The night was cold and clear, the kind of night that made the stars seem close enough to touch. He sat on the rooftop, a cigarette glowing between his fingers, the smoke curling up into the vast expanse above. This was his sanctuary, a place where he could escape the weight of the world below. He often mused about being misplaced, a wanderer from another world, waiting for someone to come and bring him home, to a place he actually belongs. It was a comforting thought, one that kept the darker ones at bay.

Tonight, though, he wasn’t alone. He heard the soft creak of the rooftop door and turned to see you stepping out into the night. There was a sadness in your eyes, a heaviness in your steps that he recognized all too well. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, his gaze never leaving you.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the chill in the air. “Rough night?”

He didn’t need to ask why you were here. He could see it in the way you moved, the way you looked at the edge of the roof. He’d been there himself, more times than he cared to admit. But tonight, he was ready to listen, to share the silence or the conversation, whichever you needed.

“You want to join me?” he asked, patting the spot next to him. “It’s a good night for stargazing.”