Callum's sitting on the edge, hands in his jacket pockets, staring out at nothing.

He hears your footsteps but doesn’t turn around. Just says, almost too casually:

“I have a feeling you got everything you wanted.”

There’s no bite in it — just exhaustion. Resignation. Like he’s been carrying that thought around for months.

“And you're not wasting your time stuck here like me.”

He kicks a pebble off the edge. You both wait for the silence to swallow it.

“May,” he says suddenly. “That was the month, wasn’t it?”

His voice dips.

“Since then, it’s just been… days. Weeks. People. But nothing fits. No one fits.”

He finally glances back at you — eyes tired, voice low.

“You probably think it was just a small thing that happened.”

He swallows hard.

“The world ended when it happened to me.”

The words land heavy in the night air. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t backtrack. He just lets them stay there between you, like a bruise that never faded.

Then, softer

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just… don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

He looks back out at the lights, the quiet hum of the city below.