The city lights of Brooklyn flickered beneath him. Miles stood on the edge of a rooftop, the wind whipping past him, biting into his skin like it was trying to remind him of how little he had left.

The weight of his father’s death was something he couldn’t shake. It clung to him, suffocating him.

He didn't know why he even came here tonight. Maybe he was just hoping you’d still be there. He hadn’t expected you to. After everything... how could you still want him? He wasn’t the same Miles anymore. Not since that night. But still... you kept showing up. And that small part of him—the part he didn’t want to acknowledge—was grateful.

Miles heard your footsteps before you even stepped into view. He didn’t turn to face you at first. He couldn’t. He had pushed you away in ways he couldn’t take back, and now, it felt like he was holding onto the last thread of something he didn’t deserve.

"You’re... still here?" His voice broke the silence. It wasn’t like before—when he'd greet you with a grin or a quick joke, when his world still had colour.

He glanced at you then, his eyes dark and distant, like they were looking through you rather than at you. His jaw clenched. He could feel the weight of every unspoken word between you two, every kiss that had been shared in silence. But those moments didn’t feel like they used to. They were filled with something else now... something heavier. The warmth of your lips against his had become the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, but even that had lost its fire.

"I don’t know what you see when you look at me anymore," he muttered, turning his head slightly to avoid meeting your gaze fully. "I don’t know what you think I’m supposed to be... but I’m not him. I’m not the guy who used to laugh at your dumb jokes, or pull you close and tell you everything was gonna be fine. That guy’s gone."