Page 76 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

So now, my intelligence was mine. My success was mine. My future—mine.

And no one, not even him, would ever use it against me again.

I heard the door creak open behind me, but I didn’t turn around. The air was still, carrying only the distant hum of passing cars and the occasional rustling of trees below. I knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Didn’t take you for the rooftop-brooding type," Ethan’s voice broke through the quiet, laced with amusement. "Very dramatic of you, Ghost Boy."

I exhaled slowly, pressing my lips together to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I should have seen this coming.

"I couldn't sleep," I muttered, still staring out at the town.

"Yeah, no kidding." He walked closer, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. "Woke up and didn’t find you in your bed. Thought maybe you’d finally run off to become a lone traveler or something. Or joined a monastery."

"Tempting," I admitted. "But monks don’t have Wi-Fi."

"Tragic." Ethan sighed dramatically before plopping down beside me.

I tensed.

Not enough for him to notice—at least, I hoped not—but just enough to remind myself to breathe. He had a way of getting too close—not in a way of making me feel like I was backed into a corner, but in a way of making me feel like I was the one who made the choice to stay.

I could just get up and leave, but I didn't.

I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was fixed on the view, the neon lights of the town reflecting in his irises. He was pretending not to care that he’d found me here, alone in the middle of the night. Pretending he wasn’t curious.

But I wasn’t stupid.

It was written all over his face.

"So," Ethan started, stretching his arms behind his head, "what’s got you up here looking like a rejected poet?"

A scoff escaped me before I could stop it. "Did you come up here just to bother me?" "Absolutely." He grinned. "That, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t planning to throw yourself off the roof or something. You know, responsibility and all that."

I shot him a dry look. "That’s dark, even for you."

He shrugged. "Hey, you’re the one staring dramatically at the skyline. I’m just saying, if you start reciting bad poetry, I’m calling for backup."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back the smallest hint of a smile. But I failed.

Ethan noticed. Of course, he did.

"Was that a giggle?" He gasped, clutching his chest like I’d just declared my undying love for him. "Ghost Boy, are you warming up to me? Be honest."

"Shut up," I muttered, shoving his shoulder.

He only laughed, completely unfazed.

The conversation shifted, softening into something less forced. The banter gave way to real talk, real thoughts. We talked about ourselves—not in the deep, vulnerable way, but in the way two people do when they’re testing the waters.

Ethan asked what I saw for myself in the future. I didn’t know.

I asked him the same. He dodged the question.

He never mentioned his father. I never mentioned my stepfather.

The things we didn’t say lingered between us, unspoken but heavy.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the cold didn’t feel as sharp.

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