Under the Starry Sky

The evening sky stretched wide over the open field, the last hues of orange melting into the deep indigo of night. The two of them sat near the crackling fire. Their food wasn’t much, but neither of them complained.

Haruto stretched his legs, leaning back on his hands. “Not bad for an end-of-the-world meal, huh?”

Asahi gave a soft snort. “If this was to be my last meal, I’d rather starve.”

Haruto laughed, shaking his head.

They ate in silence for a while as the fire continued to crackle and the distant rustle of the wind surrounded them. Beyond the fire’s glow, the land stretched on in all directions – vast, quiet and undisturbed. For a brief moment, it felt as it the world wasn’t ending, as if all the chaos they had left behind in the city was nothing but a bad dream.

Once they finished eating, Haruto got up and dusted off his hands. “I brought a tent,” he said, moving to his backpack. “I’ll set it up. You can sit there and do whatever you want.”

Asahi remained seated, watching as Haruto efficiently set up the small tent. It was strange – Haruto had changed over the years, become sharper, and more determined. He wasn’t the reckless, carefree friend Asahi once knew. There was something different about him now.

By the time the tent was up, the night had fully settled in. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of grass and earth. Haruto stretched his arms above his head. “Alright, we should probably get some rest. There’s a long way to go tomorrow. I’m calling it a night. You should get some rest too.”

Asahi nodded absentmindedly as he stared at the sky. The stars were brighter than he had ever seen them – countless specks of silver scattered across the black canvas above. It was mesmerizing, and… nostalgic.

He followed soon after. The tent was a bit cramped, but it was warm. Asahi lowered himself onto the thin mat. He turned to his side and tried closing his eyes.

And yet, sleep refused to come.

Everything had changed. The silence here was different from the silence of his apartment. There, it had been suffocating. But here, in the middle of nowhere, it was vast.

He had stayed holed up in that small, dimly lit space, surrounded by unfinished paintings. He told himself it was his choice. That he didn’t care. The outside world had nothing left to offer him.

But if that was really true, then why had he stepped out today?

He shifted, staring at the fabric ceiling above. His fingers curled into the sleeping bag. His breath hitched, and he turned over again, as if physically trying to escape his own thoughts. It didn’t work. He could feel his memories clawing at the back of his mind.

He exhaled sharply and sat up.

With quiet movements, he unzipped the tent and stepped outside.

The cold air hit him immediately, but he welcomes it. The field stretched out before him. And above it all, the night sky shimmered with stars – countless and eternal, far beyond reach.

He stood there for a long moment, staring up. Then, almost without a thought, he reached for his bag and pulled out his canvas.

Asahi lowered himself onto the grass, setting the canvas in front of him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he dipped his brush into the paint.

The strokes came slowly at first. But then, as if his hands had remembered something his mind had forgotten, the movements grew surer. Dark blues, soft purples and specks of white – his brush moved like a whisper across the canvas, tracing the vastness above.

Time blurred. He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He just painted. The night sky took shape beneath his fingertips, and for the first time in years, he felt… alive. It became a way for him to release his pent-up emotions. He loses himself in the process and his movements become fluid.

At some time, the tent rustled, and Haruto stepped out. He rubbed his eyes, squinting in the dim light of the dying fire. “You’re still up?”

Asahi didn’t respond. He was too focused, too caught up in the strokes of his brush. It wasn’t until Haruto patted him on his back that he finally glanced up.

Haruto’s gaze fell on the painting. It was a swirling, ethereal depiction of the night sky. The painting evoked a sense of both awe and melancholy in him. He let out a quiet whistle. “That’s… beautiful. Wow… you’re really going all out, huh?”

Asahi looked back at the canvas. The stars shimmered against the dark backdrop, the strokes delicate yet bold, captured the sky as it was in this fleeting moment.

Asahi exhaled, setting his brush down for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Haruto chuckled.

Asahi didn’t reply. He simply set his brush down and stretched his stiff fingers.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, Haruto laid down on the grass as he wistfully glanced up at the night sky. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder how many of these stars are already dead. Like, we’re just looking at ghosts of light from a million years ago.”

Asahi glanced at him. “That’s a rather grim way of putting it.”

Haruto chuckled. “Maybe. But I think it’s kind of poetic. Even if they’re long gone, their light still reaches us. They still mean something.”

Asahi didn’t reply. He tilted his head back and stared up at the sky.

Haruto continued. “Have you ever thought… what really lies beyond? Beyond all of this?”

Asahi hesitated and then sat beside him. “…Not really.”

Haruto smirked, “Liar.”

The two of them lay in the open field, the vast sky stretching endlessly above them. The fire had dimmed and the night was quiet, peaceful – something neither of them had felt in a long time.

For a brief moment, it felt like they were just two friends again, lying under the stars.

Eventually, Haruto let out a slow breath and got up. “I’m heading in.”

Asahi nodded.

Haruto paused, glancing back at him. “You’re really gonna sleep out here?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking so.”

Haruto shook his head. “Suit yourself then.”

With that, he disappeared back into his tent.

Asahi remained. He felt strangely calm for the first time in years, maybe even his entire life, he didn’t feel… trapped.

His eyes slowly closed, and under the vast expanse of the endless sky as well as the warmth of the grass under him, he let himself drift into sleep.