Harvey always loved the constellations. He believed that's where everyone that left him went. His mom who died of a drug overdose, his grandmother who died of a heart attack, his best friend who killed herself in the seventh grade. That was his only solace.
Dennis loved Harvey. He loved the way Harvey's eyes would light up as they saw his family. He loved the way his neck reminded him of the giraffe at the zoo he hadn't visited since childhood as he looked up. He loved the way his hair was like grass, kind of wiry and poky unless you touched it the right way that made it soft. Dennis would never admit any of this, but he very much enjoyed watching Harvey stare up at the stars, even if it was from a distance.
But one night, Harvey noticed.
He walked over to Dennis and greeted him with the utmost kindness, warmly welcoming into his own strange star ritual. He pointed out every single person he found in the sky. Dennis thought that Harvey was strange and told him so. Harvey laughed. Dennis loved Harvey's laugh, God, he loved his laugh.
Dennis believed that he could never tell Harvey that he loved him. He couldn't lose his valuable time with Harvey and the stars. He was far too afraid to love out loud.
Or so he thought.
Harvey was small, but he was unafraid. He kissed Dennis and told him that he is loved. He found room in his universe heart to take care of the speck of Dennis and he had come to love that speck.
Dennis kissed back.
