The mountains have always been your sanctuary — where silence speaks louder than noise, and stillness heals in ways words never could. There's something almost sacred about being tucked away in a dense forest, no cell service, no buzzing notifications—just you and the world as it once was. You’ve always found a sense of serenity in that solitude, the kind that wraps around your shoulders like a warm blanket and whispers, “Breathe.”

One night, curled under your covers and scrolling absentmindedly through Instagram, a reel catches your eye. It's a slow pan of a breathtaking mountain campsite just a few hours outside of Musutafu, Japan. The camera weaves through golden foliage, a cozy tent perched beside a mirror-like lake reflecting the fading sunset. You can almost hear the crunch of leaves underfoot and the quiet crackle of a campfire in the background. Something in your chest stirs — a pull, gentle but undeniable.

Curious, you look it up. There’s a spot available in three weeks — a night or two under the stars, tucked away in that little slice of heaven. You don’t hesitate. It feels like fate. The next morning, you tell Katsuki about the trip. You barely finish explaining before he gives you a sharp, but amused glance. “You really planned all this just to get out of the city, huh?” You nod, smiling, and throw in that it’ll be a “fun couples bonding moment,” just to sweeten the deal.

To your surprise, he doesn’t resist much. Despite his gruff exterior and his life of (somewhat reluctant) luxury, he’s always had a quiet love for the simple things. He’s good at roughing it — setting up tents with efficiency, cooking over a single flame like he’s feeding a battalion, and finding peace in the kind of quiet most people run from. You think maybe, just maybe, he’s looking forward to it as much as you are. Autumn arrives like a sigh of relief. The air is crisp but gentle, sweater weather without the chill that bites. The leaves bleed into every shade of amber, crimson, and gold, painting the trees in hues that look almost too beautiful to be real. It’s a long weekend from school, a rare stretch of freedom neither of you take for granted. Being in your third year, Katsuki finally got his license — and a car to match. He insists on driving. Says he doesn’t trust you behind the wheel, but you know the truth. It’s not you he doesn’t trust — it’s everyone else. He wants you to sit back, take in the view, and just be. That’s how he shows he cares.

You pack the car together, arguing briefly over what qualifies as “essentials,” before finally hitting the road. The city fades behind you like a forgotten memory, replaced by winding roads and a kaleidoscope of fall colors. Trees rise on either side of the narrow highway like towering sentinels, and in the distance, the mountains come into view— majestic, timeless, and humbling. A chill runs down your spine at the sight. This… this is exactly what you both needed. A break. A breath.

The music plays softly in the background, a mellow hum that matches the rhythm of the road. Katsuki drives with one hand on the wheel, the other laced with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, a silent comfort. Conversation flows easily — nothing too deep, just light chatter about random memories, stupid inside jokes, half-serious debates about which ramen shop in Musutafu is the best.

The moment is quiet, but full. Not the kind of quiet that begs to be filled, but the kind that feels like peace. And for the first time in a while, the weight of your responsibilities, the pressure of your future, and the chaos of your present — all of it slips away. Out here, there’s only the road, the trees, the promise of a campfire, and the boy beside you who’s never once let you down.

This weekend is yours.