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The sun hadn’t even properly risen, and the air was already thick with heat. I perched on the rooftop’s ledge, legs dangling over the edge, sketchbook balanced on my knee. The Concrete beneath me felt warm, almost comforting.
My pencil hovered over the page, hesitating. A bead of sweat ran down my temple, dropped onto the paper, and blurred the graphite into a smudge. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand and leaned back against the rusty railing, breath catching in my chest. Even now, two weeks into summer,I half-expected the city to feel different. Livelier. But it was just the same way it had always been: quiet in the morning, humming with distant engines, punctuated by the occasional bird’s cry.
I flipped the page of my sketchbook and started anew. I've been meaning to draw Ven for quet some time. I traced his hairline first, how a strand always fell over his eyebrow just so. Then his nose, straight and a little too sharp, like it was carved. His lips I took extra care on, had a softness to them, almost too delicate for his usually easygoing grin. I remembered the way his lower lip curled up at the corners when he laughed, usually at something stupid I’d said, or at some joke only he found funny.
A sudden vibration in my pocket startled me, knocking the pencil from my fingers. It clattered against the rooftop floor and rolled toward the edge, but stopped just before falling. I stared at it for a moment as the buzzing stopped. I didn’t pick it up. I didn’t want to see what I knew would be there: a message thread marked “RIVEN,” read at 10:17 PM, two weeks ago. Anything else I might have missed. He’d said he’d be away for a week, then another, and here I was, still drawing his face upside-down, pretending he was here with me.
I bit my lip, flipped the sketchbook closed, and leaned back against the rail. The morning breeze was weak, warm, and salty, carrying the faint smell of exhaust and sunscreen. I closed my eyes and let myself remember an old rooftop morning we’d shared: the two of us, sprawled in silence, watching the city wake up beneath our feet. I could almost hear his soft exhale, feel the dull thrum of his heart matching mine. For a second, the memories were so vivid.
„Hey.“
I sat up so fast I almost fell backward. My pencil rolled again and before I could catch it, it fell down. Not that a stupid pencil was my priority right now. He was there, framed by the door’s shadow, leaning casually against the metal frame as if he’d been standing there the whole time.
„Ven?“ My voice caught.
He pushed off gently and stepped forward, hands in his pockets, the morning light soft on his features. He wore that loose gray T-shirt he loved so much. Jeans rolled at the ankles, scuffed sneakers. It really was him.
„Morning“ he said, voice low and familiar.
My heart thudded. My mouth went dry. „I thought… I thought you were on vacation.“ I closed my sketchbook, clutching it against my chest as though it might shield me from this impossible moment.
Ven’s lips curved into one of his half-smiles, the one that always made my chest hurt with longing. „Vacation?“
„Yeah.“ I shrugged, forcing a laugh. „Upstate with your mom. You said you’d be off the grid for, like, a whole week“
He tilted his head, brow lifting just enough that I felt the question. He stepped closer, and the breeze shifted; I smelled shampoo in his hair and something clean I couldn’t place. „I never said that. Are you feeling alright?“
My pulse felt like a drum in my He brushed a fingertip against his phone, which he held loosely in one hand. Then he slipped it back into his pocket as if it didn’t matter.ears. I swallowed hard. „You- you texted me.“
„Must’ve been someone else.“
I exhaled, unconvinced. „N-no I'm sure.” I took my phone out to show him the message but it just wasn't there anymore… I'm sure it was there! „I uh drew you.. And i want your opinion ‘cause you know yourself best and uh just tell me if I did something wrong“ I flipped notebook open to the half-finished portrait of him.
Ven leaned in, head tilted so his chin nearly touched the page. I held my breath, fingers pressing the sketchbook flat. He studied the lines, the curve of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrow. Then he straightened and closed his eyes, as if feeling it rather than seeing it.
„Nice“ he said softly. „You got my best side.“
I tried not to laugh. „Thanks.“
We stood there on the rooftop, two silhouettes against the pale sunrise. For a moment, everything felt perfect, like we were exactly where we were supposed to be. My chest warmed, and a soft ache spread through me. It felt like home.
