The school rooftop was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the rhythmic thumping of a loose metal vent. Elara stood by the railing, her fingers tracing the cold iron, while Julian sat on a concrete ledge behind her.

He was always there. It had been like this for years—Julian, with his raven-black hair that never quite stayed in place and that pale, sophisticated complexion that made him look like he belonged in a Victorian novel rather than a public high school.

“You’re doing it again,” Julian said, his voice a low, teasing hum.

“Doing what?” Elara asked, not turning around.

“Thinking so hard I can practically hear the gears grinding. Come here. Sit.”

Elara sighed but complied, sliding onto the ledge beside him. He smelled like cedar and old books. He turned to her, his expression softening into that look—the one he always gave her. It was a gaze filled with unreserved fondness that made Elara’s stomach do a nervous flip.

“I was thinking about next year,” Julian continued, his hand resting near hers. “Everything is going to change. College applications, graduation, all of it. But I was thinking… as long as we stay close, it won’t be so bad.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Elara said, keeping her voice neutral. She could feel the warmth radiating from his hand, so close to hers.

“Will we?” Julian shifted slightly closer. “I mean, really. When everything scatters us in different directions, will you still… will we still talk?”

“Of course we will. Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he said quietly. “I’m being honest. You’re the person I’m closest to, Elara. I think you’re the only one who actually knows me. The real me, not the version I show everyone else.”

The honesty in his voice felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. Elara felt a sudden, sharp instinct to push back. If she admitted he was right, if she admitted he held her captive in some way, she would be vulnerable. And vulnerability was something she couldn’t afford.

She let out a sharp, forced laugh. “Close? Julian, don’t be a fool.”

Julian flinched as if she’d struck him. “What?”

“We’re just… people who grew up in the same neighborhood,” she said, her voice growing colder the more she felt herself wanting to lean into him. “We’ve known each other forever, sure. But you say these things like we’re in some grand romance. Like there’s this deep connection that goes beyond friendship.”

“Isn’t there?” Julian’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“No.” The word came out harsher than she intended. “There isn’t. I’ve never seen you that way. You’re my friend, Julian. Just my friend. I’ve already told you to stop with this.”

Julian stood up abruptly, turning to face her. “Elara, I’m not talking about a movie or some fantasy. I’m talking about us. About how you laugh at my terrible jokes even when you pretend not to. About how you always save me a seat in the library. About how you know I take my coffee with too much sugar and you never judge me for it.”

“Those are just things friends do,” Elara said, standing too. Every word felt like a lie, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Friends?” Julian’s voice cracked slightly. “I’ve spent years waiting for you to just… look at me. Truly look at me. To see that I’m not just the kid from down the street.”

“Then you’ve wasted your time,” she snapped. The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back, but pride kept her jaw clenched tight. “I don’t regard you as someone fairly close to being… whatever you think this is. You’re just Julian. Unruly, static, and honestly? A bit much sometimes.”

Julian’s pale face went even whiter. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then tried again. “Static? You think I’m static?”

“I think you’re stuck on something that isn’t there,” Elara said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Every time you try to say something like this, I’ve already moved past it. I’ve already decided what we are, and this isn’t it. Just… stop.”

“Elara—”

“Stop,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Please.”

She turned and headed for the door, the sound of her footsteps echoing on the metal stairs. She expected him to call out, to argue, to follow her like he always did. He was persistent—it was one of his most annoying and endearing qualities.

But for the first time in ten years, there was only silence.

Elara paused at the door, her hand on the handle. She could turn around. She could go back and tell him she didn’t mean it, that she was scared, that the truth was she did see him that way and it terrified her.

Instead, she pushed through the door and let it slam shut behind her.

The sound echoed in the stairwell, final and absolute.