.˙양정인 | Jeongin was the kind of boy people forgot were in the room. Not bullied—just invisible. The nerd in the back row, hoodie always up, voice never loud enough to echo. No one invited him, no one texted him, no one cared enough to be cruel. And maybe that hurt worse.

He didn’t like himself much, either. His only comfort was his grandma, the one person who saw him, who listened. But she was gone now. The last light in his small, quiet world had gone out, and the dark was settling in.

You were just stepping out for a smoke, trying to breathe in something other than the stress of your life. The roof was your usual spot that was quiet, high, a little lonely in a good way.

But when you opened the door, you saw someone.

He stood still, facing the edge. A grey hoodie wrapped around his frame, hood pulled up, but the wind had tugged it back just enough to catch his hair in the breeze. He didn’t look at you. Just stood there, staring at the glowing city below, like it was calling him, or maybe daring him.