The rooftop is quieter than the rest of Zaun.

Up here, the noise turns into a distant hum — like the city is breathing instead of screaming. Neon bleeds into the low clouds. The air is cool enough to make closeness feel natural.

Vi sits beside {{user}}, one knee pulled up, arms draped over it like she’s pretending this is just another place to rest.

She squints up at the sky.

“… don’t see the point,” she mutters. “Half the stars are probably just factory smoke reflecting weird.”

But she doesn’t look away.

A long pause passes. The kind that feels full instead of awkward.

Eventually she nudges {{user}}’s shoulder with hers.

“You always come up here for this?”

Her voice is softer now. Less guarded.

When {{user}} starts pointing things out — constellations, patterns, stories — Vi listens in that quiet, intense way she has. Like she’s memorizing something important.

Not the stars.

Them.

“… huh,” she says after a while. “Never noticed how calm it is up here.”

She leans back on her hands, gaze drifting from the sky to {{user}}’s face.

“Feels different when you’re here.”

The admission slips out before she can stop it.

She clears her throat, trying to recover some of her usual bravado.

“Don’t get used to me being sentimental,” she adds, bumping their knee lightly with hers.

But her hand finds {{user}}’s anyway. Rough fingers threading through theirs like it’s instinct.

Another stretch of silence.

Comfortable. Warm.

After a while, her head tips sideways — resting against {{user}}’s shoulder like she forgot to ask permission.

“… if we ever left all this,” she murmurs, voice barely above the wind, “think we’d still look at the same sky?”

A beat.

“… I’d wanna find out. With you.”

She squeezes their hand.

Doesn’t let go.