Astronaros watched from the shade of a fig tree as Pneumeros returned from his date with Apollo, cheeks pink and lips twitching with a half-swallowed smile.

It wasn’t like him. Pneumeros didn’t do smiles like that.

And yet, there he was—shoulders lighter, steps loose, sun-kissed in a way that had nothing to do with the actual sun.

Astronaros looked away quickly.

He didn’t like the tightness in his chest. Or the warmth crawling up his neck.

He’d always known this journey would change them. That diving into the divine would tear open parts of themselves they didn’t even know were sewn shut. But he hadn’t thought it would be this.

He hadn’t thought Pneumeros would be the first to drift.

They’d been a pair for so long.

Not a couple. Not quite.

But a duo. Partners in mischief, in magic, in that rare, safe space between Time and Space where only the two of them seemed to fit.

Astronaros didn’t know how to exist outside that orbit.

And now… he wasn’t sure Pneumeros was still circling him.

He tossed a rock into the lake—Poseidon’s fake lake that definitely hadn’t been here last week. It skipped twice before vanishing beneath the unnatural stillness of divine waters.

Behind him, footsteps approached.

Hermes.

Of course.

“Penny for your angst?” Hermes asked, flopping dramatically into the grass beside him.

“Go away.”

“Nope.”

Astronaros didn’t look at him. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

Hermes stretched lazily. “What? The classic ‘my best friend is getting romantically entangled with a group of dangerously hot gods and now I’m left spiraling in repressed feelings and cosmic loneliness’ bit? Oh yeah. Textbook.”

Astronaros scowled. “I’m not jealous.”

“Didn’t say you were. I said repressed feelings. Could be longing. Could be fear. Could be the existential dread of watching someone you love change without you.”

Astronaros stared at the lake. “I hate you.”

“You wish you hated me. I’m delightful.”

There was a pause.

Hermes looked at him sideways. “He’s not leaving you behind, you know.”

Astronaros bit the inside of his cheek. “Isn’t he?”

“No,” Hermes said. “He’s falling forward. You just have to decide if you’re coming with him.”

That sat in Astronaros’s chest like a meteor.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Why?”

“Because…” His voice caught. “If I fall, and it isn’t with him—what if it’s alone?”

Hermes’s voice was soft. “What if it isn’t?”

Astronaros looked at him then, and for a heartbeat, Hermes wasn’t smiling.

He was just there—unreadable, unflinching, and maybe, just maybe, understanding.

Astronaros found Pneumeros sitting at the edge of their tent, knees drawn up, arms loosely around them.

“You okay?” Astro asked, voice low.

Pneumeros blinked up. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About Apollo?”

“No. About you.”

That sent a jolt through Astronaros. “Me?”

Pneumeros nodded. “You’ve been distant.”

“You’ve been busy,” Astronaros countered.

A pause.

“I didn’t mean to leave you out,” Pneumeros said. “It’s just… everything’s moving so fast. I barely know who I’m becoming.”

Astronaros sat beside him, close but not quite touching.

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

Pneumeros turned to him, startled.

“Of what?”

“You,” Astronaros said. “Leaving me behind. Becoming someone I can’t follow.”

“I would never—”

“You don’t know that,” Astro whispered. “None of us do.”

Another pause.

Then Pneumeros reached out, fingers brushing Astro’s wrist. Not a grab. Not a hold.

Just a quiet offering.

“I’m not asking you to follow,” Pneumeros said. “I’m asking you to walk beside me. Like we always have.”

Astronaros swallowed the lump in his throat.

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

From the shadows beyond the firelight, Dionysus watched them.

He sipped from his goblet, head tilted, expression unreadable.

“Falling stars,” he murmured, “always make the most beautiful messes.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the dark, leaving the flicker of closeness in his wake.