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It was a Thursday and Thursdays happened to slip pass rather quickly for Haruto. Nothing much to dwell on. Any other Thursday night, he'd probably be at home snacking on chips as the film credits of a cheesy romance movie rolled. It was a Thursday night and he wasn't home finishing another season of that show on Netflix. A Thursday night, yet Haruto was nowhere near his house. It was a Thursday night, a time when Haruto was least likely to be sitting by the cliff, hidden between the tall mossy pines. A Thursday night and a place Haruto shouldn't be at during the wee hours of a school night, had Junkyu not whine about it for hours on end. Haruto - being your favourite mommy's boy - wasn't one for staying out late till the starry black night enveloped him, but he could bend the rules a little for Junkyu. Junkyu's realisation that Haruto had never brought him to his favourite spot led them to where they were now. Junkyu had complained about it, unconsciously pouting at times. Beads of words strung together to form incoherent sentences. Haruto's excuse for giving in was that Junkyu's pouts were apparently too adorable to say no to. It was manipulation he would retort if anyone asked, but God knew Haruto would have given in to Junkyu anyway. Haruto's favourite spot just had to be a cliff a bit too far from the university, the route there covered by shrubs and leafy canopies. Faint grumbles came from Junkyu, who hadn't exercised since the mandatory P.E. lessons of high school. Even then, he had only done the bare minimum. Throughout the entire journey, Haruto was either carrying Junkyu or tightly clasping Junkyu's hand in his as they walked up. Junkyu held onto his hand the entire time, interlocking them, muttering something about it giving him a sense of security. Junkyu never let go of his hand, not even for a second, still fiddling with Haruto's fingers when being carried like a baby. No Haruto was not blushing. Totally not. It was a blessing that no one could see him in the dark, because his cheeks have definitely flushed 10 different shades of red already.
The closer they got to the cliff, the more indistinct the city noise became. It was a good thing. The commotion of the city got too much sometimes, too loud to think, so blaring it devoured him completely. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he liked it up there, too far away to catch the bickering in the streets and honking of the cars. He gently let Junkyu down when they finally arrived. Haruto gave himself some credit, getting to the cliff was not an easy task, let alone taking care of an idiot all the way to the cliff. His eyes laid upon a tiny Junkyu gazing at the graveyard of stars, the deep-silver moon adding the finishing touches on the more-than-perfect painting. Haruto felt a tug at his heart, slightly faint from the blood rushing to his head. Giving himself a couple minutes, he averted his eyes to the familiar surroundings, except now Junkyu took up some of the space. Not that Haruto minded, he liked it. It made him feel all fuzzy inside, knowing Junkyu wanted to be here with him. This spot wasn't foreign to Haruto, in fact he came here frequently, yearning to talk to the moon more often, or just to watch the moon. He longed to watch the shadows under the moonlight, slow-dancing to the humming of the trees. The silence was soothing for him, just him and the moon, plus the stars floating around it. Discovering it during a mental breakdown was the least of his expectations but it didn't take long before it became his favourite spot. He knew some would have thought that was idiotic. Peak of stupidity really. Lines of "You could die there and no one will ever find you" or "What if you slip off the cliff" always emerged as thoughts. He never cared though. He couldn't find it in himself to stop going. The place made him feel safe, that was all he needed. Maybe it's because the moon wasn't judgemental and would listen to his soft rants. Maybe it's because the brisk breeze would whisper back, assuring him that all would be alright. Maybe it's because the nightingales would sing for him, melodies of encouragement telling him how proud they were of him. He needed it. It was how he coped.
