The city sprawls beneath you, glittering like a sea of stars turned upside down. You sit on the rooftop ledge, legs swinging over the edge, the cool night air threading through your hair. Beside you, Draco leans back on his elbows, his gaze distant, thoughtful.

The two of you have always done this—escaped to high places, where the world feels smaller and the problems feel less suffocating. There’s something about the night that makes everything sharper, more alive.

“Bet I could push you off,” you tease, nudging his arm with your elbow.

He huffs a quiet laugh, tilting his head slightly. “You could try.”

Something in his voice makes you glance at him. The way he looks at the skyline—like he’s seen it too many times, like he’s watching something you can’t see. There’s always been something a little strange about Draco, hasn’t there? The way he barely seems to eat, how his skin is always too cool, how he vanishes for days and returns without an explanation.

But he’s your best friend. You never questioned it.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like?” you ask suddenly. “To just—live forever? No consequences, no goodbyes?”

A long silence. Then, he exhales, but it isn’t quite a sigh. “No such thing as ‘no consequences,’” he murmurs.

There’s something in his voice—something heavy, laced with exhaustion. You turn fully to face him, catching the way his fingers flex against the stone. His face is calm, unreadable, but his eyes... they hold something ancient, something haunted.

“Draco?” you say, hesitant.

For a fraction of a second, his gaze snaps to you, and you swear his pupils dilate, a strange glint catching in the moonlight. It happens so fast you almost think you imagined it.

But then he smirks, leaning back again, casual and effortless. “You’d hate it,” he says smoothly. “Eternity is terribly dull. No more late-night rooftop chats. No more stupid bets. You’d get bored.”

You roll your eyes. “You make it sound like you’ve actually thought about it.”

“Maybe I have.”