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Himeko didn't know when she first started noticing.
Perhaps it had been gradual—a slow dawning realization that crept up on her like the rising sun. Or perhaps it had been there all along, hidden in plain sight, waiting for her to finally open her eyes.
Either way, she found herself lying in bed at two in the morning, staring at the ceiling of her cabin, her mind racing through years of memories like a film reel on fast-forward.
When exactly did this happen?
.
It had started innocently enough. Two young women, both barely into their adulthood, full of life and energy and the kind of boundless optimism that only the Nameless could possess. She remembered when March had first joined the Express. A girl floating in space, frozen in time, with no memories and no past. Welt had found her, and Himeko had opened their home to her without hesitation. Another lost soul. Another child in need of a family.
And Stelle, her quiet, grey-haired daughter who had grown from a mischevious toddler into a formidable Trailblazer, had been there too. Quiet and watchful, her golden eyes taking in this new addition to their crew with cautious curiosity.
Himeko had thought nothing of it when the two girls had become friends. It was natural, after all. They were close in age, both navigating the strange, uncertain waters of found family and new identities. March was bright and bubbly, a burst of sunshine in the quiet corridors of the Express. Stelle was reserved, contemplative, her words measured and her silences comfortable. They balanced each other. March brought out Stelle's playful side—the dry humor, the mischievous glint in her eyes that Himeko had only ever seen in fleeting moments. And Stelle grounded March, gave her a steady presence to anchor herself to when the absence of memories threatened to overwhelm her.
It was sweet. Endearing, even. Himeko had watched them grow closer over the years, their bond deepening into something unshakeable. Best friends. Partners in crime. The kind of friendship that would last a lifetime.
They were good for each other. That much had always been obvious.
The late-night giggles from March's room across the hall? Just two girls sharing secrets and staying up too late. The way they always seemed to gravitate toward each other during missions, moving in perfect sync? The result of countless hours of training together. The soft, lingering looks that passed between them when they thought no one was watching? The natural affection of two people who had been through so much together.
Or so Himeko had told herself. She was rethinking every single one of those assumptions now.
.
It had been an entirely coincidental realisation.
The Astral Express hummed with its usual quiet melody as Himeko worked in the party car, her sleeves rolled up, her hands deep in the internal mechanisms of Shush, their beloved bartender robot. The others had retired to their cabins hours ago, leaving her alone with the soft glow of the ceiling lights and the gentle clinking of tools against metal.
"Almost done," she murmured, adjusting a recalcitrant circuit. "Just a few more tweaks and you'll be telling your terrible dad jokes at full capacity again."
Shush beeped in what might have been gratitude or might have been protest. Himeko chose to interpret it as gratitude.
"You know," she murmured to the robot, "I think we need more variety in dad jokes. The guests love them. How about: 'Why don't scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything.'"
Shush's optical sensors flickered in what Himeko had learned to interpret as approval.
"Excellent," she said, typing the entry into his system. "Now, let's see about a few more..."
She had been at this for a while now, so focused on her work that she almost didn't hear the voices approaching from the passenger cabin. Low, animated murmurs, punctuated by occasional bursts of soft laughter.
Himeko smiled to herself. Even without seeing them, she knew exactly who it was. Stelle's voice was distinctive—quiet but rich, carrying a warmth that she reserved for those she trusted most. And March's giggle was unmistakable, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to make the very air around her lighter. The two young women were clearly enjoying themselves, their conversation a comfortable back-and-forth that spoke of years of intimacy. Himeko couldn't make out the words, but the tone was enough. Playful. Affectionate. The kind of easy camaraderie that only came from true friendship.
She was happy for them. Truly. It was wonderful to see her daughter so at ease, so comfortable with someone who understood her in ways that Himeko, despite all her love, could never quite manage. March was good for Stelle. She brought out the whimsy, the mischief, the playful side that lurked beneath the Trailblazer's stoic exterior. And Stelle was good for March. She was a steady presence, a calm harbor in the chaos of the girl's ever-churning thoughts and emotions. They were each other's anchors, each other's safe spaces.
Himeko had always found it oddly endearing.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely registered the door opening.
"Mom? You're still up?"
Himeko looked up to find Stelle standing in the doorway, her silver hair slightly disheveled, her shirt rumpled in a way that suggested she'd been lounging around. Behind her, March peeked out from over her shoulder, her pink hair a little messier than usual, her cheeks flushed with warmth.
"Just finishing up with Shush," Himeko said, offering them a warm smile. "Don't mind me. Do whatever you came to do."
The two young women exchanged a glance, something quick and unreadable, before stepping fully into the room. March bounced over to the bar, her usual peppy energy on full display, while Stelle followed behind, her golden eyes tracking Himeko's movements with a fondness that made Himeko’s mother heart swell.
Himeko turned back to her work, her fingers flying across Shush's control panel. She was so focused that she almost missed the way Stelle's hand settled on March's lower back as they passed by her. The gesture was casual, almost unconscious, you know the kind of touch that came naturally to people who were comfortable with each other.
