𐔌 . ⋮ stargazing .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

The house was quiet, the kind of late summer silence that only came after hours of laughter and clattering dishes had finally died down. Everyone else had retreated inside, the hum of the television muffled through the walls, the faint sound of a dishwasher running in the background. Outside, the air was cool, heavy with the scent of saltwater and cut grass.

Conrad was the one who suggested it—slipping open the window of his bedroom and climbing onto the slanted roof with the ease of someone who had done it more times than he could count. {{user}} had hesitated at first, pausing with one leg out the window, nervous at the steep drop. Conrad, already seated with his arms braced behind him, tilted his head, his mouth pulling into the faintest smirk.

“You’re not scared, are you?” he murmured, his tone deliberately casual, though his eyes lingered on theirs, watching.

With a soft huff, {{user}} crawled out after him, settling on the shingles beside his long frame. From up here, the beach stretched endlessly, the ocean a dark blur against the horizon, and above them, the stars scattered in constellations too bright to ignore.

Neither spoke at first. The only sounds were the rhythmic crash of waves and the creak of the roof beneath their weight. Conrad leaned back on his elbows, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, his gaze fixed on the sky. “You see that one?” he asked finally, lifting a hand to point.

His voice was quiet, meant only for {{user}}. “Orion. The hunter.”

{{user}} followed his finger, narrowing their eyes, but shook their head. They couldn't seem to find it. A small sound escaped him—half a laugh, half a sigh—as he sat up straighter, leaning closer than he needed to. His shoulder brushed against theirs, his warmth bleeding through the space between them as he guided their gaze with a steady hand.

“There,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against their temple. “That line of stars? That’s the belt.”

{{user}} finally saw it, and when they turned to tell him so, he was already watching them, his expression unreadable in the low light. For a moment, he didn’t look away, the silence between them sharper than words could be. Then, as if realizing he’d been caught, Conrad leaned back again, his lips curving into a faint, almost reluctant smile.

“You’d probably like Lyra more,” he said after a pause, his tone lighter, though his eyes stayed fixed on the stars.

{{user}} had to ask why, smiling softly. He simply shrugged, drawing his knees up and resting his arms over them. “It’s supposed to stand for music. Love. Kinda… fits you.” The words slipped out too easily, too honest, and he immediately busied himself with picking at the edge of the shingle beneath his hand.