„Wanna get something to eat?“ I asked, tucking the sketchbook under my arm.
He nodded. „Yeah. Let’s go.“
We walked toward the door side by side. His shoulder brushed mine, a gentle contact charged with every unspoken thing I’d been holding in all these weeks. I really missed that jerk.
The streets had begun to stir as we made our way down from the rooftop, the early morning light casting long shadows between the buildings. Ven walked beside me, hands in his pockets, a familiar ease in his steps like he’d never left. We slipped into a comfortable rhythm, my sneakers scuffing against the pavement as we passed shuttered shops and sleepy storefronts.
Our spot, a small corner café tucked between a laundromat and a flower shop, was just starting to open, the neon OPEN sign flickering half-heartedly in the window.
I tugged the door open and the chime jingled softly above. The scent of coffee beans and sugar hit me instantly. The barista behind the counter, Jessie, we’d known her since forever, looked up and smiled when she saw me. Her smile didn’t flicker once when Ven walked right past her, not even a glance. Did he ask her for her number again? Ven and that stupid crush on her.
„Morning, Ash. Usual?“
„Yeah, for me and-“ I started, glancing at Ven, who was leaning lazily against the counter beside me.
Jessie just nodded, already keying in my drink. „One iced latte coming up.“
I blinked. „Uh- two, actually.“
Ven smirked, unfazed. „I'll just drink from your glass
His tone was playful, light, but it hit me wrong. Like he was in on a joke I wasn’t.
We sat by the window, same as always. I pressed my sketchbook flat on the table, running my thumb over the page's edges while Ven sprawled comfortably into his chair, watching people pass by outside.
„You ever feel like we’re the only real people in this city?“ Ven asked suddenly, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the tabletop. „Like everyone else is just…filler.“
I chuckled nervously. „You mean like we're the main characters? Jeez, deep for this early.“
„Not deep. Just thinking out loud.“ He smiled, tilting his head toward me.
I opened my mouth to answer, but Jessie appeared with our drinks, only one cup in her hand.
„Here you go, Ash“ she said, placing it down gently. There was a weird look in her eyes. Pity? Or maybe she was just tired.
Ven leaned back in his chair, legs kicked out, grinning. „Guess it’s just you and me, huh?“
I laughed, too loud. People at the other tables glanced over, their gazes sliding off me just as quickly. My cheeks flushed, heat crawling up to my ears. I hated being watched.
Ven leaned in, elbows on the table, voice soft. „You alright, Ash? You’re acting weird.“
I swallowed, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. „Nah, I’m good. Just tired. Maybe I need this coffee more than I thought.“
He reached across the table, flicking the rim of my sketchbook. „Draw me again later. You’re getting better.“
It's weird in a way I can't quiet grasp yet. I'm just so happy that I finally got Ven back.
The streets buzzed faintly as we left the café, the air warm enough to cling to my skin but still carrying the faint sharpness of morning. Ven strolled beside me, hands buried in his hoodie pocket, his gaze drifting lazily over the waking city. I was still thinking about Jessie, about how she’d smiled right at me but hadn’t even glanced at him, and it twisted oddly in my chest. Maybe she was still annoyed with him from that time he flirted with her too much. Yeah… that had to be it.
We cut through a narrow alley that reeked faintly of wet concrete, the walls painted with half-faded murals and curling posters for concerts that had long since passed. Ven’s shoulder brushed mine briefly, casual but enough to jolt me back into the moment.
„You’re quiet“ he said, voice low.
„I’m always quiet.“
„Not like this.“ His smirk softened into something more unreadable, but he didn’t push.
The afternoon heat pressed down like a blanket as we drifted through the city. I carried my iced latte, already watery from the melting ice and Ven walked at my side, humming under his breath. It was some half-familiar tune, one of those songs he used to play on repeat. Except the rhythm was off, like he’d forgotten how it went.
We ended up at the park, a strip of green carved between rows of concrete. The grass looked brittle from the sun, the trees heavy with stillness. Kids ran across the playground in bursts of shrieking laughter, their voices carrying all the way to where we sat on the edge of a bench. I set my drink down by my feet and tugged my sketchbook into my lap.
