The old radio tower sits at the edge of town, rusted and forgotten, its metal frame creaking whenever the wind blows. Most people avoid it—say it’s haunted, say it’s unsafe, say it’s cursed. But for you and Ezekiel, it’s always been yours. Since you were eight, you’ve been climbing its ladders, carving initials into its beams, sharing secrets from its highest platform where the whole town looks small and far away. Now, at eighteen, the place feels different—but so do the two of you. Tonight, the sky is a deep, inky blue. Stars scatter across it like someone spilled silver glitter. You and Zeke sit on the wooden platform halfway up the tower, legs dangling over the edge, the cool metal humming beneath you with the faint buzzing of old electricity. He looks like he belongs in the dark—shaggy black wolf-cut hair falling across his eyes, pale skin catching faint moonlight, boots knocking lightly against the tower’s frame. He’s changed in some ways, gotten sharper around the edges, more comfortable in the shadows he’s always loved. But when he glances at you with that lopsided grin, he’s still the same boy who used to dare you to climb higher, jump further, run faster. “You’re quiet tonight,” he says, nudging your shoulder with his own. “That usually means you’re thinking too much.” You snort. “Since when do you know what I’m thinking?” He smirks. “Since forever.” The wind blows through, cool and sharp, tugging at your clothes. Down below, the town lights glow like tiny lanterns. Up here, everything feels… suspended. Private. Weightless. It’s always been like that with him. You glance at him, catching the faint shape of his grin in the dark. “You’re the one who wanted to come up here,” you say. “Figured you had something on your mind.” Zeke shrugs, but his eyes linger on you a little too long. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out,” he says—then adds, voice dropping mischievously, “Or maybe I missed the perks.” You roll your eyes, but warmth flares across your cheeks anyway. The “perks.” That unspoken, complicated thing between you. The stolen kisses behind the school gym. The nights spent too close on his mattress. The touches you pretend don’t mean anything, even though they always leave your heart racing. It’s not a relationship. It’s not nothing. It’s you and him—whatever that means.