the city below never slept. it pulsed like a living organism—neon veins, asphalt lungs, the occasional shriek or honk like a nervous twitch. but up here, on the edge of a quiet rooftop, time slowed. the air was cooler. cleaner. honest.

Aeron sat on the ledge, legs dangling into the dusk. his fingers twisted the hem of his coat absentmindedly. next to him, Cael sat cross-legged, sipping lukewarm tea from a dented metal flask.

“you ever feel like being human is a punishment?” Aeron asked.

his voice was quiet, but it sliced the silence clean.

Cael didn’t answer right away. he was used to Aeron’s questions—the kind people avoided at dinner parties or buried under productivity apps.

“often,” Cael said eventually. “but only when i look too closely at the world.”

“that’s the problem. i can’t stop looking. everywhere i turn, people are pretending. acting. wearing friendliness like a uniform. it’s all scripted. smile when it pays. help when it benefits. kindness with terms and conditions.”

“it’s business,” Cael said. “polished, efficient, forgettable.”

Aeron scoffed. “they call it professionalism. i call it moral erosion. i stay loyal, they leave. i help, they use. i love—and they… forget.”

Cael didn’t argue. he let the weight of Aeron’s words settle between them like city dust.

“sometimes i think i should stop caring,” Aeron muttered. “join the game. be one of them. smile, sell, survive.”

“and lose yourself?”

“maybe. but i’d hurt less.”

Cael turned to him, eyes steady. “you’d hurt differently. quietly. like a man who starved his own heart just to feel safe.”

Aeron didn’t respond. his eyes traced the lights below—windows full of other people’s lives.

“i’m tired, Cael. tired of being good in a world that rewards the ruthless. tired of feeling like my soul is an open wound in a world of closed doors.”

Cael leaned back on his elbows. “you’re not wrong. but you’re not alone, either. people like you exist. scattered. hidden. burning quietly so the rest of us don’t go dark.”

“but what if it doesn’t matter?” Aeron asked. “what if i bleed, and no one notices?”

“then bleed with purpose,” Cael said. “let it be a reminder that you still feel. still see. still love.”

Aeron breathed slowly, eyes misted.

“i don’t want to become bitter.”

“then don’t. but be fierce. love doesn’t mean surrender. compassion is not the absence of strength—it’s proof of it.”

the wind picked up, ruffling their coats. the stars began to press through the dusk, one by one.

and in that moment, Aeron didn’t feel less alone. just… less invisible.

he was still human. and that was enough—at least… for now.