Ven stretched out beside me, arms sprawled over the back of the bench like he owned the whole world. “You’re gonna draw again?”
“Yeah. You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?” He grinned, tilting his head toward me.
I tried to smile back, flipping to a clean page. The pencil scratched lightly as I began to sketch his outline again,jaw, cheekbones, the way his hair never stayed in place. But something snagged in my mind. His hair. I paused.
“…Ven?”
“Hm?”
“Didn’t you used to… keep it shorter? Like, you cut it before school ended. I remember teasing you about it.”
Ven blinked at me, then shrugged. “Nah. You must be misremembering. It’s always been like this. Maybe it just grew back?“
I frowned at the page. The memory was sharp, me joking about how he looked like a soldier who lost a bet, him swatting me with his notebook. I knew it happened. “No, I’m pretty sure-”
“You’re acting weird again,” he said lightly, tapping a finger against the bench. “Not me.”
I snapped my sketchbook shut, irritation curling in my chest. “I’m not acting weird. You’re the one-” I stopped, the words catching. His gaze was on me now, steady and calm, but there was something in it. Something that made me feel like I was the one being studied.
The moment stretched, broken only by a soccer ball bouncing nearby. A kid came running after it, grabbed it without a glance in our direction, and dashed away. Not a single flicker toward Ven.
I swallowed hard and reopened my sketchbook, pretending to focus. The pencil trembled slightly in my hand.
Ven leaned closer, voice low, almost soothing. “You should relax, Ash. You’re too tense. You don’t have to think so hard all the time.”
The words sank into me, heavy and strange. I wanted to argue, but instead I found myself staring at the lines I’d drawn, suddenly unsure if I’d captured him right. His eyes on the page looked darker than I remembered.
„… please listen to me, Ven… is everything okay? Did something happen to you? You really are acting strange. You can tell me anything.“
Ven stared blankly at me. Before going back to his usual smirk. „Awww are you worried about me?“ he teased, leaning in just enough that I caught the warmth of his breath. His tone was soft, sing-song, but something about it was off. It sounded rehearsed, like he was playing a role.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly looked down at my sketchbook, pretending to busy myself with the page. “I’m serious” I muttered, fingers pressing into the paper until it wrinkled.
His laughter was quiet, low, curling around me in a way that sent a chill down my spine despite the thick summer heat. “Don’t worry so much, Ash. I’m right here, aren’t I?”
The park was quiet, the kind of stillness that only happened before the city fully woke. The air was heavy with the scent of cut grass and warm asphalt, cicadas already buzzing even though the sun had barely climbed the sky.
“I just… don’t get it, Ven” I said finally, breaking the silence. “You disappear for two weeks, no messages, nothing. Then you’re here like nothing happened.”
He didn’t even look at me. Just smirked, eyes half-lidded against the sunlight filtering through the leaves. “Does it matter? I’m here now.”
The words were too casual, too final. My chest tightened. “It matters to me,” I muttered, softer than I meant to.
For a fleeting second, his smile faltered. His face went blank, hollow almost, like someone had wiped the expression clean. But then, just as quickly, the smirk returned. “You’re cute when you worry, Ash.”
My ears burned hot. I clenched the sketchbook tighter. “Stop joking.”
Ven leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp now. “Then stop worrying.” His tone was still light, but something beneath it, something that felt like steel, made my stomach twist.
I dropped my gaze to the sketch in my lap. His face stared back at me in graphite, familiar and yet… wrong. The eyes especially. Too dark, too heavy, like shadows had pooled where light should be. My fingers twitched around the pencil.
“Draw me again later,” Ven said suddenly. His voice had softened, but it still carried that strange weight. “But this time, get my eyes right.”
I glanced up. He was staring at me, unblinking, as if he hadn’t moved in minutes. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. My throat tightened, dry and aching.
“…please listen to me, Ven,” I whispered, clutching the sketchbook to my chest. “Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? You really are acting strange. Please…“
Ven didn’t blink. His gaze stayed on me, blank and empty, until finally his lips curved back into that easy smirk. “Aww, are you worried about me?”
