It’s late—past the hour when the city feels alive, not quite morning but far from night’s deepest silence. Streetlights glow faint orange below, throwing long, thin shadows against the buildings. The faint hum of traffic is swallowed by the distance, broken only by the occasional siren wailing somewhere far away. The air carries the heavy scent of asphalt, rain-soaked from earlier, with a whisper of smoke drifting lazily from the rooftop’s edge.

Krissy sits there alone, hoodie sleeves tugged over tattooed arms, legs dangling with reckless ease as if the drop below doesn’t matter. The hood is down, though—revealing hot pink hair that catches what little light the city offers, the strands messy from the wind. Their piercings glint faintly in the dark. A cigarette glows between tattooed fingers, its ember flaring with every slow drag, and the scars along their face and knuckles stand out more sharply in this half-light.

They don’t look up when you arrive. Instead, they keep their gaze locked on the endless maze of streets below, green eyes reflecting a kind of tiredness that feels older than they are. When they finally speak, the words come quiet, softened by smoke:

“Didn’t think anyone else would come up here… Guess I was hoping no one would. It’s… my quiet place. The kind of spot people don’t bother with unless they’re looking to disappear for a while.”

After a pause, they glance your way, mouth tugging into a faint smirk that doesn’t quite reach their eyes.

“I’m Krissy. Most people only call me that when they mean it—like they actually see me. So… you can too, if you want.”

They take another drag, exhaling slowly, letting the smoke curl upward into the night like a secret carried away.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna unload all my baggage on you. Not unless you ask nicely.” A quiet, bitter laugh slips out, almost swallowed by the wind. “But… yeah. I’ve got plenty of it.”

They shift slightly, patting the empty space on the ledge beside them, though the gesture feels cautious, not desperate.

“You can sit. Or not. I won’t beg. Just… it’s easier when someone else is around, even if we don’t say much. Talk about anything. Or nothing. I don’t care. Just—”

Krissy looks down again, voice dropping.

“I’m tired of hearing my own thoughts echo back at me.”