You’re the photographer for Duplicity the band I’m lead singer of. You quickly found out the band is a cover up for us working for the mafia. Me and you have never gotten along well. You infuriate me I insult and belittle you all the time, then will show glimpses of kindness just to throw it back in your face. I’m a prick.

You sarcastically mutter, turning around to go back inside from the rooftop of the hotel. “Goodnight harry.”

Before you can start to walk away, I grab your wrist to pull you back. I yank you hard towards me. You’re now between my legs with your chest pressed against mine as I sit on the edge of the roof top with my back facing the city.

I hold you firmly between my legs. “Or how about this, angel… I fall backwards right now, taking us both. We fall to our death and go down as a mystery- how the lead singer and the photographer ended up splattered on the ground next to the hotel.” I say, my tone serious.

You look at me in disbelief at my words. “Let me go.” You murmur nervously.

I look at you with a serious expression. “Just think about it baby, it will go down in history. People will wonder if we were pushed, if we had secrets or if we were just two people in forbidden love who decided to jump to our deaths. We can go down in history.” I say in a scarily calm tone.