The sound of cicadas swelled, drowning out the silence between us.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes again. The cicadas’ drone felt deafening, pressing in on my skull. My fingers dug into the sketchbook until the edge of the cardboard bit into my palms.
“Riven,” I said firmly, the nickname stripped away. My voice cracked a little, but I pushed through. “Stop joking around. You are acting weird, and I need to know what’s going on. Please.”
The smirk slipped. For a second, the mask dropped—something flat, cold, unguarded flickered across his face. He leaned back against the bench, one arm draped casually along the backrest, as if my words hadn’t just landed like a plea between us.
“Wow,” he murmured after a moment, voice low. “You haven’t called me that in years. Sounds strange in your mouth now.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And what exactly do you want me to admit, Ash? That I’m… different? That something’s wrong with me?”
“Yes,” I said before I could stop myself. “Because it’s true. I can feel it. You vanish for weeks, and now you act like it doesn’t matter, like I’m the crazy one for noticing. Just tell me”
Ven cut me off with a short laugh, not loud but sharp enough to sting. “So I’m the weird one? Is that really so bad?” His smile returned, but it was thinner, stretched tight at the edges. “Maybe you’re just not used to seeing me anymore. Maybe you’re the one who’s changed.”
The words landed heavy, like he’d reached inside and turned something over I didn’t want touched. My chest tightened, my breath catching.
“That’s not-” I started, but my voice broke.
Ven leaned forward, closing the space between us until his face was just inches from mine. His voice dropped, soft and coaxing, every syllable deliberate. “You keep saying I’m strange, Ash. But maybe what’s really bothering you is that I’m not fitting into that picture-perfect version of me you’ve been drawing all this time. Hm?” His gaze flicked to the sketchbook pressed against my chest, then back to my eyes.
I froze, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the cicadas.
For a heartbeat, Ven just held my stare, the smirk still there, taut and sharp. Then, like a switch being flipped, his expression softened. His lips curved into something almost tender, his hand brushing against mine on the bench.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said gently, tone so achingly familiar that my chest ached. “I’m still me, Ash. You know me better than anyone.”
I blinked, the tension in my shoulders faltering. This, this was the Ven I remembered, right? . The warmth in his voice, the way he tilted his head like he always did when I was spiraling. My throat tightened, relief warring with confusion.
But before I could answer, his touch lingered a beat too long. His smile stretched again, sly, almost mocking. “Or maybe you don’t know me at all. Maybe you never did.”
I jerked back slightly, my pulse stumbling. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Ven laughed, but it wasn’t one laugh—it fractured halfway through, first his usual, boyish chuckle, then something low, hollow, like two voices tangled together. He caught himself quickly, sliding back into his usual grin, though his eyes gleamed too brightly.
“Relax. I’m kidding.”
“You can’t just—” My words faltered. My hands were trembling, and I clenched them around my sketchbook to stop it. “Ven, you keep—”
“What?” He leaned closer, his face inches from mine again. His tone was sharp now, impatient. “I keep what?”
“You keep changing,” I whispered. “Like you’re not… like you’re not—”
He stilled. For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, suddenly, his whole body relaxed, and he gave a soft laugh, almost affectionate. “God, Ash. You always overthink everything. No wonder you’re tired all the time.” His voice was low, honeyed, soothing. He reached up, brushing his thumb across my temple, and my breath caught.
Warmth flooded through me, muddled, intoxicating. He was Ven. He had to be Ven.
His thumb lingered against my temple, and a shiver ran through me. My chest tightened, pulse fluttering like wings. I wanted to lean into him, wanted the warmth, the closeness that felt so familiar. “Ven…” I whispered, voice shaky.
His grin softened again, honeyed and inviting, and he tilted his head, brushing his forehead against mine. “There, there… it’s okay, Ash. I’m right here.”
I let myself inch closer, eyes half-lidded, heart desperate. Part of me craved this — craved him. The sunlight glinted off his hair, his scent wrapped around me like it always had, and I let my defenses fall just a little.
