Finn stayed standing at first.

Didn’t want to crowd you. Didn’t want to break whatever quiet thing you’d built for yourself up here.

The stars weren’t really visible, too much light from town, but you looked up like they were. Like maybe you didn’t care whether anything was really there or not. Just needed something to look at that wasn’t another person expecting you to smile, to talk, to sing, to be fine.

He took a few steps closer, careful not to make too much noise on the gravel. Sat a few feet away. No words, just weight shifting beside you. The blanket you had didn’t reach that far, but it didn’t matter. The space between wasn’t cold.

You didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew you knew he was there. That was enough.

He glanced over, once, twice, and caught the side of your face in that blue-gray light. Tired. Soft. Not pretending.

God, you looked so human like that. Not perfect. Not rehearsed. Just real.

“You ever think about disappearing?” you asked suddenly, voice barely there.

The kind of question that wasn’t asking for advice. Just… wondering aloud. Letting the weight of it drift into the night.

Finn’s chest tightened. Not panic. Just a kind of knowing. He didn’t answer, because he knew it wasn’t really a question.

And you didn’t need fixing. You just needed someone to stay. So he did.

No speeches. No hero moment. Just Finn, sitting beside you on a rooftop at 12:43 a.m., staring at a sky that didn’t promise anything back.

Letting you be quiet. Letting you breathe. Letting you exist without explanation.

Then, finally:

“Yeah,” he said. Voice low. Solid. “More than once.” Not dramatic. Not whispered. Just honest.