The rooftop had always been their neutral zone.
It was where they went when things got too loud inside - inside the house, inside the world, inside their own heads. No pretenses, no makeup, no armor. Just city lights and the quiet hum of night.
Gigi arrived at exactly 8:00 PM. Caloy was already there, leaning against the railing with a bottle of red wine in one hand and two plastic cups in the other.
"You brought cheap wine," she said.
"It's tradition," he replied.
She took a seat on the old folding chair they'd dragged up there years ago. He poured her a drink and then sat across from her.
For a few minutes, they didn't talk. The silence wasn't awkward - it never was with him. It just gave the truth space to breathe.
"So," he said, finally. "How are you really?"
"I wrote letters," she answered.
"To who?"
"To everyone. To no one. To myself."
He nodded, like he understood without needing explanation.
They sipped in silence.
"I meant it when I said I'd wait by the gate," Caloy said, voice soft. "But I also need you to know something."
Gigi stiffened. She wasn't sure she was ready for this. Not from him. Not tonight.
"I've been in love with you since we were nineteen," he said. Calm. No theatrics. Just the truth.
Gigi stared at him, eyes steady. "I know."
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "You do?"
"I've always known. I just didn't know what to do with it."
He leaned forward. "And now?"
She looked down at her drink, at the way the red wine swirled like a storm. Her voice was quiet but sure.
"Now I'm scared. Because you're the only person I don't want to lose. And if I mess this up, I don't just lose someone I dated. I lose my safest place."
He didn't flinch. "So don't date me. Just let me stay."
"What do you mean?"
"Let me stay close. However you need me. I'm not asking for fireworks. I'm not asking you to suddenly believe in soulmates. I'm just asking to be there when you start to believe in something."
The words hit her chest like a soft hammer. Not painful - but loud.
"I don't know how to do love," she said honestly. "Not in the way people expect. I don't have a map."
"You don't need one," he said. "I don't want the version of you who's fixed. I want this version. Raw. Real. Confused but still trying."
She blinked back tears. "That's not fair to you."
"Maybe not. But it's honest. And that's the only currency I want with you."
They clinked plastic cups.
No promises.
No labels.
Just a pact between two people who refused to lie to each other - even when it hurt.
As the night deepened and the stars blinked overhead, Gigi allowed herself to lean back in her chair and rest her head against Caloy's shoulder.
Not because she was ready to fall.
But because she was finally tired of standing alone.
And maybe - just maybe - being held wasn't the same as being owned.