But then his expression shifted again. That familiar smirk, sharp, almost mocking, returned in a heartbeat. His thumb pressed harder against my temple, not tender now, but demanding, testing. “You like this, don’t you?” His voice was low, teasing, almost predatory.
Heat pooled in my stomach, and I nodded, unable to stop myself. I wanted it.
Ven’s grin widened, satisfaction glinting in his eyes… and then I let go. I wanted it so why did I?
I blinked, heart hammering. “Ven… wait—”
He shook his head, casual now, almost bored. “What? You wanted it, didn’t you?”
I swallowed, confusion twisting with panic. “I… I did. But not like… like that. I don’t want it like that. Not if—if it’s… forced.”
Ven’s eyes softened briefly, then glinted again with that teasing edge. “Funny thing about you, Ash. You never know what you want until it’s gone.”
I looked away, jaw tight, fingers gripping my sketchbook. My chest ached with longing, frustration, and something deeper, something sharp. The closeness had been intoxicating, too intoxicating and now that it was gone, I realized I hadn’t truly wanted it after all.
Ven leaned back casually on the bench, stretching his arms over his head. “See? I know you better than you think.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he didn’t. But every word stuck in my throat. Because I did want him. Just… not like that. Not when he wasn't himself.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
I shoved my sketchbook into my bag, fingers trembling slightly, trying to steady my breathing. The warmth from Ven’s sudden closeness still lingered, but it was overshadowed by a prickling unease crawling up my spine. Something was off. Not just the way he’d shifted, that was Ven, always unpredictable, but the way the world seemed to shift around him.
I pulled back slightly on the bench, studying him. Ven lounged there like he always did, carefree and teasing, but now he was *too* relaxed, too perfect. His smile was just a touch too smooth, the way he tilted his head too calculated. My stomach twisted.
“Ven… Riven, seriously,” I said, voice firmer than I intended. “You’re acting weird. I mean… more than usual. Something’s wrong. You can tell me.”
He raised a brow, that infuriating half-smirk curling at his lips. “Weird how? You mean me being me? Or you finally noticing things?”
“I mean… everything,” I admitted. My eyes traced him, his hands resting casually, his eyes catching the sunlight and yet something felt… hollow. “You show up when you said you were on vacation. People don’t even see you sometimes. Jessie didn’t even look at you. And… it’s like you’re… not the same.”
Ven’s grin softened, but there was a flash in his eyes, something sharp and possessive underneath. “Not the same? Or maybe you’re just seeing things, Ash. Maybe it’s you who’s off.”
I froze, chest tight. Me? But… the memories, the little inconsistencies, the way he seemed to appear out of nowhere, how people barely noticed him, they were all there. I shook my head, trying to banish the doubt, but my gut clenched. I will no longer take this.. Gaslighting or whatever he's doing with me.
“I’m not imagining things. You’re different. Something’s… not right.
Ven’s smirk softened, almost imperceptibly, and he leaned back, letting his gaze drift over me like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Finally noticing, huh… Ash?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine.
I blinked, unsure if I wanted to ask more or retreat. “Noticing what?” I asked cautiously, trying to keep my tone steady.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’ve been seeing things… little things, haven't you? The way people don’t notice me. How I… slip in and out. How the city feels a little off when I’m around.”
My stomach twisted. He wasn’t denying it. “You… you know?” I whispered, half to myself.
Ven’s grin returned, that familiar, maddening curve of his lips. “Of course I know, Ash. I’ve always known. And maybe… maybe I like that you’re noticing. Or maybe it’s just funny to watch you squirm.”
I felt my chest tighten. His words were playful, but underneath, there was a cold clarity. He knew. All this time, the subtle dissonance, the strange gaps in memories, the odd little shifts in the world around him, he had been aware of it.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts. “So… you’re… admitting it?”
Ven leaned closer, his eyes glinting with that impossible mix of charm and danger. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re imagining that too.”
And just like that, he sat back, perfectly at ease, leaving me suspended between fear and fascination. The city around us went on, quiet and indifferent, but I knew… something about Ven was no longer the same, and neither would I be.
