Outside the Pit away from everything Roger, Aria, and Kai were dealing with.
The sun broke lazily through the patchy clouds above midtown, casting a soft golden haze across the rooftop of an old apartment complex nestled between rust-colored factories and overgrown railway lines. The air was warm, humming with the background sounds of buses groaning, street vendors shouting, and the faint hiss of skate wheels over cracked pavement below.
Callum leaned against the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the rusted fire escape, a half-eaten sandwich resting on a napkin beside him. He wore a hoodie two sizes too big, sleeves frayed from years of wear, and his earbuds dangled loose, forgotten. His eyes were half-lidded, gazing at nothing, letting the sun soak into his skin.
Maya sat cross-legged behind him, sketchbook in her lap and a pencil between her teeth. Her curly hair was tied up with a cloth bandana streaked with paint stains, and her overalls bore evidence of her most recent creative streak—charcoal smudges, splotches of green, and the unmistakable orange of sidewalk chalk.
"You're gonna fall one day," she mumbled, not looking up from her sketch.
"And you're gonna lecture me mid-fall?" Callum replied, deadpan.
"Obviously. Someone has to haunt you after you become a pancake."
He smirked but said nothing. The warmth of the moment—sunlight, breeze, Maya's steady presence—held him in place.
Then the rooftop door slammed open.
"Guys!" Talia's voice burst out ahead of her, followed by the girl herself—short, fierce-eyed, and wearing a bright yellow windbreaker over a crop top and cutoff shorts. "Deshawn's got the projector working! Movie night is officially on."
From behind her came Deshawn, carrying a bulky old projector like it weighed nothing. "And I found the cord this time, so we won't have to splice it together with tape and hope for the best."
Callum raised an eyebrow. "That takes all the fun out of it."
"Don't tempt fate," Deshawn grinned.
Talia was already dragging bean bags into place. "Tonight is gonna be perfect. No excuses, no distractions, just us and some vintage horror flicks that'll make Maya scream."
"I don't scream," Maya muttered, still sketching.
"You shrieked when that squirrel ran across your lap."
"It came out of the trash can like a demon!"
They all laughed, and for a moment, the city faded—its noise, its grime, its weight. Up here, on this rooftop, they were just four young people stitched together by time and stubborn affection.
As the sun dipped lower, the rooftop bathed in hues of amber and rose. The city below blurred into soft silhouettes, and the air took on that golden stillness that only summer evenings could hold.
Callum had stretched out on a flattened bean bag, arms behind his head, the wind tugging gently at the strands of hair escaping his hood. Maya, now finished with her sketch, sat beside him cross-legged, notebook closed but still in her lap.
"You draw me again?" he asked without looking, voice casual.
Maya hesitated. "No."
"You're lying," he said, eyes still fixed on the fading clouds.
She wrinkled her nose. "Your face is good practice."
"Oh? For what? Drawing grumpy alley cats?"
She chuckled and flicked the corner of her sketchpad against his leg. "You're not that bad."
Callum turned to look at her—really look. The soft lines of her face caught the last gold rays of light, her curls haloed in sunset, eyes reflecting the rooftops and sky. He didn't smile, but something warmer passed through his expression.
Maya held his gaze for a second longer than she intended, then quickly looked away and nudged him with her foot. "Don't stare. You'll scare the pigeons."
"Pretty sure you already did that earlier. With the chalk bucket."
"Art requires sacrifice."
They fell into silence again, the good kind. The kind where words weren't necessary because everything that mattered was already there, hanging in the quiet between them.
---
Later That Evening:
The rooftop had transformed.
Blankets and old rugs had been laid out across the cracked surface. Talia had set up a string of battery-powered fairy lights that zigzagged from the rusted pipes to the railings. The old projector flickered to life, casting a grainy black-and-white horror film onto the brick wall of the building next door.
Deshawn lounged with his hands behind his head, grinning. "Nothing like watching 60-year-old horror to make you appreciate practical effects."
