i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

The greenery shied away as the chill returned to the air. Littering the shrouded groves were golds, reds, browns. The cycle continued, as it did and as it would continue to do. Time to hide away again, to return again when the warmth came back and the flowers would once again bloom. Except, as the decades reached their third, he found himself... at peace. A sense of almost-fullness. Almost because he was no longer where he needed to be, no longer with who he needed to be beside.

Cobwebs in his chest needed to be brushed off- it was time. The full moon in the distance sang its siren song once again and finally he listened, gave in and ran. Ran for as long as he could, ran through the winds and the rain. He didn't stop to think about the blood and dirt that clung to him. All he could focus on was the compulsion, the need to go home. And he did not care if his heart would freeze over again because he knew now where it belonged.

Artemis City looked the same as ever. Squint and some details differed but, for the most part, it was how he remembered it. And the couples would walk past, huddled together in scarves and coats. Fake trees lined the streets; fake leaves on the floor. A pale imitation of the wonders he had witnessed on Earth but that did not matter. Because Earth did not have blue, blue eyes and a smile that cut through the cold.

Ignoring the stares, he sped up again, going as fast as his feet would carry him. Passed by security, for they were no match for him, running running running until he reached his apartment, called his name and-

Arms around him. Warm, comforting, home.

I love you, he didn't say, but he felt it in his bones, deep in his soul.

And that was enough.

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

The days lengthened, bringing the sun and the shine. On a day hotter than those before, he would walk sandy shores with bare feet. Feel the grains beneath his soles and think of him with a smile. Think of how his pale hair would almost shimmer in the bright light, how blue eyes would reflect warm waters. How he could imagine him diving into irradiated waters without a care, laughing and splashing around because "it's not strong enough to hurt me, is it?"

Sometimes he heard his voice. The nights had gone from too cold, to too hot. His slumbers would be restless, feverish, plagued by nightmares. Bleary eyes would catch the shape of him, reach out and... he wasn't there. Of course he wasn't. A figment of a sleepless imagination. Ice had melted, protective layers thinning, and what was left it in its wake was a scorching heat.

Desperate. It had been too long, years and years and years. Compared to the centuries that was their lifespan, perhaps that was nothing, but it still hurt and ached. He looked up to the stars and the moon was so bright, glowing, a temptation he knew he could not yet cave in to.

So he fought through the heat, skin slick with sweat and blood. That trail of crimson still followed him; carcasses rotting under the sun.

But he could see where he had been, and where he had yet to go. He could feel that he was almost ready, but he had to push through the last of the cloying humidity, let the emotions wash over him.

And then, and then, he could back to those blue, blue eyes and tell him...

Well, there was nothing that he had the right to say but he knew how he felt, how his devotion would burn brightly forevermore.

here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

And then came the thaw, a gradual process, something he scarcely noticed. Blankets of white faded away to reveals browns and greens. The farther he travelled, the more thorough he was in his exploration, the more life he would stumble across. Little pockets of the world that were untouched by death and decay; hidden sanctuaries that had yet to succumb to the slow spread of radiation. Some were home to small settlements of humans and he would stay for a short while, where allowed, help them prepare for the year ahead. They would ask him questions:

Why would you come back here, to this desolate planet?

Why leave paradise on the moon behind?

What are you searching for?

A cliche: himself. It was to find what he had lost, melt the cold that held his heart captive. But that was not what he told them, for he did not want their pity.

"Centuries ago my mother told me I had the power to change the world. I hope I can change yours for the better."

Piece by piece. Monster felled one at a time, humans helped, seeds planted. And, despite the violence, despite the sometimes desperate battle against the elements, there was something relaxing about it. Uplifting. Finding the life in what was all presumed dead. Seeds sprouted and flowers bloomed around him.

On some mornings he would wake to birdsong, to life, and he would follow their cries.

He could not go home yet. But some nights, when the sky was clear and the moon shone in the distance, its call would sing to him sweetly.

Wait for me, just a little longer.

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

The cold seeped into his chest through the fresh fractures, encasing its molten core with a layer of ice. The longer he stayed, the thicker it grew, weighing him down. Leaving was a necessity, rather than a choice. Because when he looked to blue, blue eyes and all he felt was numb he knew the right thing was to go.

He said only one goodbye, then fled to the barren wasteland called Earth. Left behind the man on the moon to find what was left of himself beneath frozen layers of hurt. He looked upon the expanse of white and muddy browns, leaving behind his footsteps and a trail of crimson wherever he travelled. Didn't stop, didn't look back, even when the frigid air stung his skin and made his fingers tremble. He could not feel it, not really.

The days were the shortest he had ever known. Sparse hours of sunlight and then the moon would appear, the faintest glow hidden amongst a hazy grey. He did his best to ignore its pull. Could not look at it directly or the chilling ache would be so profound he would falter, linked to the prince in his lofty tower by a vow he had been unable to uphold. His favourite shackles, old and familiar.

So his hibernation would continue, months into years, sleepwalking the world until he could find signs of life.

(Sometimes, when the nights were particularly long and biting, he would imagine holding him close. Would whisper apologies that appeared as white puffs in the air. A flicker of warmth would follow, quickly snuffed out again by the elements.)