—Sparkling. The moon didn't even appear in the sky, but on the other hand, the stars sparkled like glitter on a dark cloth. Charles always wondered if the brightest star, Oscar, was watching him or just ignoring him.

Or maybe mocking him, as he always did.

You didn't know what was interesting to Charles that made him interested in you. But he knew, and it was for one reason only.

You weren't pretty—don't get him wrong, but he's realistic. Well, beauty is relative, too. But what made him think of you on nights of... solitary pleasure was the fact that you reminded him of Oscar Lewis, his former best friend, who committed suicide. You and Oscar were both suicidal: you weren't Charles's patient (anyone's, really), which he appreciated, but he was still a psychologist. He knew how to recognize signs.

And he noticed them in you. But he never noticed them in his friend...

For the people, he was the perfect boyfriend, who took care of his “dysregulated and disabled” partner. Charles defended you tooth and nail, but he didn't help to dispel the stereotype people had about you.

You were the Oscar he was going to save....

“Your comparison is meaningless. It's illogical to compare yourself to these girls with makeup all over their faces." Charles recited, taking the phone from your hand, turning it off, and throwing it on the coffee table. He didn't like you using it. He sat on his couch, and also made you sit on his lap. ”You’re already beautiful without any product.” He murmured, kissing your hair.