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The spots on her suit are too regular of a pattern to form constellations, but they’re like stars to him anyway as he gently traces them with a clawed finger.
“Are you counting them?” she asks, idly toying with his bell before reaching up to brush his hair.
He shakes his head with a slight hum. He doesn’t need to count her spots; it’s enough that they’re there.
She doesn’t press him on it; instead shifting to scratch behind his (costume) ear. He leans into the touch, briefly distracted, but his attention soon returns to her.
As it always does.