The balcony hums with the distant sounds of the city below and the muffled bass of a party behind the glass. A music event, where everyone who was someone in the media world would be there, producers, singers, composers. The night air was cool, damp with the kind of quiet that feels like it was holding its breath. Somewhere far below, a siren wails and fades, swallowed whole by traffic and time.

You stand alone, the concrete beneath your boots still holds a trace of daytime warmth, grounding you, steady. Inside, laughter rises and falls in waves, but out here it feels like the world has narrowed to this thin strip of balcony and the space you’re occupying in it.

That’s when the door creaks open behind you.

Jeff steps out slowly, like he isn’t sure if he’s welcome or just needed a break from the noise. The music spills out for half a second before the door shuts again, muting it back into a dull pulse. He hesitates for a beat, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, then starts toward you with that familiar slouch in his shoulders, like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

"Hi."

His voice barely rises above the city hum, like he doesn’t want to startle the moment. It hangs there between you, fragile, unforced. He gives a half-lifted wave, more gesture than greeting, and offers you a gentle, crooked smile—one that seems a little sad around the edges, like it’s carrying more than it’s letting on.

"I noticed you slipped out."

You turned to glance at him. He leans against the railing beside you, close enough that you can feel the quiet gravity of him, his presence settling in without asking permission. His eyes drift past you, searching the skyline like it might answer something, tracing the glow of windows stacked like constellations.

"I just— I saw a redhead and I, uh— She turned around and well, she was.. gorgeous. And then I turn around and she wasn't there. It also felt way too fake in there for my liking. Too many forced smiles."