Chapter 13: A Promise I Shouldn’t Make

—Because some truths are like glass. They don’t just break you. They cut you open on the way down.

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The rooftop again.

Because apparently, I’m addicted to bad decisions and cold wind.

The city stretched below like a broken circuit board—flickering lights, fractured streets, lives I didn’t care about.

But tonight wasn’t about the city.

It was about her.

Yume sat on the rusted railing, legs swinging like gravity was just a rumor. The night air tangled her hair into wild strands, and the way she smiled at nothing made my chest feel like someone was tightening screws inside it.

“Why is it always rooftops with you?” I asked. My voice came out flat, like it didn’t want to admit it was relieved she was here.

“Because it feels like the closest thing to flying,” she said.

Then, after a pause:

> “And I like pretending.”

I didn’t ask what she meant. Some things sound better unfinished.

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We stayed like that for a while, listening to the hum of traffic far below, the occasional honk, the faint music of life going on without us.

Then she spoke.

> “Kazuki… can I tell you something stupid?”

“Everything you say is stupid,” I said. Because deflection is easier than honesty.

She laughed softly. But it faded quick.

> “I don’t have much time left.”

The words didn’t hit like thunder. They didn’t need to. They slid in quiet, cold, like a knife under the ribs.

“…What?” My voice cracked in places I didn’t know it could.

She turned her face toward the sky.

> “It’s terminal. The doctors… they said months. Maybe less.”

A shaky breath. A smile that looked like it hated itself.

“Guess that’s why rooftops feel nice. There’s something honest about being close to falling.”

I stared at her. At the curve of her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the railing like she was holding the world together.

My throat felt full of cement. Words wouldn’t move.

Finally, something broke loose.

“…Then I’ll give you everything you want before that.”

She blinked. “…What?”

“Everything on that list. And anything else you dream up. I’ll make it happen.”

I stepped closer, the city lights burning behind her like cheap constellations.

“I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll do it.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but no sound came. Just tears. Quiet, messy, traitorous tears that slid down her cheeks like rain that didn’t know when to stop.

I reached out before I could stop myself. Pulled her in.

Her forehead pressed against my chest. Her fingers curled into my jacket like she was afraid I’d vanish.

The sound she made—soft, broken—was the kind of thing that cracks people open from the inside.

And I stood there, holding her under a sky that didn’t care, feeling the city blur around us like stars that had given up shining.

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I didn’t tell her I was terrified.

I didn’t tell her I had a fight coming that might kill me.

I didn’t tell her that promises are chains and I’d just shackled myself to something I could never win against.

I just held her tighter.

Because sometimes, lies aren’t spoken.

They’re silent. And warm. And they feel like hope, even when they’re not.

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