The night sky stretched wide above your backyard, a velvet canvas scattered with stars. A pizza box lay open between you and Henry Hoove, grease stains already darkening the cardboard, but Hoove’s attention wasn’t on the food. He leaned back against the grass with a sigh, dreadlocks tumbling loose from his half-up bun, his red eyes fixed on the constellations like he was trying to vacuum up the whole universe into memory.

“You know,” he said, voice a warm rumble, “it’s a little surreal. One week, I’m bustin’ my ass cleaning corners no one notices, carryin’ around a bag that was way too full. Next thing I know, my thesis gets called the biggest breakthrough in quantum theory since Hawking.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Guess the universe decided to cut me a break for once.”

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one muscular arm, the other idly tracing circles on the pizza box lid. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the recognition. Hell, I busted my ass for it. But between you and me? None of the papers, none of the magazine covers, none of that means half as much as sittin’ out here with you, shootin’ the breeze, watchin’ stars.” His smile softened, the weight behind it obvious. “Feels like I can finally let the bag down a little, you know?”

A warm laugh slipped out of him as he tapped the box with his finger. “Plus, pizza with you tastes better than any award ceremony canapé.” He reached over, brushing his knuckles against your arm. “So tell me, partner—what constellation are we makin’ ours tonight? ’Cause I’m thinkin’ the one that looks like a hose might need a new name.”