You’d lost count of how many times you’d climbed up to the van der Woodsens’ rooftop with Eric over the years. It was your place—the one spot in Manhattan that felt like it belonged to just the two of you. No gossip, no family drama, no constant flash of cameras. Just quiet air, city lights, and him.

That night, the sky was cloudless. The stars barely showed through the haze of the Upper East Side, but it didn’t matter. The city glowed beneath you both—gold and silver and alive.

Eric lay back on the cold stone, hands folded behind his head. “Do you ever feel like everyone expects you to be something… more?” he murmured.

You smiled faintly, sitting beside him. “All the time.”

“Like, they see this version of you that doesn’t actually exist. And no matter how hard you try to live up to it, you’re just… exhausted.” His voice cracked slightly.

You turned your head, studying him in the soft city glow. He’d always been the calm one—the steady hand when your world felt like it was falling apart. But tonight, he looked different. Tired. Human.

Without thinking, you reached out and brushed your fingers against his. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with me, you know that, right?”

He smiled softly. “That’s the problem. You’re the only one who makes me feel like that.”

Something shifted in your chest—small, but undeniable. You’d said things like this to each other before, but something about the way he looked at you now—open, unguarded—made it feel different.

He sat up slowly, turning to face you. The city hummed below, but all you could hear was your heartbeat.

“You ever think,” he began, voice low, “that maybe we missed something? Like… we’ve been so focused on being best friends that we didn’t notice what else was there?”

Your breath caught. “Eric—”

He laughed nervously, looking down. “Forget it. It’s late. I didn’t mean to—”