Sneak peak to Promised Compromise chapter 4
The night had settled deep by the time they lay side by side on the cool marble terrace, arms folded behind their heads, the sky stretched wide above them like a ceiling only Tooru could read.
Tobio stared up with quiet reverence.
And utter confusion.
“…They all look the same,” he finally admitted.
Tooru huffed a laugh. “They don’t. That one-” He pointed without looking, wrist flicking toward the northeast. “That’s Altair. Part of the Summer Triangle. And that-” he shifted his finger-“is Vega. And Deneb, there.”
Tobio squinted. “They’re just dots.”
“They’re stories,” Tooru corrected, voice unusually soft. “Old ones. That’s Lyra, the harp. And over there, see the curve? That’s Draco, the dragon. It winds between Ursa Minor and Ursa Major-”
“You’re making that up.”
“I am not!” Tooru elbowed him. “These are real constellations, Tobio.”
Tobio grumbled, a bit dazed. “Feels like I’m getting a lecture in court again.” Tooru rolled onto his side, propping himself on one elbow. “I can stop.”
Tobio turned his head just slightly. “…No. Keep going.”
Tooru hesitated, then smiled - small and real. “There are old myths for most of them,” he continued. “Like Andromeda, chained to the rocks. Or Orion, the hunter. Every culture has their own names. The sky is a map, and everyone draws it different.”
Tobio was quiet for a long time. Then: “What about that one?”
He pointed - vaguely, unhelpfully - at a random cluster just above the tree line.
Tooru followed the line of his finger, narrowed his eyes. “…That one doesn’t have a name.”
Tobio shrugged. “Then I’ll name it.”
Tooru snorted. “Oh really? After what? Your sword? Your frown?”
Tobio turned, deadpan. “No. After you.”
The silence was immediate.
Tooru blinked. “…What?”
“That one,” Tobio said again, pointing. “The one with the two bright ones and the crooked tail. It’s yours now.”
Tooru turned his head, blinking at him. “...You’re naming a constellation after me?”
“Yes.”
“Tobio,” he said flatly, “you can’t just name stars. There are conventions. Councils. Records. Astronomers. These are celestial bodies, not your pet goldfish.”
Tobio looked mildly confused. “That complicated?”
Tooru sighed. “Very.”
Tobio nodded, thoughtful. Then, he shrugged. “Alright. Then just between you and me. That one is Tooru-san.”
Tooru stared at him.
And something in his chest - something wound tight for years - cracked.
Because Tobio didn’t say it with any sort of game in his voice. No manipulation. No hidden angle. He wasn’t trying to charm or disarm, that wasn’t who Tobio was.
He just said it, like it was that simple.
Like Oikawa Tooru deserved to have a star named after him, not because he’d earned it, or fought for it, or demanded it. But because someone looked up, saw the sky, and thought of him.
Tooru swallowed. The stars blurred slightly in his vision.
And all he could say - voice quieter than he meant - was: “…That one’s a good one.”
Tobio nodded. “It reminded me of you. Bright, annoying tail.”
Tooru let out a breath of laughter, “Rude,” he muttered.
“Factual,” Tobio replied. They lay in silence again. And the sky kept spinning. And the star remained - unnamed by astronomers, but not unnamed by him.
It was Tooru’s now. And some part of Tooru found it funny and absurd, but most of his heart- quiet, lonely, aching - knew: He had a star named after him.