"Or to remind you that people used to scream at rubber masks," Callum added dryly.
Talia, already halfway through a bag of popcorn, tossed a kernel at him. "Shut up and be afraid."
Maya lay on her stomach, feet in the air, head resting on her arms as she watched the movie unfold. Callum sat beside her again, back propped up against a milk crate, one knee bent. Occasionally he glanced at her rather than the screen, the light from the film dancing in her eyes.
On-screen, a ridiculously fake monster lunged forward with flailing arms.
Maya shrieked—just a little—and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth.
Talia cackled. "Told you!"
"I wasn't scared," Maya protested, eyes wide.
"Sure," Deshawn said with a mouthful of candy. "You were just practicing your operatic high note."
Callum leaned close, voice low. "You know, that squirrel had the same energy as that monster."
Maya elbowed him—lightly.
And he grinned.
The night rolled on with laughter, teasing, shared snacks, and bad horror movies. Above them, the stars blinked faintly through the haze. Whatever waited beyond this rooftop—whatever challenges, questions, or secrets—none of it mattered tonight.
Tonight, they were just them.
And that was enough.
---
Later That Night:
The laughter still echoed in their ears as the movie ended and the blankets were packed away. The projector whirred one final time, fading into darkness. Together, the four friends descended from the rooftop, the stairwell illuminated only by the soft glow of Talia's flickering light bracelet.
The streets were quiet. The hum of the city had dulled into a soft background lullaby, punctuated only by the occasional hiss of a distant train or the clink of a loose manhole cover settling.
They walked together under the pale shine of street lamps and the silver spill of moonlight. Deshawn stretched with a long yawn. "I'm cutting this way," he said, pointing toward the narrow alley that led to the abandoned rec center. "Gonna get a few more reps in before I call it. Can't lose these arms to movie snacks."
Talia rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"Gotta be," he shot back with a grin. "Night, losers."
He jogged off into the shadows, already loosening his shoulders for another round of push-ups.
They walked a bit further before Talia paused. "This is me. My place is down past the bakery." She slung her bag over her shoulder and gave a half-wave. "Goodnight, weirdos."
That left Maya and Callum walking in silence.
The sky had opened above them—vast, endless, painted with stars. Maya tilted her head up, lips parted slightly in wonder.
"It's beautiful tonight," she said softly. "Like the world decided to hold its breath."
They walked past a wide oak tree planted in the center of a quiet plaza. Maya slowed… then stopped entirely.
Callum turned, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
"No," she said, already pulling her sketchbook from her bag. "It's just—sometimes I get distracted."
She had started to draw before she realized how long she'd paused. Her pencil was already gliding across the page.
Callum stepped closer, peering over her shoulder but not intruding. "You're doing that thing again," he said gently.
"What thing?" she asked, blinking.
"Letting the world pour through you."
She laughed, a little awkward. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
He dropped his bag with a soft thud and sat down against the base of the oak. "Don't apologize. Just draw. I'll be here when you're done. Everything else can wait."
She smiled, soft and grateful, then turned back to her sketch.
---
Deshawn was back in his dim room, sweat gleaming on his back as he cranked out push-up after push-up, breathing steady, face focused.
Talia stood in the steam of her bathroom, letting the warmth loosen her shoulders. Her eyes were distant, thinking of tomorrow's math test, her fingers tapping out equations on the fogged glass.
Callum lay in bed, hands behind his head, staring out his cracked window. The moon drifted across the frame. He thought of the rooftop, the laughter, Maya's sketchbook, and the strange warmth that still lingered in his chest.
Maya had fallen asleep at her desk, sketchbook open beneath her cheek. The final drawing: the four of them on the rooftop, fairy lights tangled overhead, the projector casting shadows of monsters no one feared anymore.
And for a little while longer, they were just teenagers, living in a world that still made room for moments like this.