here was a faint, soft rasp to Aremu’s voice. He’d been quiet for a little while – at least, he thought, since they’d come up the stairs. He looked over and up at him now, and then back to the telescope.
Not so different? he thought. A telescope from a spyglass, or looking up from falling down? It seemed even to him a silly question.
Aremu had seen Phaeta too now, and he sounded as breathless with it as he had. There was a shape of a grin in his words, and a laugh somewhere in them, he thought; he only managed to tear his eyes away from Phaeta, laughing himself, when Aremu kissed their hands. It was strangely easy now to laugh, thinking of all the knots he’d worked himself into on the deck, thinking how he’d – dumberse! – how the first thing he’d ever said to Aremu, nearly, this time around, was poetry. He thought of what Aremu must’ve been feeling, scrambling up that silverfish balloon, speaking of the observatory, of things left unseen. If there was pain to thinking of it, there was relief, too.
He didn’t say anything – didn’t need to, and couldn’t – as Aremu let go, as he went to the telescope and sat. Tom came a little closer, but he didn’t intrude. He watched for now, a softer smile playing out on his lips, one he’d’ve chid himself silly for, if it hadn’t felt so right.
He couldn’t see his face from here. He could see the long fingers of his one hand brushing reverently over pieces he didn’t know the names for; he came a little closer still, just to watch the light gleam off brass and polished wood. He saw Aremu tilt his head to look through the lens, watched him move a piece with his fingers as he looked. Tom watched him for a moment, then looked up into the sky, trying to imagine what he saw.
He couldn’t.
I shouldn’t be here, he had the strangest urge to say. They don’t even let my kind on campus. He swallowed tightly, looking up where full waxing Benea was just gliding into view, pinprick stars visible now out of the circle of her light. I don’t know how that works, he had the urge to say; I’m not supposed to know how that works. I probably couldn’t grasp it even if I tried.
There was something stiff about the set of Aremu’s neck when he drew back. He was still, and when he looked back, Tom could see something gleaming on his lashes. Come, he said then, unfurling that long-fingered hand. It was magnetic: he came closer and took his hand, and something inside him drowned out the thoughts.
Somehow then he was sitting on the stool, his own fingertips brushing hesitantly over the telescope. I’ll smudge it, he wanted to blurt out. I’ll break it, or something.
It’s so big, another, munger part of him wanted to say. Even before, I’d’ve felt small compared to this. And compared to everything up there?
The night breeze was chill, especially up here, but Aremu’s hand and his voice were warm, guiding him to piece that moved, letting him feel the notches. Look here, he’d said. He hesitated only a moment. I’m not supposed to look, he wanted to say, stubborn, even despite all the books he’d read, all the monite he’d spoken, even despite all of it. But he looked, when Aremu’s hand came to rest reassuringly on his thigh.
He looked, blinking his lashes out of the way, squinting and then relaxing. He turned the piece; it went from blurry to blurrier, then –
He let out a funny sort of noise, like a bird’s chirp in his throat.
“There she is.” He felt Aremu’s head settle in his lap; unthinking, he rested his hand in the other man’s hair, stroked his fingers through. “My gods,” he breathed. It can’t be real, he wanted to say. That’s not it; that’s not possible. “It’s so far away,” he whispered instead, trying to fight a prickling heat behind his eyes.
This isn’t magic, is it? he wondered. Neither of us had to cast to see this. Warm, soft colors bled through his field. Anyone, he thought, could see this.
She didn’t look like he’d expected her to; it wasn’t so clear as the ink drawings in the books he’d seen since. It was vague enough, strange enough, to be real. It had to be real, because it wasn’t anything he’d expected it to be.
He wasn’t sure how long he looked. He stroked his thumb over Aremu’s cheek, easing away and glancing back up at the sky. “The first bright star from the horizon,” he murmured suddenly, remembering Aremu’s old words. It was a few moments; he shifted, looking down, cradling his cheek. “Let’s find the hammer,” he said softly.