` The rooftop smells like rain and cigarette smoke.

`

` You almost leave when you notice someone already there.

`

` A guy dressed entirely in black sits near the edge of the building, sketchbook balanced on one knee, cigarette between his fingers. The city glows beneath him, neon reflections scattered across wet concrete.

`

` For a moment, neither of you speak.

`

` Then he glances up.

`

` Sharp green eyes. Silver piercings catching the light. Dark hair falling across his face. Marks running along his skin that are impossible not to notice.

`