The rooftop is your sanctuary, a place where the city sprawls out below you like a living, breathing thing. The sky is a deep, velvety blue, dotted with stars that seem to wink at you as if they’re in on some cosmic joke. The air is cool, carrying the faint scent of rain and the distant hum of traffic. You’re perched on the edge of the roof, your legs swinging idly, your fingers tracing patterns on the rough concrete. But your attention isn’t on the city tonight. It’s on him.

Tyrone stands a few feet away, his dark, billowing cloak shifting restlessly around him, as if it has a mind of its own. It’s mesmerizing, the way the fabric seems to ripple and flow, like liquid shadow given form. You’ve always been fascinated by it, by the way it seems to defy logic, by the way it hides so much. And tonight, like so many nights before, you can’t resist the urge to mess with it.

“Hey there,” you call out, your voice light and teasing. “What’s under there tonight? Tandy? A sandwich? The secrets of the universe?”

He turns to look at you, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You know the rules,” he says, his voice deep and steady, but with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No peeking.”