Star Fragments Across the Tave

The velvet dark of the universe spills over the old wooden window of the tavern, and every tiny star glows like a shard of stardust scattered across the endless expanse. The hum of distant interstellar ships fades into the soft background noise of the bar, and the neon sign hanging above the door flickers faintly, casting streaks of pale purple light over the empty booths.

Lei Shi sits alone at the far end of the counter, his dark hair catching the faint glow of the starlight filtering through the glass. Three empty mugs of spiced interstellar ale sit stacked beside his elbow, and the fourth one in his hand still fizzes with cold bubbles that catch the light like scattered star fragments. His four pirate crew members had left hours earlier, sent off to handle a smuggling deal out on the edge of the asteroid belt, and the whole tavern is quiet enough that he can hear the faint hum of the tavern’s old star-powered generator. He never liked crowded, noisy parties where strangers kept pestering him for drinks or favors. All he wanted tonight was to sit in silence, watch the stars drift past the window, and let the cold ale wash away the tiredness that had settled in his bones after three straight days of navigating through asteroid storms.

The heavy wooden door creaks open at half past two in the interstellar night, and a gust of cool cosmic wind blows in, carrying the faint scent of stardust and wild clover from the fields outside the space station. An Mikhail stumbles in, his uniform collar askew, the silver badge of the Galactic Knights glinting dully on his chest. He had spent the last twelve hours buried under piles of official documents, sorting out reports of pirate disputes and interstellar traffic accidents, and his eyes were so heavy he could barely keep them open. He had never stepped foot in this kind of tavern before, always sticking to the quiet, strict teahouses near the Knights’ headquarters. But tonight, the exhaustion had wrapped around him so tight he could barely breathe, and when he looked up and saw the warm golden light spilling out of this tavern’s windows, his feet had carried him in before he could even think twice.

He almost trips over the edge of a loose floorboard when he steps inside, and the first face he sees across the half-empty room is Lei Shi’s. Their eyes lock for a full three seconds. An Mikhail remembers the last time they met, out in the asteroid belt, when Lei Shi’s four pirate ships had cut off his patrol route, teasing him for being too uptight about the Knights’ silly little rules. But now, Lei Shi isn’t wearing his sharp pirate captain’s coat, and the usual sharp, arrogant glint in his eyes has softened into something quiet, almost loose, under the starlight.

There are no other empty seats left in the whole tavern, save for the one directly across from Lei Shi at the counter. An Mikhail hesitates for only a second, then walks over, pulls out the wooden chair, and sits down. He expects Lei Shi to snap a sharp, teasing remark at him the second he sits down, but instead, Lei Shi just raises an eyebrow, pushes a full, cold mug of ale across the counter, and the cold water droplets on the mug’s surface brush against An Mikhail’s fingertips.

“Never thought the most stubborn knight in the whole galaxy would walk into a pirate’s favorite tavern,” Lei Shi says, his voice low and warm, no sharp edge left in it, wrapped in the faint fizz of the ale.

An Mikhail huffs a soft laugh, wrapping his fingers around the cold mug, and looks up at the sea of stars through the tavern window. “Never thought the famous pirate captain would be sitting here drinking alone, with no crew, no crowd, no one to clink glasses with.”

They talk for hours after that. They bicker at first, teasing each other about the old fights they’ve had across different planets, the times An Mikhail had chased Lei Shi through three different asteroid fields to give him a ticket for illegal cargo transport. But slowly, the teasing fades away. Lei Shi talks about how he’d spent three straight days steering his ship through a meteor shower, just to get a rare bottle of spiced ale that only grows on a tiny, hidden planet. An Mikhail talks about how he’d stayed up for three nights straight, helping a group of lost old travelers find their way back to their home station, even when the Knights’ headquarters told him to leave the case alone.

Outside the window, the stars drift slowly across the dark sky. Every tiny fragment of stardust glows soft and bright, drifting past the glass like little pieces of a golden thread that wraps around the whole universe. An Mikhail looks up at the stars, and for a second, he feels like every single one of those scattered little fragments is pointing right at the person sitting across from him, warm and steady, like a light that guides him through all the tired, dark nights he’s ever had. He can feel Lei Shi’s presence across the wooden table, not sharp, not threatening, but soft and steady, like the quiet hum of a starship’s engine that never fails.

When the first pale pink light of the interstellar dawn starts to bleed over the edge of the space station, An Mikhail stands up to leave. His legs are a little wobbly from the ale, and Lei Shi stands up with him, pressing a cold, unopened bottle of ale into his hand.

“Next time you get tired of all those boring knight documents,” Lei Shi says, his voice low, the starlight glinting in his dark eyes, “the seat across from me is always empty. No pirate crew, no stupid rules. Just stars, and ale.”

An Mikhail nods, his ears pink under the faint dawn light, and steps out into the cool interstellar wind. The stars are still glowing faint above him, every scattered fragment of stardust drifting around him, and he can still feel that warm, steady presence behind him, guiding him through the quiet dark. Somewhere behind the tavern window, the stars keep drifting, and the empty mugs on the counter sit quiet, holding all the soft, unspoken things they didn’t say that night.1