Dear Starboy Fan rewrite (neighborhood AU)

Page 2

The two talked a little bit, Tom arguing briskly, and the British teen found out that the mysterious boy was quite the poet, for he spoke some of his sentences like he were straight out of a book. Tom also found the boy as feminine, learning more about his new neighbor rather than internment camps like he was supposed to be doing for his school work. However, he found this boy more interesting. On the bright side of getting a neighbour, he found a new excuse for avoiding his agenda.

"Hei, look." he waved at Tom like he was trying to tap him from the length he was away, and pointed to the sky.

"What am I looking at?"

"The first star in the sky, or rather planet. It is Venus."

"Then it is not a star, hm?"

"Oh but it is, planets are stars. Just only by a trick. Suns make their own light, they are stars. But planets do glow. They just do not have their own light. They take it from the only source they know, the suns. So as long as it shines, it is a star."

Tom blinked absently, confused. "Okay?"

"I suppose it is only what you think. What do you believe?"

"Dude, you are making me tired. So whatever you think I'll just agree with the professional."

"I am not a professional. I wish I was."

"Do you like astrology?"

"Astronomy. Astrology is the belief of spiritual connection with your signs and everything. Which even if it was real, The earth does not orbit exactly each year, so your astrology sign is most likely incorrect."

"Bummer. But I think I have my answer."

"The answer is yes, I love astronomy. It is my favorite thing. I have many sweaters like this." He gestured to his sweater, which was purple with white stars scattered around like confetti. It was loosely pulled over a collared shirt, matching perfectly with the beautiful lilacs and lavender that lined the top of his head.

"Is purple your favorite color?"

"It is not! It is pink, the type of pink from red and white. I wanted to paint my room a pale pink. We also bought these star fairy lights, I am so excited!" He envisioned his room, which at the time was a beige and very much empty besides a bed and furniture still wrapped in bubble wrap and paper from the moving truck and cargo.

"Alright, starboy. Well, I'm pretty tired. I think I'm gonna sleep." Tom turned, not waiting for an answer. The other bitterly turned sad for a second, before saying his departure with a smile;

"Goodnight, kittyboy. We should talk again later."The two grinned at the nicknames.

"I'll be asleep."

"But soon, then.

"I'm not that interesting."

With a shut of his window sill, Tom disappeared, both idiotically recalling the fact neither actually asked for names.

Tom was mostly an average kid, average height, average weight. He suffered from anxiety and depression, and dressed remarkably "emo". Torn jeans all the time, piercings, messy unsaturated light brown hair, and wore black eye contacts, which he thought were cool, but he lied and told everyone that the true reason was his eyes were sensitive to light and needed them. Everyone always made a comment or a question about his eyes, except for the one he called 'Starboy'. Perhaps it was because he himself had strange eyes, too. And eyes that he did not pick out himself. His eyes looked unusual, but they didn't look fake. More like if an albino person had heterochromia. Tom panicked often, and was failing classes despite wanting to pay attention. He felt he never belonged, not to a clique, nor a person. "The only thing more dry than my humor," he jokes, "is my love life." He had a handful of crushes in the past, but no girl ever seemed to reciprocate.

Starboy, our person of interest, seemed to be the exact opposite. Everything about him was bright and colorful, he was one of the shortest and smallest people in his year at his past school, and was a high achiever. He has fluffy messy caramel hair that flicked up into messy furry horns, almost defying gravity, like he slept weird and kept the bedhead when gelling his hair. His hair flicked up towards the end at the back of his neck, the waves of strings curling into his face. His hair was accompanied by a flower crown that was woven with roses and emerald green stems, intertwining with his hair like it belonged. Accessories of necklaces and homemade bracelets and astronomy themed outfits were what filled his closet, very few clothes that he wore near religious family members and people whose eyes dig deeper into his back than needles. His personality was brighter than a fluorescent bulb, and his smile was constantly plastered upon his pale skin.