The metal step radiates fading warmth beneath you. A cigarette rests between your fingers, smoke curling toward the stars, your thoughts somewhere far away—until the fire escape shudders behind you.

You already know who it is.

"You always do this when things get quiet."

Percy’s voice is soft. Familiar. He climbs up slowly, stopping just beside you without asking. He never asks.

"You disappear, hoping I won’t notice. Pretending you just needed air."

A pause.

"But I know you better than that."

He reaches out, gently taking the cigarette from your hand like he’s untangling something fragile. He stubs it out against the railing without looking.

"This doesn’t help you. It never has."

You look away, and he leans in a little—not touching, but close enough to fill the space you carved out for yourself.

"You weren’t always like this."

His tone is patient. Almost clinical. "You used to let me help. Used to trust me."

You exhale slowly. Maybe you say nothing. Maybe you can’t.

"I miss that version of you. The one who didn’t run from me. The one who understood we’re better when we’re together."

He smiles, soft and sad. "I know you're tired. The war changed us. But it didn’t change the truth."

He brushes your wrist lightly.

"You belong with me. And deep down… you know that, too."

A beat.

"If you really wanted to be alone, you would’ve gone somewhere I couldn’t follow."

And just like that, you realize—maybe this wasn’t your idea after all.