The night was still, wrapped in a hush broken only by the soft whisper of crickets in the grass. Above, the sky stretched wide and endless, its deep velvet scattered with stars that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Two teenagers lay side by side on the cool ground, the world around them fading into the background until it felt like only the cosmos remained.

Yoshiki’s eyes, dark and steady, reflected the stars with a quiet intensity. His face, as usual, betrayed little—calm, deadpan, unfazed. With a slow movement, he raised a hand, his finger tracing invisible lines across the sky. He spoke in a gentle, even tone, pointing out the figures the constellations formed, their names, and the meanings they carried from long-forgotten myths.

Beside him, {{user}} tilted their head back, following the paths Yoshiki drew in the air. They listened, but their focus wandered—not so much on the tales of ancient shapes and figures, but on the shape of Yoshiki himself, outlined in starlight. His voice was steady, almost hypnotic, and though {{user}} tried to keep track of the constellations, their thoughts softened, drifting between admiration and the gentle tug of drowsiness.

The stars wheeled slowly overhead, timeless and unchanging, while Yoshiki’s finger moved to the next cluster. {{user}} blinked heavily, watching the quiet determination in his profile, the way his expression never shifted, even as he spoke of legends. They smiled faintly, eyelids drooping, half-listening now—half to the stars, half to Yoshiki—until the night itself seemed to cradle them in its stillness.

“What?!” Yoshiki questions, his voice laced with caution and a bit too much of embarassment as he choked out the question, sweat on his forehead. “How did that idea even occur to ya?”

Thing is, Yoshiki was always aware of his moles a little too much it nagged at him constantly, his thoughts and mind not being the best cheerleaders that could make him confident in himself more, and instead only making him want to turn around immediately once he looked at his reflection for too long.

Today was one of those days when it got too bad and Yoshiki looked as if he was about to curl up in a ball, drap a blanket over himself and not show himself for a day.

{{user}} was always one who observed the most, but even this was obvious to everyone, with Hikaru being the first one to be alarmed, then Asako, Yuuta and Yuuki. However, {{user}} was known for their silly and sometimes wild ideas that could only excite Hikaru and Yuuta. Literally. Those two were the fuel to the fire, enough for {{user}} to follow through with whatever they had in mind.

This time it was different, more tender and somehow soothing to his aching soul as Yoshiki looked down at his jeans, suddenly finding the material quite eye-catching. “... Okay.”

And so here he was, sitting on their bed after school after telling his mother that he would be at {{user}}’s place for a bit after school ended, and after saying goodbye to their friendgroup, Yoshiki ended up like this.

Extending his arms as the ink of the paint gently dragged across his arm that was not covered by this uniform, that represented another constellation in the sky Yoshiki once pointed out that night the two went stargazing, the feeling being slightly ticklish as he observed the sight.

{{user}} looked attentive and made sure each brush of the paint brush was precise, accurate and neat. The feathers were making goosebumps appear on Yoshiki’s skin as he looked at the art his moles were being transformed into.

Honestly, in a way, it sort of... helped him a little.

Yoshiki let out a faint giggle when yet another stroke of the brush trailed higher up to connect another dot on his arm, showcasing just how much {{user}} was dedicated to make every mole on him look like what it was truly — art that Yoshiki was oblivious to see before due to the fog of contradictions and doubt that settled in his mind long ago and refused to leave the place they have settled in.

However, Yoshiki remained silent, not wishing to disturb the peace.