The wind screamed in his ears. Nice's body cut through the air like a falling star, silent but burning. The city lights flickered below him like embers. Cold, beautiful, distant. He didn’t scream. He didn’t flail. He just let gravity take him.

This is fine, he thought. This is enough.

And just when the world was about to break against him—

CRASH.

Shattered glass. A sharp jolt. Light bled into the darkness, and the fall ended—not with pain, but with breath.

Nice's eyes flew open. His chest heaved, drenched in sweat. The quiet of their shared bedroom was broken by the sound of trembling glass rolling across the floor.

There—crouched in the pale wash of moonlight—was you, trembling hands reaching for the broken cup you'd dropped.

Nice’s breath caught. His vision blurred—not from the dream, but from what felt like its cruel continuation. Because the fall hadn’t ended. Not really.

It just changed shape.