Astrophysics and Other Lies

“I think the stars are flirting with each other. Look! That one is giggling,” Adele smiles as she rests her head on the soft grass. The chilly air is about to slice her cheek when Silas shifts his windbreaker onto her.

"The sky is alive tonight," she thinks, eyes tracing constellations. "A million tiny heartbeats scattered across the dark, winking secrets at the dreamers below. If I listen closely, maybe I’ll hear them hum."

"They're massive spheres of burning gas," Silas replies without looking up. "Love is an illusion. Physics governs all."

Numbers. Equations. Known laws. That’s what the sky is. Nuclear fusion at the core, gravitational collapse counteracted by radiation pressure. Hydrogen to helium, a process running on timelines too vast for human sentiment. Stars don’t flirt. They burn, they expand, they die. A predictable cycle, nothing more.

Adele hums, thoughtful. "And yet, you're warming me up. Would physics explain that, or should I just call it affection?"

Silas scoffs, but he doesn’t take the jacket back. "It’s thermoregulation."

Efficiency. Heat transfer. Her body temperature had likely dropped below its optimal range, triggering an instinctive response in him. It was simple cause and effect. Newton’s third law, he thought.

She turns her head toward him, eyes glinting. "Of course. And here I thought you might be capable of sentiment."

He finally looks at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Sentiment clouds logic."

"And logic kills poetry."

Poetry. A non-essential abstraction. Human brains grasping for meaning where there is none, layering metaphors over cold, hard science. He doesn’t need poetry—he needs facts. Observable reality. Poetry won’t save a failing experiment. It won’t alter the laws of motion. It won’t change what is.

Silas exhales through his nose, half-exasperated. "Poetry is just words strung together in aesthetically pleasing ways. It doesn’t change reality."

Adele gasps, clutching her chest like he’s personally insulted her ancestors. "You take that back!"

"I won’t."

"You will."

"Why?" He’s amused now.

"Because one day, Silas, you’re going to feel something so big, so unquantifiable, that even your precious logic won’t be able to contain it. And when that happens—when words are all you have—you’ll pray for poetry."

A beat.

The wind rustles the grass around them. The sky stretches on, vast and untouched.

Silas says nothing. Because he knows—if he were to respond, if he were to disprove her, he’d have to tell her something uncomfortably close to the truth:

That even in physics, there are forces he still doesn’t understand.

"That even in physics, there is uncertainty."

He swallows. "Doubtful," he murmurs. But he doesn’t sound quite so sure.

Adele grins, victorious. "We’ll see."

And the stars keep flirting, even if he refuses to admit it.

And he is still gazing at her, even if he refuses to admit it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The silence stretches between them, settling like dew on the grass. Adele doesn't mind silence—not when it thrums with possibility. Silas, on the other hand, sees it as a variable to solve. A gap in conversation is just a question without an answer.

And he hates unanswered questions.

“Alright,” she says, shifting onto her elbows. “If the universe is so tragically unromantic, then why do people fall in love?”

He huffs. “Biological imperative.”

“That’s your answer for everything.”

“Because it’s correct.”

Adele shakes her head, a slow smile spreading. “Incorrect.”

Silas quirks an eyebrow. “Are you really challenging evolutionary psychology?”

“No, I’m challenging you.” She leans in slightly, like she’s on the verge of revealing a great cosmic secret. “People don’t love because they have to, Silas. They love because sometimes, the universe gets it wrong—and they find someone they weren’t supposed to find.”

He doesn’t reply immediately. Because that should be illogical. That should be wrong. But something about it—about her—makes his brain short-circuit just enough that he doesn’t have an immediate rebuttal.

And Adele sees it. Feels it.

“Did I just make the great Silas Calloway speechless?”

Silas blinks. Recovers. Scoffs. “Hardly.”

Adele hums, amused. "Mmm. If you say so."

She tilts her head back, watching the stars again. But his gaze stays right there, lingering for a fraction too long before he shakes his head and looks away.

It’s fine.

Because physics governs all.

Right?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Adele exhales, stretching her arms above her head. "You know," she muses, eyes half-lidded, "for someone so obsessed with logic, you sure spend a lot of time arguing with me about feelings."

Silas scoffs. "I'm not arguing. I'm correcting your flawed perception of reality."

She grins. There it is. That little flicker of defensiveness, like he knows he’s losing ground but refuses to admit it.

"So what, then? If love is just biology, if the universe is just numbers, if stars don’t flirt—what do you believe in, Silas?"

His first instinct is to say science. Because science is fact. Because science does not waver under the weight of a gaze like hers.

But for some reason, he doesn't say it.

Instead, he turns his head slightly, watching the way the wind lifts strands of her hair, the way starlight dusts over her cheekbones. There is a reason humans assign meaning to things. A reason the brain registers warmth in someone's presence, a reason the chest tightens when looking too long at someone who feels like gravity.

Maybe the universe isn't always wrong.

But that thought? That’s dangerous.

So he forces himself to look away, to press his palms against the damp grass and focus on the earth beneath him. Grounding. Logical. Safe.

"I believe," he says finally, voice steady, "that the human brain is wired to seek patterns. And you, Adele, are very good at making chaos look poetic."

Adele doesn't reply right away. Just studies him, lips curving at the edges like she knows something he doesn’t.

"Maybe," she murmurs. "Or maybe you’re just scared of the answer."

The wind moves between them.

Silas doesn’t respond.

Because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know the answer.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The wind moves between them, quiet, carrying the distant hum of crickets, the soft rustle of leaves. Adele watches him, waiting, patient in a way that unsettles him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales, glancing back up at the sky.

"You want something poetic?" he murmurs. "Fine. If the stars are flirting, then… maybe I am too."

Adele blinks.

Then bursts out laughing.

Silas groans immediately, shoving a hand over his face. "Forget I said that. That was objectively terrible."

"Oh, no, no, no, that was perfect," Adele gasps between giggles. "Silas Calloway, are you—" she wipes her eyes, "flirting with me?"

He groans again, tilting his head back against the grass. "I take it back. Love isn’t an illusion. It’s just humiliation with extra steps."

Adele grins, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, Shakespeare."

And above them, the stars keep winking.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