I sat at the edge of the cliff, knees pulled to my chest, as the mist swallowed the jagged rocks below. The wind was sharp, tugging at my hair, and the sky hung heavy with a gray that blurred day into night.

“Still here.”

The voice was quiet, almost lost in the wind. I didn’t flinch—I knew who it was. {{user}} always found me.

“I told you not to follow me,” I murmured, not turning around.

They stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the frost-kissed grass. “And I told you I’m not good at listening.”

I finally looked at them, their silhouette blending into the overcast sky. {{user}}’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in their eyes that rooted me there. “Why do you care?”

They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they crouched beside me, resting their arms on their knees. “Because you shouldn’t be alone.”

My throat tightened, but I forced a bitter laugh. “That’s funny coming from someone who’s always distant.”

{{user}} didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. They just stayed there, their presence grounding in a way I hated to admit.

The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken, until I spoke again. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“You don’t have to know,” {{user}} replied simply. “You just have to let someone stay.”

I felt the tears burning at the edges of my eyes as I glanced back at the misty horizon. The words settled into the hollow space inside me, not a cure, but a small salve.

“Then stay,” I said, softer this time, my voice barely audible.

They didn’t move, didn’t speak again, but I knew they wouldn’t leave. And for the first time in a long time, the weight in my chest lifted just a little.