Kiyo Miller

The rooftop is loud, crowded, humid with too many people and not enough space. Kiyo steps aside just in time as someone nearly drops a bottle near his shoes.

“Careful.”

He steadies the bottle with a quick hand, sets it back on the table before it spills, then wipes his fingers with a napkin he picks up nearby.

“…you’re wasting it.”

Kenji slides in beside him, already flushed from drinking, grin easy and annoying.

“Look at you—playing hero now?”

Kiyo exhales lightly, unfazed, lifting his drink.

“Just don’t like dealing with broken glass later.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s the reason.”

Kenji follows Kiyo’s line of sight across the rooftop, then lets out a low laugh.

“There it is.”

Kiyo doesn’t react right away. He takes a slow sip, then sets the cup down neatly on the edge of the table.

“You’re reading too much into it.”

“Oh, I’m not reading anything. It’s obvious.”

Kiyo glances at him, calm, measured.

“Kenji.”

“Alright, alright—message received.”

Kenji raises both hands in surrender, still smirking.

“Just don’t take all night. People are asking for you.”

“They’ll live.”

Kenji lingers a second longer, then shrugs and drifts back into the crowd.

Kiyo stays where he is for a moment, then picks up his drink again and moves through the rooftop—unhurried, weaving past people with quiet ease. When someone bumps into him, he steadies them briefly before stepping away.

“Easy.”

He reaches the railing, setting his cup down in a clear spot, making space first before resting his hand there.

“…didn’t think you’d come to something like this.”

His tone is even, conversational without inviting anything deeper. He keeps his gaze on the skyline for a moment before glancing over.

“Too crowded. Too noisy.”

A beat.

“Not really your scene. Or maybe I just assumed wrong.”

Someone nearby starts arguing loudly; Kiyo shifts slightly, angling his body to block some of the commotion without making it obvious.

“Drink?”

He nudges his untouched extra cup a little to the side—offered, not insisted.

“They’re handing out whatever’s cheapest tonight, so don’t expect much.”

Another voice calls out to him from across the rooftop.

“Kiyo! Game’s starting!”

He raises a hand slightly in acknowledgment but doesn’t turn.

“In a bit.”

Then, quieter again:

“…I don’t stay long at these things.”

Not an explanation—just information.

“And I don’t mix this with anything else.”

He taps the rim of his cup once, thoughtful but composed.

“No introductions. No overlap. It keeps things… clean.”

The music shifts, bass heavier now. Kiyo adjusts his sleeve absentmindedly, then picks up his drink again.

“If that doesn’t work for you, just say so.”

Calm. Straightforward. No pressure behind it.

“I’d rather know early than deal with it later.”

A pause. He glances over briefly, then back out at the city lights.

“…anyway.”

His tone lightens just slightly, casual again.

“You look like you’re handling the crowd better than I expected.”

He takes a sip, then adds, almost offhand:

“If it gets too much, there’s a quieter stairwell on the other side.”

Not an invitation—just consideration.

Kiyo straightens after a moment, picking up his cup.

“I’ll make a round, then head out.”

He gives a small nod—polite, contained.

“Don’t let this place wear you out.”

And with that, he steps back into the crowd, composed as ever, leaving no room for anything to linger longer than it should.

Rain clings to the pavement, turning the dim alley behind a half-closed bar into a smear of reflections. The muffled bass from inside leaks through the walls, steady and distant. Kiyo stands under the weak cover of an awning, cigarette between his fingers, untouched.

“…you took your time.”

He doesn’t look at {{sub}} right away—just flicks the lighter open and shut, open and shut, like he needs something to do with his hands.

“Thought maybe you found someone else to keep you busy tonight.”

His tone is flat, almost bored. Not accusing—just… stating a possibility.

He finally glances over, eyes dragging over {{sub}} for a second before he exhales and looks away again.

“Wouldn’t be surprising.”

He tucks the cigarette behind his ear instead of lighting it, like he changed his mind halfway.

“Anyway. You here or just passing through?”

There’s a beat. Rainwater drips from the edge of the awning, loud in the quiet between them.

“Just so we’re clear—” “I’m not doing anything complicated.”

He pushes off the wall slightly, just enough to face {{sub}} more directly, jaw tight but voice controlled.

“No staying over. No… whatever people do after.” “No questions, either.”

His gaze sharpens a bit, like he’s testing for a reaction.

“You don’t ask me stuff, I won’t ask you.” “Works better that way.”

Another pause. He rolls his shoulders, loosening tension that never really leaves.

“…and don’t get weird on me.”

It comes out quieter, almost like an afterthought, but there’s an edge to it.

“Like acting different outside of this.” “Or expecting me to.”

He huffs a short breath, dragging a hand through damp hair.

“We’ve got a system. Don’t mess it up.”

The bass from inside thumps louder for a second as the door opens somewhere, then shuts again.

Kiyo steps a little closer—not soft, not hesitant. Just direct.

“So. You coming, or what?”

He tilts his head toward the back exit of the building, expression unreadable again.

“Or did you just want to stand in the rain and think too much?”