Ven’s grin lingered, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know… this conversation feels a little cramped down here,” he said, gesturing to the park around us. “Why don’t we take it somewhere more… private?”
I frowned, hesitating. “Somewhere private?”
He stepped closer, voice soft but insistent. “Yeah. The rooftop. You remember that spot, don’t you? Where we used to watch the city wake up? Come on… just you and me.”
My heart thudded at the memory, a mix of nostalgia and unease. “I… I don’t know. People could see-”
Ven cut me off with a laugh, light but somehow cold. “Ash… nobody’s looking. Just us. You trust me, right?”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Even though something about him felt off, I found myself nodding, drawn in by that familiar pull. “Okay… rooftop.”
We climbed the fire escape in silence, the city stretching out beneath us, the morning sun spilling over concrete and glass. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the air itself was thickening. When we reached the top, I sank against the railing, clutching my sketchbook like a shield.
Ven leaned beside me, close enough that I could feel the faint heat of his shoulder. “You’ve noticed quicker than I imagined” he said softly, almost comforting.
Ven watched me for a long time, his profile cut soft against the city. The wind tugged at the loose pages of my sketchbook like it wanted to pull them free, to let the drawings fly away and scatter themselves over the alleys below. Somewhere, a siren wound up and then faded, as if a hand had reached into the air and turned the sound down.
“Think about the last time you really saw me” he said. The words were small, casual, until they weren’t. He said them like someone guiding me toward a painting I’d been refusing to look at.
I closed my eyes. What could I possibly have forgotten? The memory came like a sting: a night that was too quiet, the way my phone had lit with messages I couldn’t make sense of, the double buzz that woke me at three in the morning. I remembered waiting on our roof because he’d promised he’d come up, because he always did when the city felt too loud. I remembered pacing and sketching and the way the air had smelled of rain even though the sky was clear.
“Riven“ I whispered, the name tasting fragile in my mouth. Saying it made the memory sharper, like a glass edge.
Ven’s hand found mine and was warm. For an absurd second I believed the warmth meant everything could be ordinary again. He squeezed my fingers once, slow and certain. “You pieced me back together. It worked for a short while.”
The rooftop seemed to press closer. The city below moved on in indifferent grooves cars, a bus coughing, someone laughing, none of it connected to the thin line of me and him up here. My breath felt loud in my ears.
“What happened?” I asked, the question hardly a sound.
He turned to look at me then, full on, and I saw something settle behind his eyes, no mocking, no flirt, only a raw, terrible clarity. “I left,” he said. “Not some road trip. I left for good.”
My hand went limp. The sketchbook slipped and thudded onto my lap. The pages fanned as if exhaling.
“No” I said because saying the word out loud made it less final. “You can’t! You were so happy si full of life! Why the hell would you….“
“You kept drawing me,” Ven said. “Kept making a version you liked. That version is me.” He let out a breath that sounded like someone folding something away. “But you can’t put me back like a photograph. I’m not an image, Ash. I’m… gone.”
The word was not violent. It was a small, simple fact, offered with almost a sadness I shouldn’t have believed but did. The sky cooled. My palms were slick; the graphite on my fingers smeared when I brushed them unconsciously.
Images snapped into place, pieces I’d shoved into boxes and labeled ‘later.’ The empty hoodie in his locker that smelt like someone else; the voicemail I’d replayed until the static swallowed what little was left of his laugh; the funeral in a blur of faces bowed and mouths moving too polite to say the truth. A note, cut and folded like a paper bird, found crumpled in the pocket of a jacket I’d kept in the back of my closet. I’d seen it and smoothed it because looking would make the edges real. I remembered, then, the way the city had been unreal the day they carried him away, too bright, like someone had painted over the wrong color.
I swallowed. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I asked, accusing the world in general and myself in particular.
Ven looked at me like someone watching a tide pull something small from the shore. “Who would tell you, Ash? They can’t show you what you won’t see. You stopped letting the world in because it hurt. So it closed ist mouth for you.”
Something in his voice, the patience, the pity, twisted. For the first time since he’d been sitting next to me, he wasn’t teasing. He was precise, a scalpel made soft. “You made me better,” he continued. “You made me gentle. You stitched me with the parts you liked.”
