Chapter 10 — ROOFTOP CONNECTION

The rooftop was quiet, the winter air crisp and sharp, carrying the faint scent of snow from nearby streets. The city lights shimmered below, but up here, it felt like a world apart—calm, still, and just theirs. Jinsei climbed the stairs slowly, sketchbook in hand, hoping Akane had come too.

She was already there, leaning against the railing, her scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. Her sketchbook lay open on the ground beside her, pages fluttering gently in the cold breeze. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, pale and watchful, and Jinsei felt the familiar pull in his chest as he approached.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. She didn’t look surprised—just… glad he had come.

They walked to the center of the rooftop, leaving a small space between them, comfortable and natural. For a long moment, neither spoke. The city below hummed with distant life, but up here, it was just the two of them and the soft brush of wind against their faces.

Jinsei glanced at her sketchbook, then back at her. “You’ve been drawing… again.”

She smiled faintly, tugging the scarf slightly tighter around her neck. “I like capturing the quiet moments. The ones people usually miss.”

He nodded. “Kind of like noticing someone in a crowded room… without them knowing.”

Her eyes flicked to him, a small blush warming her cheeks. “Exactly. That… that’s exactly it.”

They settled on a low bench, sketchbook between them. Jinsei hesitated, then asked, “Do you… ever feel like everyone expects you to be someone you’re not? Because of… your family?”

Akane’s gaze dropped to the sketchbook. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Every day,” she admitted quietly. “It’s like they see only what they want… and I’m stuck trying to fit that image.”

Jinsei leaned a little closer, careful not to crowd her. “You don’t have to fit that here. Not with me.”

She looked up then, eyes wide and searching, and for the first time, Jinsei saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath her composed exterior. “I… I like that,” she whispered. “I like being… seen.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and real. They brushed hands lightly over the sketchbook, a small, deliberate touch that sent a warm jolt through Jinsei. Akane didn’t pull away—she let it linger, letting the quiet intimacy build.

For a few minutes, they drew together in silence. Jinsei traced lines absentmindedly while stealing glances at her, noticing the faint curve of her lips, the tilt of her head, the way her fingers lingered over the pencil. Akane’s gaze occasionally met his, brief but full of unspoken acknowledgment.

Finally, she closed her sketchbook with careful precision. “I should probably head home,” she said softly.

“Do you want me to walk you?” he asked, standing.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

They stepped off the rooftop together, shoulders brushing occasionally, and for the first time, Jinsei felt the world shrink to just them—the cold air, the pale moon, and the warmth of someone noticing you fully, quietly, and without expectation.

By the time they reached the street corner, the slow burn of awareness between them had grown a little brighter, a little more insistent. Akane glanced at him, eyes soft, cheeks lightly pink. “Thanks… for tonight.”

Jinsei smiled. “Anytime,” he said simply, though the words carried more weight than he could explain.

As she walked away, sketchbook tucked carefully against her chest, Jinsei lingered for a moment, watching the faint glow of the city reflect in the wet pavement. He realized, quietly but firmly, that the distance between noticing and wanting to say more was shrinking.

And soon, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to wait any longer.