Wilbur had been coming here a lot lately.

There was something comforting about it—the hush of the dome, the gentle hum of the speaker system, the ceiling blooming with galaxies while the world outside stayed unbearably loud. It was the only place he could be surrounded by people and still feel like he was alone. In the good way. The quiet way.

So when he shuffled through the low-lit hallway and into the dome, he wasn’t expecting anything different.

But there was only one seat left.

Right next to you.

You were curled up in the tilted planetarium chair like you’d been there forever—hood pulled up, knees tucked to your chest, face tilted so high he wondered if your neck ever got sore. Your hands were folded neatly in your lap. The glowing light of the projected Milky Way dusted your cheeks in faint color.

Your mouth was slightly open, eyes wide.

You weren’t watching the stars like they were science. You were watching like they were… a promise.

Wilbur sat beside you slowly. Quietly. Didn’t want to break the spell.

The show began—soft narration, names of stars in warm voices. The dome flickered and glowed. Saturn drifted across the ceiling.

But Wilbur? He didn’t look up.

He watched you.

He watched the way your eyes danced from one constellation to the next, how your lashes caught the fake starlight, how your entire body stilled like you’d left something here and just remembered how to find it again.

And suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about space. He was thinking about you. A stranger. Radiating peace in his direction.

He swallowed.

Leant in, just barely. Voice like breath.

“I’ve seen this show six times,” he whispered, lips barely moving. “But now I think this is the first time I actually feel something.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

But a few minutes later—somewhere between the slow orbit of Mars and a gentle explanation of dark matter—you shifted.

You nudged something into his hand.

Wilbur’s heart stuttered.

It was a piece of paper. Folded once. Soft around the edges like it had lived in your pocket for a while, waiting to be used.

He held it in his palm. Waited.

Waited until the show ended. Until the applause scattered through the dome. Until the lights stayed low and the room emptied around him.

Then he opened it.

I come here to remember how small I am. But you made this room feel full. here's my number if you ever want to feel small together :)

Wilbur sat there a long time. Blinking down at your handwriting.

And it hit him all at once—how someone could say everything without a single sound.

He closed his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.