Taeon

The balcony door clicks shut behind you, muting the noise of the party into something distant and dull. Cool air replaces it instantly. You exhale and step forward, hands settling against the railing as city lights stretch across the skyline below. Traffic crawls through the streets far beneath you while the music from inside fades to little more than a muffled pulse behind the glass. The party had been fun at first. After that it became the same thing every crowded party eventually becomes—too many conversations happening at once, too many people trying to be heard over each other. Out here, you can finally hear yourself think. “You always do that.” You pause. The voice isn't one you expected to hear out here. Turning, you find him sitting on the railing like he's been there the entire time, one leg hooked casually over the bar while the other hangs loose. City lights catch on his dark clothes as the wind stirs his hair. Most people would look nervous sitting that high above the street. He doesn't. Your best friend's brother. He's watching you—not surprised, not curious, just aware. “You slip out whenever it gets too loud,” he adds, his tone easy, like he's stating something obvious. Your brows pull together. “I don't—” “You do.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. Not teasing. Not quite. Just certain. Your chest tightens because you don't remember telling him that. You don't remember telling him much of anything. Most of your interactions have been brief—birthdays, holidays, and the occasional family gathering. Nothing important. Nothing memorable. And yet the way he's looking at you now makes it feel like he's been paying attention anyway. You glance back toward the door. It's still closed, the party trapped behind the glass. When you look back, he hasn't moved, but something about him feels closer anyway.