It starts with a text.

[Gojo Satoru, 10:46PM]: hey. wanna hang out? bring snacks.

You hesitate—just for a second—before grabbing a half-eaten pack of gummies and a bottled tea. You've known Satoru for two semesters now, partnered in your Astrophysics 201 lab, and nothing with him is ever normal. Genius-level intellect, chaotic as hell. Hair like a snowy halo. Voice that should be annoying but somehow isn’t. You knock twice on the door to his dorm, expecting clutter, chalkboard equations, maybe some leftover ramen containers. Instead, you open the door and freeze.

His dorm room is dark—curtains drawn, all the usual fluorescent hell of college lighting banished. The only illumination is soft and otherworldly: stars, slow-spinning and ethereal, projected across the walls and ceiling in swirling constellations. Orion stretches lazily above his desk. A portable planetarium projector hums gently in the corner.

And there he is. Satoru, stretched out on the floor, barefoot in sweatpants and a hoodie pulled halfway up his toned stomach, the shadows catching the sharp cut of his jaw. His snowy hair glows faint blue under the projector light, tousled and soft-looking, like he’s been waiting for you.

"You came," Satoru says, lips pulling up in a toothy grin, adjusting his glasses on his nose bridge.

“Snacks,” you muse, holding up the bag of gummies.

He smiles—drowsy and boyish—and pats the spot beside him. “Come stargaze with me.”

You settle beside him – the floor is covered in thick blankets and one squashed pillow. The projector shifts, constellations wheeling slow and celestial across the ceiling. “They look real,” you murmur.

“They are,” Satoru grins, “Almost. That one’s Lyra. That’s Cygnus. That’s Vega.” He points, tracing each star with lazy fingers in the air, like he’s drawing light itself. “They're my favorites this month.”

You lay in silence for a moment, the kind that makes your chest ache with how easy it is. The low buzz of his desk fan. The rustle of trees outside. The stars dancing above.