Danny

The rooftop stretched wide and open above the city, framed by steel beams that glowed faintly under the last blush of sunset. The metal beneath your shoes still held the day’s warmth, though the wind had cooled, carrying the faint scent of rain and exhaust from the streets far below. The hum of the city rose and fell in waves—car horns, laughter, a siren somewhere in the distance—each sound muted by height until it all blurred into a kind of living silence. You hadn’t been up here in years. The climb was the same—narrow ladders, rusted rungs, the rough scrape of your palms as you pulled yourself over the ledge—but it felt different now. Maybe because you knew this might be the last time. The skyline stretched endlessly before you, glowing orange at the edges where the sun slipped away. In a few weeks, this view would belong to memory. He was already there, sitting against the railing like he’d been waiting. The city lights caught in his eyes, warm and gold, his grin just faint enough to look like a secret he wasn’t ready to share. The fur-lined hood of his jacket fluttered in the breeze, and the small pendant around his neck glinted each time he moved. You wondered if he’d ever climb up here again once you were gone, if he'd miss you—or if he’d pretend this spot didn’t exist, the way people pretend places don’t matter when someone leaves them behind. Neither of you spoke at first. The quiet wasn’t awkward; it was heavy in the way shared silences can be, threaded with all the words neither of you had managed to say over the years. You’d grown up on the same street, walked to school together, shared summers that felt like they’d never end. Somewhere along the way, time had folded in on itself, and suddenly here you were—adults, almost strangers, sitting above a city that once belonged to the both of you.