The Chicago night air was cold against your skin as you climbed onto the roof of the Gallagher house, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The city stretched endlessly in front of you, quiet for once. You didn’t expect anyone else to be up there.

But Fiona was already sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the side, a cigarette glowing softly between her fingers. She looked tired—more than usual—but when she heard you, she glanced over and gave a small smile.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked.

You shook your head and sat beside her, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was the kind that felt full—of thoughts, of things neither of you ever really said out loud.

Minutes passed. Then she spoke quietly.

“Sometimes I come up here when it all feels like too much,” she admitted. “Up here… it’s quieter in my head.”