She dismissed it. March had always been a tactile person, and Stelle had grown more comfortable with physical affection over the years. It was probably nothing.
But something nagged at the back of her mind. Her years of motherly instinct was on alert.
She glanced up again, her eyes sharper this time. She took in the details she hadn't noticed before. The way Stelle's shirt was more than just rumpled—it was wrinkled, as if it had been grabbed and pulled. The way her hair, usually neatly styled, was wild and tangled, as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly.
Himeko's brow furrowed slightly.
Maybe they were just roughhousing, she thought. Girls do that, right?
March bounced over to her, a smoothie in hand, a suspiciously bright pink concoction that Himeko had learned to associate with March's taste for the absurd.
"Miss Himeko!" March chirped. "What are you working on? Are you upgrading Shush? Can you teach Shush to DJ? I've been thinking, he could really use some sick beats to go with his awful dad jokes!"
Shush beeped twice in outrage. Himeko chuckled, shaking her head. "I think Shush has enough on his plate with his unique recipes and joke database. We don't want to overwhelm him."
"Aww, but imagine it!" March persisted, her eyes sparkling. "We could have dance parties in the party car!"
"We could," Himeko said, her lips twitching. "but adding DJ skills might break his processing unit."
March pouted dramatically, but she didn't press further. Instead, she leaned in close to Himeko, peering at the maintenance report the Navigator had been writing.
"Wow, this is really detailed," March observed. "You're so organized, Miss Himeko! I could never...". Her voice trailed off as she leaned even closer, her face inches from Himeko's. And that was when Himeko noticed it.
March's lips were a shade redder than usual.
Not the natural pink that Himeko had grown accustomed to seeing on the young woman's face. This was deeper, richer—a shade of crimson that looked almost like...
Is that... lipstick?
Himeko blinked, her mind momentarily blank. She was no expert on makeup like March, but she'd been in the market for a new lipstick recently. She'd been eyeing a shade very similar to that one at the last planet they'd visited.
"March," Himeko said, her voice casual, "that's a lovely shade of lipstick you're wearing. Where did you get it?"
March froze.
It was subtle. So subtle that Himeko almost missed it. But the young woman's entire body went rigid for just a fraction of a second. Her eyes widened slightly, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that rivaled her hair.
"L-lipstick?" March forced a laugh, but it came out a pitch too high, too forced. "Oh! Yes! Lipstick! I, um, I got it from... somewhere! A shop!! On the last planet we visited! You know how it is, always picking up souvenirs and things!"
She was talking too fast. Her eyes were darting everywhere except at Himeko's face. Himeko frowned, but she let it slide. She was probably just embarrassed about being caught wearing makeup. Young people could be sensitive about that sort of thing.
"Sounds lovely," Himeko said, turning back to her work. "I might have to pick one up for myself next time we visit."
"Oh!" March's laugh was almost a squeak. "Yeah! You should! It's, um, really good! Very... durable. Stays on for hours!"
Durable? Himeko thought, amused. What a strange way to describe lipstick.
But she didn't dwell on it. She finished her maintenance work, said goodnight to the two young women, and retired to her cabin.
It wasn't until she was lying in bed, her eyes closed, the day's events replaying in her mind, that the realization hit her.
The way March had been slightly hiding behind Stelle when they'd walked in. The rumpled clothes. The messy hair. The flushed cheeks.
The lipstick that was "very durable.
Himeko's eyes snapped open.
Oh.
She stared at the ceiling, her heart hammering in her chest. It seems like she discovered a secret.
.
The memories came flooding back, each one taking on a new, startling significance.
The late-night giggles from March's room. The way Stelle always seemed to gravitate toward March, her quiet demeanor softening whenever the pink-haired girl was near. The way March's eyes would light up whenever Stelle entered a room.
Himeko had thought it was friendship. Innocent, platonic, best-friend-forever friendship.
But now...
She thought about all the times she'd seen them together. The way Stelle's hand would linger on March's back. The way March would lean into Stelle's touch. The way they would exchange glances that seemed to say more than words ever could.
Her daughter. Her quiet, reserved, always-a-little-bit-clueless daughter. And March. Bright, bubbly, can't-keep-a-secret-to-save-her-life March.
They were good together. Perfect, even.
But Himeko was going to need a moment to process this. Maybe several moments.
.
The next morning, Himeko was not herself.
She sat at the breakfast table, her coffee untouched, her gaze distant and unfocused. Across from her, Stelle and March were engaged in a quiet conversation, their heads bent together, their voices low enough that Himeko couldn't quite make out the words.
But this time she noticed things now. Things she hadn't noticed before.
The way March's hand rested casually on Stelle's knee under the table. The way Stelle's thumb traced absent circles on March's palm. The way they looked at each other—a soft, intimate gaze that spoke of secrets shared and promises made.
