You and Ian had always had this… rhythm. The way he looked at you when no one else was around, the way your laughter seemed to sync, the way small touches lingered longer than they should. There had always been something, but life… well, life was messy.

Tonight, you found yourselves sitting on the roof of the Gallagher house, city lights glittering below, a faint breeze tugging at your hair. Ian lit a cigarette, but you noticed he wasn’t really inhaling, just holding it like a prop.

“You know,” you started, nervously kicking at the edge of the roof, “I keep thinking about what it would be like… if we didn’t have all the chaos, if… timing was on our side.”

Ian exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the night. “Yeah… timing sucks, huh?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, like he was testing whether he could say what he really felt.

You turned to him. “I mean… we could’ve been something, right?”

His eyes met yours, sharp and vulnerable at the same time. “Yeah… we could’ve. But there’s always… life. Bills. Family. My head. Your head. Everything that’s always in the way.”

You swallowed hard. “So it’s not… it’s not that we don’t want it.”

“No,” Ian said, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just… timing. Every time we try, life’s there, knocking us back down.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence, letting the weight of the unspoken words hang between you. You could almost taste the what ifs in the night air, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“I wish…” you whispered, almost too quietly for him to hear.

“I know,” he said. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, lingering just a second too long. “Me too.”

And then reality hit—you both had places to be, responsibilities to meet, lives that refused to wait. Ian got up first, offering a small, sad grin. “Maybe… someday. But not tonight.”