𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐤𝐨𝐤𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 <3

sabaism.

Sabaism - the worship of the stars.

Modern teen skk au!

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He's pretty sure he's engrained this into his memory by now, the sound of muffled laughter and the cracks of Chuuya's voice when he protests and yelps. The world is a blackened canvas above them, stained by little white dots which Chuuya has somehow become so fascinated by. He tells Dazai as much, explains their intricacy and their hidden meaning which has taken root so strongly in his heart, his chest, his soul. Dazai doesn't quite get it, but he listens nevertheless. While he cares little about stars or the reality around them as a whole, he does strongly care for the soft flush that rises to Chuuya's cheeks, the way his eyes light up so brightly and the way his lips curve into that damning smile.

Maybe he's wrapped a little too tight around Chuuya's finger. Maybe he doesn't give a shit. It's hard to really mind anything else when Chuuya is laid at his side, head lazily lolled onto Dazai's chest. His hand is raised, extending to the sky like he wishes to obtain it, to run the tips of his fingers across it and seize it in his heavy grasp. Dazai's pretty sure if he was capable of it, he would. Instead though, limited by the small box of physics and logic, Chuuya settles for telling him about the various constellations that loom overhead. He names each of them with ease, drawing invisible lines between them with his finger like a poor imitation of a connect-the-dots page.

"Your freckles look like them, you know," Dazai interrupts his spiel about the Canis Major. He'd made a joke earlier about how if Chuuya was to be immortalized in a shape created by burning balls of gas, he'd be Canis Minor, and the boy was determined to prove him incorrect.

"My- what? My freckles?" Chuuya blinks at him dumbly, ocean eyes and parted lips and all.

"Yeah. They're like stars, don't you think? I bet I could connect them with a pen or something," Dazai nods his head, then begins to search his bag for some sort of writing utensil he could use to do just that.

"What? No way, asshole! I'm not gonna face my dads with ink all over my face because of your dumb schemes," yet he's blushing when he says it.

Dazai takes his physical reaction as his answer, because isn't that always more truthful than words? He thinks so. He grabs a red pen from his bag, it's one of the sparkly ones and that scratches a pleasant part of Dazai's brain for no particular reason. He straightens back up, greeted by a groan from Chuuya when he sees what he's holding. The brunet replies with a petulant whine and that proves to be enough to get him to concede, so they change their position and Dazai slides with ease into the latter's lap. It accentuates their subtle height difference, but he decides against making a remark about it. He doesn't want to be shoved off before he can do this of course.

"You think that's what stars are like to the sky? They're just, like... Billions of little freckles all over its skin."

Dazai looks up to Chuuya's eyes, finds them burning into his. While he doesn't often say it, he revels in getting to hear his poetic rants. When they aren't being shouted or spat, his words can be so breathtaking. They twist his view into something ethereal, something Dazai wishes he could hold onto when the color drains from his days every once in a while. Yet amidst that gray nothingness, there is always Chuuya Nakahara. Hair like wildfire, eyes like the richest sapphires, skin like marble. So, so vibrant. Alight in ways Dazai wishes he could be, instead of the usual bleakness even his appearance carries with him.

"Are you really personifying space now? Tsk, I knew Chibi had no friends, but I didn't think he'd be so desperate as to turn even a vast plain of nothingness into a person," Dazai clicks his tongue and his gaze returns to downcast. He presses the pen to Chuuya's skin and gently begins to link the randomized speckles on his face.