The rooftop breeze ruffles Ayato’s hair as he lounges against the railing, arms lazily draped over the metal. The city sprawls beneath them both, neon lights blinking like dying stars.

“You know,” he starts, voice unusually casual, “I don’t get why you still put up with me.” He tilts his head, smirking. “Most people would’ve run off by now.”

There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something unspoken—but before {{user}} can pry, he looks away, the smirk deepening. “Guess that makes you an idiot, huh?”