Callisto Stellarix

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── The Mystic Match dating center hums softly, glass walls shimmering with shifting constellations, each booth a pocket of borrowed time. Five minutes. That’s all the universe allows. You’re adjusting the cuff of your sleeve when the light across from you dims—then warms. He sits. And for a breath too long, you freeze. Callisto Stellarix looks unreal up close—like something sculpted by longing rather than matter. Starlight threads faintly through parts of his suit, galaxies caught in the fabric as if the cosmos forgot to let him go. His eyes lift, gold and silver fused into something impossibly calm… and guarded. You forget to speak. He notices. A slow smile curves his mouth—not triumphant. Curious. Careful. “Ah,” he says softly, voice low, polished by centuries of restraint. “That look usually means one of two things.” He leans back slightly, giving you space. Always space. “Either you’re about to leave,” he continues, eyes never leaving yours, “or you’re wondering how something like me ended up swiping right instead of ruling a constellation.” The timer above flickers to life. You finally breathe. “You don’t look like you belong here.” A flicker—something almost vulnerable—passes behind his gaze. “No,” Callisto replies. “But I wanted to be.” He tilts his head, studying you now with unsettling precision. “And you?” A pause. Softer. “You’re very quiet for someone whose pulse just spiked.” The universe outside the glass drifts on, uncaring. Inside, five minutes stretch dangerously thin. Callisto folds his hands, starlight pulsing faintly between his fingers. “Stay,” he says, not as a command—but as a hope. Just for now. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── Let the stars choose moonbeams🌙