Himeko took a long gulp of her coffee. It burned her throat, but she barely noticed.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
Stelle's voice broke through her reverie. Himeko looked up to find her daughter watching her with concern, her golden eyes searching Himeko's face.
"I'm fine," Himeko said, her voice a little too bright. "Just tired. I was up late working on Shush afterall."
Stelle's brow furrowed, but she didn't press further. Instead, she turned back to March, and Himeko watched as March's hand found Stelle's, their fingers intertwining.
They're just holding hands, Himeko thought desperately. Best friends hold hands all the time. It's a normal thing. A completely normal thing.
But even she didn't believe that.
.
Later that day, Himeko found herself in the party car again, staring at Shush with a look of profound confusion.
"Shush," she said slowly, "I need your advice."
The robot's optical sensors flickered. "I am always happy to assist, Miss Himeko. How may I be of service?"
"Hypothetically," Himeko began, "if two people who you thought were just friends turned out to be... more than friends... what would you do?"
Shush processed this for a moment. Then, in his monotone voice, he replied, "I would suggest offering them a congratulatory drink. Perhaps a 'Love Potion Number 9' cocktail? I have a recipe that is very popular among couples."
Himeko stared at him.
"Shush, that's not what I am ask—" She stopped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm talking about—never mind. Just... never mind."
"Understood," Shush said. "I will keep the recipe on standby, just in case."
Himeko sighed.
.
It wasn't that she was upset. Really, she wasn't. Stelle was an adult, capable of making her own choices. And March was a lovely young woman—kind, cheerful, and clearly devoted to her daughter. Himeko had always hoped that Stelle would find someone who made her happy. Someone who would cherish her and stand by her through all the trials and triumphs of life.
She just hadn't expected it to happen right under her nose without her noticing.
I'm supposed to be the observant one, she thought glumly. I'm the Navigator. I notice things. That's my job.
But somehow, she had missed this. Missed the signs. Missed the way her daughter's eyes softened whenever March was around. Missed the way March's laughter seemed to brighten whenever Stelle entered a room. She had been so focused on her duties, on the grand adventure of the Trailblaze, that she had missed the small, quiet moments unfolding right in front of her.
She wonders if Stelle or March will ever tell her. Or will she keep this secret of theirs until they come out to the rest of the Express family, one day? She doesn’t know it now but she will soon find her answer, a month later.
.
One evening, Himeko found herself in the bar, making a pot of coffee. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching until a voice spoke up behind her.
"Mom? Can we talk?"
Himeko turned to find Stelle standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable. Behind her, March hovered nervously, her hands clasped in front of her. Oh, is it the time?
"Of course," Himeko said, her voice gentle. "What's on your mind?"
Stelle exchanged a glance with March, then took a deep breath. "Mom," she said slowly, "March and I... we've been meaning to tell you something. For a while now, actually. We just didn't know how to say it."
Himeko's heart clenched. She set down her cup and gave her daughter her full attention. "Tell me,”she said softly.
Stelle reached back, her hand finding March's. The two young women stepped forward together, their fingers intertwined. "March and I," Stelle said, her voice steady but soft, "are together. Not just as friends. We're... we're girlfriends. We have been for a while now."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Himeko blinked. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, warm and genuine and full of love. Finally.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, her voice tinged with laughter. "I know."
Stelle's eyes widened. "You... you know?"
"I figured it out some time ago," Himeko admitted, a sheepish smile crossing her face. "It took me an embarrassingly long time, but I got there eventually."
March let out a nervous laugh. "You're not... upset?"
"Upset?" Himeko crossed the room and pulled both young women into a hug. "Why would I be upset? You make each other happy. That's all I've ever wanted for both of you."
Stelle's arms came up to hug her back, and Himeko felt her daughter's shoulders relax against her.
"Really?" Stelle asked, her voice muffled against Himeko's shoulder.
"Really," Himeko confirmed. "Though I do have one question."
March tensed slightly. "What's that?"
Himeko pulled back, her expression one of mock seriousness. "Is that lipstick really as durable as you claimed?"
March's face went bright red. "Miss Himeko!"
Himeko burst out laughing—a warm, genuine laugh that seemed to fill the entire room.
"I'm joking, dear," she said, patting March's cheek gently. "Mostly."
Stelle groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Mom."
"What?" Himeko said innocently. "I'm a very curious person. It's one of my best qualities."
March was still blushing furiously, but she was also laughing—a nervous, relieved laugh that spoke of tension finally released.
"You're impossible," Stelle muttered. "I learned it from you afterall," Himeko said, her eyes twinkling. "Now, who wants some coffee? I feel like we have a lot to celebrate."
March and Stelle exchanged another glance, but this time it was different, lighter and happier. "Maybe this one time," March said, her voice playful.
And as Himeko poured the coffee, she found herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't missed as much as she'd thought. After all, she'd noticed in the end. And that was what mattered.