There's not many beautiful things left in Mickey's life. Life is just a job, just another flicker before he inevitably dies again, ready to be printed the next day. It's a cycle, one he doesn't entirely hate but it's not something he loves either. It's been four long years of living and dying over and over, when all Mickey has ever really wanted is to live. Like, really live, you know? The kind of living people write books about. That kind of living.

So he sits here in the lonely hallway, face close to the glass that separates him from the vast expanse of space, looking. He'd heard murmurings of a meteor shower tonight, watched as people gathered in groups of three, four or more to watch together. Mickey yearned for that sort of comradery, but it just didn't seem to be in the cards for him. Maybe he'd try making friends again next year.

It didn't matter though, the thoughts of lost friendship and withering social life seemed to fade away when he sees it, the first meteor. It dances across the air in distance, glittering in blues and purples as it soars. Then there's one, then two, then three before he can no longer keep count. It's beautiful, a kaleidoscope of colours explodes in the darkness, filling his empty life with a beauty he thought long gone.

Tentatively, he reaches his hand up and presses it against the glass as a wide smile curls on his lips, one that's all Mickey. It reaches his eyes, his blue irises sparkling with joy and wonder, a wonder that can never be snuffed out despite how cruelly life seems to treat him. Perhaps, even if he is destined to be alone, destined to die over and over, maybe there's still hope for him to find joy in the little things.