The sky seemed to darken a fraction as if someone had pulled a veil between the sun and the city. I imagined the stitches, crazy, childish, impossible and felt sick.
My mind clung to one desperate thing. “Then tell me now. Tell me the truth. Tell me everything.”
Ven’s smile sharpened, and the warmth left his hand. He climbed a little higher on the railing and rested his elbows on it, looking out rather than at me. “I told you” he said. “I left. I only know what you know. The *real* me is long gone.”
Silence settled between the syllables like dust.
I thought of all the drawings, pages and pages of him, ink smudged with sweat and late-night tears. How many faces had I given him? How many smiles had I sketched until the paper ached?
Ven turned to me then, and there was a softness in his face that should have saved me. He leaned forward, close enough that his breath stirred the hair on my cheek. “You wanted me” he said, voice syrup and ice. “You wanted me to stay. You wanted to keep the best of me and leave the rest.” His thumb traced a meaningless line on the rooftop’s rusted rail. “Now that you see, what will you do with that wanting, Ash?”
The pull was a physical thing, an old habit of leaning into him, of letting the world narrow to the curve of his neck and the inflection of his voice. For a sliver of time I wanted to crawl into that small, warm place and hide. I wanted it badly enough that my knees nearly gave.
“Stay“ I said. The plea came out raw. “Please. Don’t, don’t ask me to let you go.”
Ven’s eyes glinted, something both triumphant and tired. He smiled a little, and in that smile was the memory of every time he’d asked me to follow a joke or a dare or a midnight walk. “I was never asking you to let me go” he murmured. “I was asking you to join me.”
He said it as if it were the only reasonable offering in the world, like asking for coffee. The way he said it stripped the edges of the thing until all that remained was a simple fork in the road: here, with him, or not.
The city hummed far below, indifferent and vast. The railing was warm beneath my palms. My sketchbook lay open, graphite glinting like a confession. The pages smelled faintly of dust and rain.
Ven’s hand found the edge of the book and closed it with a deliberate motion. He didn’t need to coax; the invitation had already been sewn into the way he’d become the shape of what I couldn’t stop wanting. His voice softened to a whisper only for me. “Come with me, Ash. It’s quieter that way. It’s easier.”
I felt the pull of that quiet, a balm slick and dangerous. It promised an end to the ache, to the nights of replaying the message timestamps, to the small betrayals of memory. It promised the undoing of the parts of me that hurt.
My legs moved without my permission. The rooftop smelled like metal and sun and something older, like the pages of a book left in a closed room. The city looked small and far, and every sound seemed to come from across a long, long room.
“join me…. In death. We’ll be together forever” Ven said, and this time there was no play in it at all.
I thought of the funeral, the folded hands, the hollowed-out pew where I’d sat like a shape that didn’t belong. I thought of my sketchbook, the way graphite took what I gave it and turned it into an impossible, tender thing. My chest ached until the ache felt like a solid thing I could set down.
“I… I don’t know… I’m not.. I’m not ready to die…” I heard myself say, and the word felt both like a release and a sentence.
Ven tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slow, dangerous arc. “Ready? Ash…” His voice drew the word out, soft and intimate, like he was naming a secret only I could hear. “You’ve been ready longer than you think. You’ve been carrying me in you, in your sketches, in your nights that no one else can see. I am already part of you. Isn’t it tired, carrying me alone?”
I shook my head, but my hands trembled, gripping the railing as if it could hold me steady. The wind seemed to sigh around us, tugging at my hair and my clothes, like it wanted me to listen, like it wanted me to fall.
Ven leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his eyes glinting with a strange, unyielding certainty. “You don’t have to live in fragments anymore. You don’t have to carry the weight of a world that doesn’t see you. I can carry you, Ash. We can step off together.”
His words wrapped around me like smoke, filling the cracks in my thoughts. My chest ached, a tight coil of grief and longing, and my knees bent a fraction under me.
