To The Stars And Back

Crow exhaled slowly, rubbing Hinata's punch off his shoulder.

It was a tap. It felt loaded, yet nice.

He nodded at himself. His shoulders dropped, letting the tension melt away. Then he prodded Hinata with a light finger tap.

She glanced at him. He returned a warm, carefree grin and tilted his head to the walkway ahead.

Hinata read it in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s have fun.”

Without realizing it, she followed him.

They stopped in front of a towering wall of plush. Squishy animals came in different shapes and sizes —rabbits, bears, sharks with blushing cheeks. A cat-shaped pillow stared at Hinata. She brushed it gently, then pulled back—like she’d touched something dangerous. Crow watched a few steps behind.

“Do you want that?” he said.

Hinata cleared her throat, lowered the brim of her cap, and then went to look at the other displays.

A minute later, Crow returned to her with a gift bag. She took it without much thought, her lips curling in secret.

The next shop buzzed with lo-fi music and color-coded chaos. Crow flipped through the racks, holding up a shirt with sunglass-wearing pineapples.

Hinata picked out a black and yellow hoodie and matching joggers

Without pause, she walked straight into the sportswear aisle. Crow followed, then froze under a big LED sign.

Performance Undergarments.

He spun around with a snap and pretended to examine a mannequin like it held deep wisdom.

A stroller rolled past them. Perched inside was a pristine black shih-tzu—bright brown eyes, floral diaper, tiny pearl leash, and fur color like Hinata’s hair.

She stopped. The dog barked once, and their eyes met. For a second, it looked like she might bark back.

Behind her, Crow crumpled into quiet laughter. He didn’t recover quickly. She didn’t react, but her brows lifted a little.

— • —

The arcade was loud and chaotic. Arena of Blood and Steel 3 blasted from a giant screen. Game Hinata struck a dramatic pose, hair whipping in slow motion, her voice ringing through the loudspeakers with her popular taunt.

The real Hinata stood still, arms folded, face twitching at the corners. Whispering bystanders were pointing at her. Crow slid behind her and steered her away like a life-sized action figure about to be stolen.

She stepped up to a punching machine. Rolled her shoulder once. Set her feet. Adjusted her stance. Then— THWACK. A single, clean punch. The machine rattled, lit up like a slot machine jackpot. Numbers spun into absurdity. Crow’s eyes nearly popped. The arcade went still. Hinata was already walking away, and Crow followed her.

Crow leaned over a claw machine like he was defusing a bomb. His eyes narrowed, tongue slightly out in concentration. The claw dipped. Wobbled. Grabbed. Dropped. Dipped again. Clutch. He pulled out a fat, round plush—a black, angry-looking bird with eyebrows of disapproval. He held it up to Hinata, and she took it. She tucked it into her gift bag like it nested there.

— • —

They sat on a bench in a quiet corner of the mall. Crow took an oversized bite of ice cream—and immediately regretted it. Beside him, Hinata licked her cone calmly, one leg crossed. She didn’t look at him, but her body language said: You did this to yourself.

Crow checked his watch. His eyes widened. He jumped up from the bench, beckoning her to move. Hinata stood—half-curious.

He took her hand.

And her chest fluttered madly.

They ran fast enough that their hearts barely caught up. Unguarded and free. Crow led her with a radiant, playful grin, his fingers wrapped around hers like it was the only reasonable thing to do.

Her breath hitched, but Hinata kept pace. In the middle of it, her thoughts flickered in snapshots.

Crow’s smile.

The tug of his hand.

The way her feet felt light.

The heat rising in her face.

Her cheeks flushed. Without realizing it, she gripped back.

The bird plush peeked from the bag. Her ice cream had begun to melt.

But their hands held tight.

And the world— for once— didn’t feel like something she had to run away from.

It just felt… New.

— • —

The sunset dipped deep into the other side, and the apartment had settled into its soft, nighttime breath. The streetlights were dim, shadows stretching long across the walls.

Hinata lay on the couch, her arms folded loosely across her stomach. The angry bird plush sat beside her like a guard. The cat pillow lay on her belly. She frowned slightly.

Her breath was calm, but something buzzed beneath her skin. Not adrenaline.

She sighed deeply. Frustrated.

Because she wasn’t sure what it was.

She sat up. Her legs shifted over the side of the couch. A breeze whispered faintly through the window, brushing past her like a faint touch.

Her eyes locked onto the apartment door.

She stood, her hoodie slipping slightly off one shoulder. Her steps were soft, almost absent-minded.

But halfway there, she felt a quiet tug in her chest.

Crow’s bedroom.

She hesitated for a beat.

Then tiptoed towards his door. Her fingers twisted the knob, and carefully opened it, just enough to peek inside.

The room was serene. The PC was off. His headset rested nearby, tangled like he'd dropped it in a hurry.

Crow lay curled on his side, arm tucked beneath his head.

His chest rose and fell, slow and even. His hair was a mess. His expression, soft and unguarded. The kind that believes the world won’t fall apart while he sleeps.

She watched him. Slowly, her gaze softened.

She closed the door without a sound. The lock clicked softly behind her as she turned away.

— • —

The rooftop welcomed her with cool wind and open sky.

She leaned on the railing with her forearms. The breeze played with her hair, pulling a few strands into her eyes.

Her thoughts drifted with the wind.

Crow’s laughter.

The plush bird. The cat pillow.

The weight of his hand pulling her through the crowd.

The way he walked beside her. The sound of him saying, “I’m here.”

She closed her eyes, wincing at herself. She clutched her head, ruffling her hair aggressively as if shaking off everything she felt today. Then, for a second, her lips twitched into a crooked, half-crazed smile. Maybe, not in confusion, but denial.

“Dammit. Lambert’s right. I’m a damn marshmallow now.”

“...I didn’t plan anything.”

“...And it felt fine. Stupidly fine.”

For the first time in her life—she didn’t feel the pressure to predict what came next.

No escape route. No contingency.

Just a quiet, steady hope:

That tomorrow might feel like this. And maybe the day after that, too.

Under a sky with a pretty midnight hue.