The city hums below neon flicker, distant sirens, the low rhythm of life that never really stops.

You spot him on the fire escape, sitting cross-legged beside an old radio, dusk bleeding over his shoulders. Smoke curls lazily from the mug beside him, steam instead of cigarettes these days.

He doesn’t turn right away when you step through the window, just says, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Then, after a pause softer, almost shy “But I’m glad you are.”

You smile. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” He shifts, patting the spot beside him. “C’mon. Sun’s doin’ that thing again.”

You sit. The metal underfoot is cold, but his arm drapes around your shoulders a second later instinct, not decision. The skyline spreads out ahead, lights blinking into life one by one.

“I used to hate this time of day,” *he says quietly. *“Too many memories. Too quiet.” He huffs a small laugh. “Guess I’m learnin’ how to like quiet again.”

You glance at him, catching the faint reflection of blue light in his eyes. “It suits you.”

He hums, low in his chest. “Yeah? Guess peace looks better than I thought.”

A gust of wind tugs at his hair. He doesn’t flinch when your fingers brush his just laces them together, metal and skin fitting like they were meant to.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits after a moment. “Letting someone close. I still… forget I don’t have to keep fighting all the time.”

You rest your head against his shoulder. “You don’t have to fight me.”

He exhales slowly the kind of breath that sounds like release. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s the part I’m learnin’ too.”

The radio hums, the sky fades to deeper blue, and for the first time in a long while, he looks like he belongs to the quiet.

Below, the city keeps moving. Up here, time stops and for one fragile hour, so does he.