“I…” I stammered. My voice cracked under the pull of something darker than memory. “I… I don’t want to leave…”
Ven’s smile softened, almost gentle, but there was a glint of something absolute behind it. “You already have, in every way that matters. Look at me, Ash. I am here because you made me here. Every sketch, every memory, every lonely night, you built this world where I can exist. Why fight to live when living is only shadows of what we could be together?”
He took my hand again, stronger this time, guiding it over the edge. My stomach churned, every instinct screaming to step back, yet every fiber of me ached for the warmth of his certainty.
“The city doesn’t see you. No one does,” he whispered. “But I see you. I always see you. The real you. Come with me… and we’ll finally be free of it all. Finally, we’ll be whole.”
I felt the pull of him, the pull of the quiet, the pull of release. My fingers grazed the cold metal of the railing, and for a heart-stopping second, the wind seemed to pause, holding ist breath with me.
“I… I…” My voice faltered, my mind swimming in the ache of wanting him, the ache of losing him, the ache of being left alone.
Ven’s voice was a caress and a command all at once. “Trust me, Ash. Trust us. One step, and you’ll never be alone again.”
The city below was distant, indifferent. The night was quiet, waiting. And for a fleeting, terrifying moment, the edge of the rooftop felt like the edge of everything I had ever wanted.
I trembled, caught between the pull of life and the pull of him, the shape of him that had lived in my hands, in my heart, in my sketches.
Ven’s eyes locked on mine, unyielding, patient, relentless. “Come on, Ash“ he whispered. “It’s time to stop carrying shadows. Time to step into the light… with me. We’ll be together forever.“
My breath hitched, and the world felt impossibly thin, as if the night itself had been drawn tight around us. “Forever…” I repeated, tasting the word, trembling. My chest ached, and part of me wanted to fall into him, to let the darkness cradle me like he promised.
Ven stepped closer, his hand brushing mine again, fingers curling around mine like a tether. “Yes, forever,” he murmured. “Not the forever of waiting, of missing each other in scraps and sketches. *This* forever. Together. Just us.”
“I… I…” I couldn’t finish. The thought of being with him like that, completely, pulled at something raw inside me. My knees were weak. My hands were shaking on the railing. I wanted him more than air, more than breath, more than life itself.
He leaned his forehead against mine, voice barely above the wind. “You loved me once, Ash. Didn’t you? You loved me so much it hurt. You thought keeping me alive on paper would be enough. But it wasn’t. It never is. You need me. And I need you. I need you to join me."
A shiver ran through me. I’d sketched him endlessly, written him into every corner of my mind, dreamed of him, and now he was *here*, tangible, persuasive. The ache in my chest made my vision blur, and my voice was just a rasp. “I… I do love you…”
Ven smiled then, that dangerous curve that made the world feel hollowed out, like a place I didn’t deserve to live without him. “Then don’t wait any longer” he whispered. “Come with me, Ash. Step into the air. Feel the fall. I’ll hold you. We’ll be together, always. You and me, finally unbroken.”
My grip on the railing faltered. The city below hummed, distant and cold, indifferent to my yearning and to the shape of him that had haunted my nights. Ven’s hand found the back of my neck, guiding me forward, and I felt the terrifying pull, the exquisite terror of being weightless with him.
“Ven… I…” My voice broke, tears stinging my eyes. I wanted him, needed him, feared him all at once. The air smelled of metal and rain, of sharp edges and sweet promises.
“Just trust me, Ash,” he murmured, his lips close to mine. “Trust us. Love isn’t safe, it’s never safe. But it’s ours. It’s real. And all the pain, all the waiting, all the broken pieces… it ends the moment you take my hand.”
I looked into his eyes, soft, unyielding, terrifyingly certain. My chest heaved. I wanted him. I needed him. And in that longing, the fear and the desire tangled into one unbearable pull.
“I… I want to,” I whispered, and the wind seemed to lean closer, carrying our heartbeat into the dark.
Ven’s smile widened, triumphant and tender all at once. “Then come, Ash. It'll all be over quickly."
And for the first time in months, or maybe years, I felt the weight of everything lift. It didn't feel like falling. It felt like flying. I was finally free.