Inwardly, Mitchel wanted to snort at Winston’s quick acceptance of playing storyteller but didn’t dare to speak yet. He wanted Winston to not focus on anything too serious while he was in pain.

“I’ve always thought about what that really means,” Winston continued, his eyebrows slightly scrunching up in thought. “Do we have the same chemicals that were produced by stars? Are our cells lined with memories of the Big Bang? What does it mean to be a product of the night sky?”

Winston paused, as if he wanted input, but Mitchel was so lost that he had nothing to say. He instead softly sighed in relief. The pained quality of Winston’s voice had diminished greatly. His eyes were losing its glassiness.

“I don’t know what’s actually special about being made of stardust,” Winston continued. “I think it gives us some kind of importance, like we’re a part of something greater. Made from the same cloth as something so immense as the universe.”

“Is what you’re made of so special?” Mitchel wondered, his own heart calming. “The parts of our body? Or what we do with it?”

“I think I’m just a little selfish,” Winston chuckled, his voice tired and soft. “I want to be associated with something I will never grasp, something so far away as space. I’ll never see it.”

“You’ll be an astronaut or something,” Mitchel retorted immediately. “You’ll see it.”

Winston shook his head with a small smile.

“I’d never be cut out to become an astronaut. You have to be physically strong. You have to be smart. You have to qualify in so many realms to be one of the lucky few that goes up there.”

Mitchel hummed and rubbed shallow circles on Winston’s palm. He could feel Winston’s body lose more and more tenseness by the second.

“You’re right. You’d be a professor instead,” Mitchel said with conviction.

Winston smiled lightly. If sweat was not continuing to pour from his forehead, Mitchel could almost pretend this was a sweet moment alone with his closest friend. Winston’s eyes were slipping closed, the words passed between them lulling him into sleep.

“I wish I could be. But I won’t be that either,” Winston sighed, his smile a bit bitter. “I’ve already missed so much of my education. I only finished freshman year.”

“You’re smart,” Mitchel argued, undeterred.

“Astronomy is physics and math. So much math,” Winston said in rebuttal. “I just know facts about the stars and can point out some constellations. That’s not really astronomy.”

Mitchel frowned, his heart skipping over his own insecurities. He had never heard this side from Winston. It always amazed Mitchel how many facts Winston could recite about the universe, even after living with him for four years. Winston had always been so sure of his knowledge, had always been in the teacher role for the younger kids. Even for Mitchel.

“Well… Those facts mean something to me,” Mitchel admitted. “I don’t understand a lot of science… I was thrown into this mess while I was learning pre-algebra.”

Mitchel gave him a wiry smile and instinctively scratched his neck with his free hand.

“But you made it enjoyable,” Mitchel continued.

“Enjoyable?” Winston questioned with a little cheeky disbelief in his tone.

“Well, tolerable.”

Winston’s eyes were completely shut at this point, but he smiled. Mitchel swayed forward a little as the vehicle began to slow, but Winston did not stir. He was once again unconscious.

Cherzil cleared his throat softly, causing Mitchel to turn towards him.

“We are here,” Cherzil said, keeping his voice low as not to wake Winston. “He looks stable once more, but even after cleaning and disinfecting the wound, the blue color still persists. He will need to stay at least a few nights at the Facility.”

Mitchel worried at the inside of his lip, expecting as much, but nodded.

“They can fix this?” Mitchel asked tightly.

Cherzil frowned.

“I am unsure. They will need to test exactly what got into his system to confirm as much, which will take time,” Cherzil said honestly.

“Can I go inside…?” Mitchel asked.

Cherzil shook his head immediately.

“There are many cases of sickness in the Facility. Though it cannot be transferred between species, it is highly transmittable within your species,” Cherzil said. “If you would like to remain healthy for his recovery, I would suggest staying away.”

Mitchel pressed his lips together in worry.

“Will you… Could you let me know how he is doing?” Mitchel asked, his Rwequekian still shaky with the constant fog over his mind.

Cherzil’s eyebrow raised a little. Behind him, the door to the back of the vehicle opened, exposing them all to the chill of the night.

“I mean… I know that isn’t your job. Clearly,” Mitchel quickly backtracked. “How will we be informed of his condition then?”

Cherzil began unclipping the stretcher from the base of the vehicle and prepping Winston to leave.

“I have your ID number now,” Cherzil said and Mitchel suppressed a shiver at the reminder. “I will give it to the Facility, and they will let you know of his progression. Is that sufficient?”

His tone was heightened with annoyance. Mitchel nodded and his face flushed.

“In the best-case scenario, you will not have to interact with me again and get your family member back in a week’s time,” Cherzil announced and pulled the stretcher forward. Mitchel jolted with it, as he had not let go of Winston’s hand. “But the 37th Mercos offered you a job. Do you intend to take it?”

Cherzil’s voice was low, almost dangerous, and Mitchel found it hard to swallow.

“I am— I am unsure,” he replied honestly.

“You best give it some thought,” Cherzil drawled. “Working for the Alforah house is no easy task.”

Unsure of his voice, Mitchel nodded. From the front of the vehicle, Yuen appeared, a look of disgust on his face at Winston’s wound. Very quickly, nervousness flooded Mitchel’s body. He was about to cast Winston off to these people. And he felt extremely conflicted about letting go of his hand.

“Yuen, I will deal with the patient and the paperwork at the Facility. You can drive the human back to his neighborhood,” Cherzil commanded.

Yuen shifted his disgust towards Cherzil.

“I’m not a driving service,” he spat, his nasally voice cracking through the silence.

“It’s past curfew, the human needs an escort,” Cherzil snapped back. “Do you really want to have to do the paperwork?”

Yuen seemed to consider this, his left eye twitching in irritation.

“I’ll take him back,” he finally conceded with a haughty grumble, rounding the vehicle once more.

Mitchel watched him leave, silently thankful that he was not leaving Winston with him. But despite the glimmers of kindness Cherzil had shown, Mitchel eyed him warily. He was entrusting the life of his friend to him.

“It would best to get going now,” Cherzil said, gesturing to Mitchel’s hand which was still interlocked with Winston’s.

Mitchel riled up the courage from within him and squeezed Winston’s hand before letting it go. Cherzil waited a moment, watching Mitchel, before pulling Winston completely out of the vehicle.

“You understand I am entrusting you with his life?” Mitchel said, his voice low and demanding acknowledgement.

“I do,” Cherzil said, his words like silk. “You have no other choice.”

Mitchel bristled.

“I will answer to my own mistakes,” Mitchel continued, not allowing any fear to waver his voice. “Do not hurt him because of me.”

Cherzil’s facial expression did not change, but he bowed his head slightly.

“I can promise this of my own actions,” he said. “But I cannot promise the same of my colleagues.”

Mitchel looked at Winston once more, burning his image into his memory, and then turned to face Cherzil for a final time.

“Then we expect the same of each other,” he said. Switching to English, he whispered his goodbye and squeezed Winston’s shoulder.

“I will see you soon,” he promised.

It went against every instinct in his body, but he let Winston go and settled back into the dark vehicle. Cherzil pushed Winston’s stretcher away from his view and locked eyes with him before shutting the back doors.

Mitchel sat down on the cool metal ground and pulled his knees to his chest. In the blackness of the car with the outside world inaudible, Mitchel felt incredibly small. With the weight of the world on his shoulder, the micrograms of stars within him, he only did what he could and exist with the decisions he made that day.