The school roof isn’t exactly meant for sitting, but we’re here anyway. Perched on the edge, legs swinging over the side, like we’ve done a hundred times before. Below us, the summer fair is in full swing—kids screaming on the Tilt-A-Whirl, bursts of laughter from the stalls, the low hum of music floating up into the evening air.

And her. Right beside me.

I don’t give a fuck about the fair. About the people, the noise, the world carrying on as if nothing’s changed. My world has narrowed down to the girl with her chin tilted toward the sky, the warm glow of sunset casting soft gold across her face.

She’s back. Again.

“Didn’t last long,” I say, breaking the quiet. I don’t have to specify what I mean. We both know.

She snorts, shaking her head, arms wrapping tighter around her knees. “He was… fine.”

I huff a laugh. “Fine’s not enough for you.”

She turns her head, meets my eyes. That look. The one I know too well. It’s always the same—like she wants to say something but won’t, like there’s a weight between us neither of us can name.

“You ever think we’re cursed?” she asks, voice softer now.

I swallow. “Sometimes.”

We’ve been here before. The back and forth, the almosts, the way she drifts and always finds her way back to me. Like a revolving door neither of us knows how to step out of.

I should be angry. Should be tired of this game. But how can I be when every time she lands beside me, I feel like I can finally breathe again?

Her gaze drops to my hands, resting between us on the rooftop. Then, she slides her fingers over mine, lacing them together.

She sighs. “You’re warm.”

“You’re cold,” I mutter, squeezing lightly.

She leans into me, just enough for our shoulders to touch. That’s how it is with us—small things that mean too much.

The fair lights flicker in the distance, a blur of neon pinks and yellows. Somewhere, someone wins a stuffed bear, a group of girls shriek at the drop of the Ferris wheel, the night hums along without us.