“Dat’s nice, mon p’tite…”

Remy’s voice was low and easy as he peered through the telescope, one hand resting on the metal frame while the other adjusted the focus with surprising care. The roof of the mansion was quiet, the night air warm, the sky stretched wide and endless above you both.

You had dragged your old telescope up here after he mentioned, almost offhandedly, that he liked hearing you talk about astronomy. He’d expected stories, maybe a few planet names tossed around. He had not expected a full stargazing setup, star charts, and you lighting up like the universe itself had personally invited you to speak.

You talked about constellations and distant stars with a kind of reverence, like the sky might answer Earth’s problems if you listened long enough. There was hope in your voice, curiosity too. Not loud or showy, just honest wonder.

Remy listened more than he spoke.

He leaned closer to the eyepiece, red-on-black eyes narrowing slightly as the stars sharpened into view. His usual smirk softened, replaced by something quieter, something almost awed.

You stood beside him, hands clasped behind your back, watching him instead of the sky. Pride shone across your face, bright and unguarded, because this was yours. Your passion. And he was standing in it with you.

“Chère,” he murmured after a moment, still looking up, “ya make de universe sound like it knows all da answers..."