Finished Three Stars Out Of Alignment

Lorenzo must not wait long for a reply. As his shoulders eased once more, he let his weight settle quietly into his wooden seat. Damien, meanwhile, turned toward him and at last met him with a smile upon his lips. The younger student lowered his gaze. The blue eyes fastened themselves innocently and curious upon those lips. Upon closer inspection, he deemed Damien‘s expression to be kind. The answer awoke the room.
«There you go, Lorenzo!» Damien’s voice rang. He seemed to partake in Lorenzo’s earlier euphoria, or at least support the notion.
The breath Lorenzo had held slipped, as though relief were the key to the very door the smile had kept closed. The corners of his mouth slowly lifted. Of course they would have to treat the equipment with respect — yet to clean it as well? It surprised him, and sank into his ears, filling his thoughts.
Even as Damien turned away, the rigid smile could not be driven from Lorenzo’s face. It was fueled, as he was far too occupied imagining all that they might observe through the telescope. There would be no queue, no imposed groups of students or assigned partners pressing themselves between him and the night. There would be Camille, certainly, yet even his presence can not dim the stars. Since it did so already, without ever needing to force itself.

Then, all at once, Damien’s voice rang louder than all day dreams combined. Lorenzo’s thoughts of burning suns sank back into the firmament, exchanged for new information. Damien would like to meet twice a week. Such a preference would be shaped by their schedule, yet the mere fact that it had been spoken into the room was soothing enough to let the smile drift gently from Lorenzo’s lips. The frequency could surely be increased. Still, the suggestion gave way to a more contemplative gaze. There was nothing in his memory that stood in opposition to the wish for weekly two meetings.
Aside from his regular excursions through the library, Lorenzo was almost always to be found in the Ravenclaw common room, there, where everything possessed its structure, and where the world made an effort not to torment his senses with colour and noise.

«Hmm… », Lorenzo murmured, for just then Damien set a book upon the table. It came to rest precisely between Lorenzo and Camille. Unlike his own, it bore the marks of use, as though a veil of knowledge had withdrawn into it, already beckoning him to conquest its content. Damien explained, «Y’all are free to look inside my book, just be careful, please!», granting them access to to share all that lay within.
Hearing this, Lorenzo’s heart quickened. His breath sank deeper into his lungs, only to be held there, awaiting his own hands to reach for the book. Camille surged forward first. That the devil proved swifter surprised him only for the brief moment in which Lorenzo released his breath. Spite unfurled itself through every tale — through those that spoke of fallen angels, of demons and monsters. They were ever the quicker ones, driven by some dark, otherworldly force. How fitting, Lorenzo thought, his gaze now fixed upon Camille’s hand.
Sharp and sudden, Camilles‘s voice shot from the young throat: «Two times a week is out of the question.» Once every two, however, would suit him well. Accompanied by Camille’s sigh, Lorenzo found himself leaning forward. His brows drew together in quiet scrutiny at the thought of not making full use of such a truly remarkable opportunity. Once every two weeks seemed far too little, but the devil had boundaries.
«That would be terribly brief…», Lorenzo whispered his reply, too softly to count as opposition — more alike a thought that had slipped from his tongue.
Camille continued speaking. In his new posture, half over the table, Lorenzo could at least observe the source of all mischief. Camille’s full lips curved into a grin. It all but invited removal by a well-placed fist, whereby Lorenzo was anything but eager for physical contact. It itched in his fingers.
With a French lilt, his bunkmate remarked that Lorenzo ought to remain behind and attend to the cleaning.

Like a spell, Camille‘s words rolled through Lorenzo’s mind. His fingers curled into one another, thumbs brushing along his forefingers. The rest of Camille’s speech drifted through the room like birds without a home. Lorenzo’s imagination took to the fore.
If he were to tend to the cleaning, he would have time alone with the equipment. Solitude would cover his usual concerns. Perhaps even Damien would not be there. The young Italian might steal extra minutes. Possibly even hours with the telescope to himself. If only for the fleeting moments in which he beheld them, the stars would shine for Lorenzo alone. His pupils slowly widened, until Camille’s features before him dissolved into an unimportant blur. Lorenzo sank back into his seat. The smile too blissful to be mistaken for anything but genuine.
«—might serve you well», Camille’s voice reached him from the side.
«You are right», Lorenzo replied. His voice calm, and markedly more confident than before. «What a good idea, Camille. Thank you for the suggestion!»