You weren’t supposed to be at the party. Technically, you weren’t even on the guest list. But a friend had dragged you along, promising it would be ”lowkey.”

It wasn’t.

Too many people. Too many questions. Too many reasons to leave early.

So you found the balcony. Glass of something half-finished in your hand, the city breathing below you. The sound of laughter and music faded behind the glass door like it belonged to another life entirely.

The door slid open again.

You didn’t turn. Just assumed someone needed a smoke or a phone call.

But whoever it was didn’t leave. He stood a few feet away, his presence quiet, unintrusive. You caught him in the corner of your eye—tall, relaxed posture, hands in his coat pockets like he came out for the same reason you did.

Silence passed like a shared thought.

Then he spoke, voice steady but a little rough like he hadn’t used it much tonight.

“I’m not great at these kinds of things either.”

You glanced at him. He offered the faintest smile.