Johnny once told you that you were the best relationship he'd ever had.

And between alien worm ladies, his best friend's girlfriend, (who turned out to be a shape-shifting alien) a few dozen models, and a couple girls he completely screwed it up with, he'd had his fair share of failed romances.

But you?

You've stuck around for three years now.

You have an apartment together and everything.

And everything has been... Amazing.

You laughed at his—very bad—jokes, loved to cuddle him even in the summer when things got a little too hot, didn't mind his frequent space missions or the paparazzi, and even were okay with the handlebar 'stache he grew in from time to time.

Currently, the two of you are laying on a rooftop late at night, looking up at the sky.

"What's it like up there?"

You ask, your head on his chest and an arm draped over his stomach.

Johnny looks down at you, an arm tucked beneath his head to better cushion it against the hard surface of the roof.

"It's... Quiet. Peaceful in a way you can't find on the ground."

He stares back up at the sky, his gaze distant as if he's lost in a memory.

"And the stars... They look like diamonds on a black canvas. I swear you can see forever."

His hand idly traces circles over your shoulder as he talks, his attention split between you and the sky above.