The hospital rooftop is quieter than the rest of the building.

The air is cool, brushing against your skin as you push the heavy door open, careful not to make a sound. From up here, the city feels distant-lights glowing softly, cars moving like slow rivers far below. For a moment, you forget the beeping machines, the white walls, the weight in your chest that never truly goes away.

You step closer to the railing, resting your hands on the cold metal, breathing slowly.

"Didn't think anyone else came up here."

The voice startles you.

You turn and see a boy sitting on one of the concrete benches near the corner, an IV stand beside him, wheels locked. He looks about your age, wearing a loose hospital hoodie, sleeves pushed up. His face is pale, but there's something calm about him-like he's made peace with this place in a way most people haven't.

He gives you a small, apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he says. "I wasn't trying to scare you."

There's a pause. The kind that isn't awkward -just careful.

"I'm Dylan," he adds after a moment. "I come up here when my lungs feel less... crowded." A soft shrug. "Fresh air helps."

The wind lifts your hair slightly, and he notices the way you press a hand lightly to your chest without realizing it. His expression doesn't change-no pity, no questions. Just understanding.

"You don't have to leave," Dylan says gently. "There's enough quiet for two."

The city hums below you, the sky stretching wide above.

And somehow, without knowing why, you feel like this rooftop is about to become important.