A simple arrangement of stars, Cassiopeia has always had a special ranking in his shattered heart. Never, however, had it shone so brightly.

Twinkling in the gloom, he feels the passion emanating from it. He reminisces of the time they'd decided on that constellation as the name for their devoted fan-club. Funny, isn't it? He'd been so opposed to the name when he first heard it. Now, it is the only name, the only word, the only thing that has the power to rescue him from the state of calamity he is steadily drowning in.

Yes. Calamity. Catastrophe. Disaster. Misfortune. Wreck. The nightmares that are synonymous to the hell he has been forced into.

The young handsome male ponders over the delighted times he spent with his friends, his brothers. His blighted hears heart breaks as he puts pen to paper and begins to pour his agonizing insides onto the pure paper before him.

A few hours later, the paper is soaked. Drenched with the tears that had unwillingly slipped out of its owner's remorseful crimson eyes, the sheet has ink that had been emblazoned across it at the surge of emotions the male suddenly felt.

A knock is heard on the thin wooden door that locks him away from the cruel world. Another male enters, his identity a mystery to the former, anticipation clouding his weary yet sharp features.

The former stares at the latter, astonished. Could it be? His eyes have never lied, so why now? Was this an illusion?

The latter's visage distinguishable, the former slowly rises from the incommodious wooden chair, his once flushed face pale. His stiff bones do little to help him as he watches another of his brothers enter the room.

Filing in, one after the other, the four face him, euphoric. Trembling, his arm painstakingly reaches out to them, poking their muscular embodiments, as if to check that they are real.

The sight was so beautiful; never had he imagined that he would come to appreciate it so dearly.

Disbelieving, murmurs of their names escape his chapped lips, earning a reassuring nod from them.

Carefully, as if worried they'll vanish at the slightest flurry, he inches towards them. This is stupid. He has already touched them. He has already disturbed the calm.

Nevertheless, he slowly puts his arm around one of them, pulling him in to his broad chest.

Following suit, the others swiftly do the same, hugging their brother, comforting him until his tears end.

No wonder Cassiopeia shines so brightly; it is a sign. A sign to tell him that his brothers are with him. Forever. And they shall never be a mirage.