m not asking to fix you. I’m asking to be here when it matters.”

Then, quieter still:

“Can you do that, Starlight?”

When they finally looked up, he met their eyes and didn’t look away.

He leaned his forehead against theirs for a moment, still saying nothing.

The promise was there anyway.