I looked up at the sky just as the first few stars were becoming visible and the pale blue ebbed away into deep sapphire. I had never been superstitious—wishing on stars and combing fields of clover and the like—until I met you. Since then I've wished on everything possible that you aren't just a superstition, nothing but illusion.

It's a funny thing, superstition. It's false security plucked in a four-leaf clover or dust sprinkled through the air as a fleeting star. More delicately termed, it's hope.

As the sky gradually formed its gradient into a deep purple-black, I counted the stars. Nineteen. Just like the song. I spelled your name, counting each star as a letter, then the name I called you, then your given name. The formality of "Catherine" didn't feel right to me—too impersonal. Too much like the touch-and-go way we were in the beginning, our shared mindset of never letting anyone too close because that's a guaranteed way for them to hurt you.

I hoped you'd come here tonight. It'd been too long since I'd seen you. Not like it would matter if you met me tonight. Maybe we'd kiss. Then you'd leave and it'd be another eight months until I saw you again. It wouldn't matter because our relationship couldn't go anywhere. But it would matter to me.

Matter, I thought, is also a strange concept, matter being all of the atoms and ions and kilograms and scientific notation that makes up the world. Matter is nothing but scientific measurement, hard proof, certain things. Funny that that's how we define what "matters."

I wasn't certain of anything, least of all if you'd even come. But true to your word, I soon heard soft footsteps trudging down the hill from the practice rooms. As much as I wanted to, I didn't turn around to look. I knew it was you. I didn't turn my head until I could feel your warmth laying beside me on the grass—close enough to feel the heat, too far away to touch.

"Hi," I said, though it didn't seem like an adequate greeting as your grey-green eyes held mine, a serious stare on your lips. The corners finally turned up, slowly, into a crooked grin.

"Hello," you said.

We laid there in silence, almost touching, daring each other to move. The night continued to move, more stars appearing as office lights in the nearby town turned off. My voice was raw when I finally had the courage to speak.

"Have you ever wanted to know something, ask someone a question, even though the answer doesn't make any difference at all? Have you ever wanted to know something just for certainty's sake? Have you ever wondered if the other person is feeling the same thing as you, even though, strictly speaking, it doesn't even matter?" I prefaced.

There was a long moment of silence, and finally I dropped our gaze, blushing.

"Honestly, no," you said, as you took my hand into your grasp.

A/N: I'm not sure I like using the I/you point of view. I think I like personal pronouns more. I never thought I would ever type the sentence "I think I like personal pronouns more." Please tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is always good :D