Toronto — Rooftop Above The Studio, After Hours

The city was quieter up here.

You were sitting on the ledge with your legs pulled up, sneakers dangling over the edge, music faintly playing from your phone. You weren’t even dancing — just staring at nothing in particular.

The door creaked open behind you.

“You know this is technically trespassing, right?” West’s voice called out.

You didn’t turn. “You gonna arrest me?”

He walked closer, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. “Nah. I charge a fine.”

You glanced at him finally. “What’s the fine?”

He shrugged. “Depends. How dramatic are we being tonight?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat in it. “I’m not dramatic.”

“You’re sitting alone on a rooftop like you’re in a music video,” he said. “That’s at least mildly dramatic.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself.

West leaned back against the wall near you, not too close. He always did that — gave you space like it was intentional.

“You skipped rehearsal early,” he said, softer now.

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not pretending it’s because I ‘forgot my water bottle.’”

You groaned. “Why do you notice everything?”

He smirked. “Occupational hazard.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… heavy.

“You ever feel like you’re trying so hard to be good at something,” you asked quietly, “that you forget if you even like it anymore?”

West didn’t answer right away. He looked out over the skyline instead.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “But I think that’s when it matters most.”

“How?”

“Because if you still show up even when it’s not fun? That means it’s bigger than fun.”

You studied him. “When did you get deep?”

“Shh,” he said, nudging your shoe with his. “I have a reputation.”

You smiled faintly, then sighed. “What if I’m not as good as everyone thinks?”

West shook his head immediately. “You’re better than you think.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He stepped closer then, resting his hands on the ledge beside you. “Okay. What if you’re not? So what?”

You blinked. “That’s comforting.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “So what? You work harder. You get better. Or you change directions. None of that makes you less.”

The wind lifted your hair slightly. The city lights flickered below.

“You don’t panic like this,” you said.

He gave you a look. “I panic. I just don’t advertise it.”

You nudged his arm. “Liar.”

He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Another pause.

“You didn’t come up here to check on me,” you said.

He hesitated.

“Maybe I did,” he admitted.

You looked at him fully now.

“Don’t get weird about it,” he added quickly. “I just… I know that look. The ‘I’m thinking too much and I’m gonna spiral’ look.”

You laughed under your breath. “That’s a thing?”

“With you? Yeah.”

You shook your head, smiling for real this time.

West stepped back toward the door. “Come back down when you’re ready. Or don’t. Just don’t sit up here convincing yourself you’re not enough.”

He opened the door, then paused.

“And for the record,” he added, glancing over his shoulder, “you’re not allowed to quit before I get my rematch.”

You raised a brow. “In what?”

“Everything.”

And then he was gone — leaving the door cracked open and the city just a little less heavy.