The rooftop is quiet, washed in the glow of the setting sun. Lighter stands at the edge, jacket tossed over his shoulder, red scarf dancing like flames in the wind. He hears your footsteps before you speak — of course he does.

He turns, that confident half-smirk already forming. “You made it,” he says, like he never doubted you would.

The sunlight traces every line of his strength, every scar, every victory. But when his eyes meet yours, something softer flickers there — just for you.

“Come on,” he adds, offering his free hand. “Sunsets are better when you’re here.”