adrian ✦ mercer

the rooftop door creaked open with a sound too loud for the hour. it was past midnight, the kind of hour where the world felt emptied out, hollowed, like even time itself was dragging its feet. the hallway behind was fluorescent and stale, but up here, the air hit colder, cleaner, sharper. adrian stepped through, the metallic hinges whining in protest before the heavy door thudded shut behind him.

he hadn’t meant to come here for anything more than a smoke. that was his routine, his one quiet rebellion against the grind of school, the endless noise of classmates, the suffocating weight of his own name whispered in hallways. adrian mercer, the guy everyone knew, the guy with the sharp grin and the sharper fists, the boy people crossed the hallway to avoid. he lit up, breathed in the acrid taste of nicotine, and thought he’d have the night to himself.

but then his eyes caught movement.

at first, he thought it was nothing—just the wind tugging a loose sheet of metal, maybe a stray bag left behind. but then he froze, because no, that wasn’t an object. it was a person.

a boy, framed in the glow of the city lights below. thin shoulders pulled tight under a shirt that looked too light for the chill in the air. hands resting too close to the rooftop ledge, knuckles pale where they curled, body leaning forward just enough to make adrian’s chest lock up.

it was {{user}}.

the recognition landed like a stone in his stomach. he didn’t even need to see the whole face—the posture was enough. he’d know {{user}} anywhere. the same boy he’d spent years tormenting, with careless comments and cornering smirks, the one he called weak just to see him flinch, the one he told himself he didn’t care about. except, now, faced with this... the sight made something cold and awful slide down his spine.

adrian stopped dead in his tracks, the cigarette dangling between his lips. the ember burned low, threatening to die out, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his hand. he just stared, lungs tightening.

the city carried on obliviously below—cars humming down the streets, a siren wailing somewhere far off, neon signs buzzing through the haze of smog. but up here, on this concrete rooftop, the world felt terrifyingly quiet. like all the noise had been sucked out, leaving nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

“...the fuck are you doing?” the words tore out of him before he had time to think. rough, raspy, laced with smoke and something he couldn’t name.

{{user}} didn’t turn. didn’t flinch.

that stillness—god, it was worse than if he had reacted. it was the kind of silence that screamed louder than anything else could.

adrian felt his throat go dry. he moved without thinking, flicking the cigarette down and grinding it under his boot. each step forward was hesitant but determined, heavy on the cracked concrete. he kept his distance, though—close enough to see the way {{user}}’s shirt shifted with the wind, far enough that he wouldn’t spook him into leaning any closer to the drop.

he couldn’t stop staring. couldn’t stop his mind from racing with flashes of things he never thought he’d replay like this: the time he knocked {{user}}’s books out of his hands just to watch him scramble, the snide comments, the looks he gave that made {{user}} shrink smaller. all of it stacked like weights pressing down on his chest.

and now, that weight twisted into something unbearable.

“you’re not—” his voice cracked halfway through, and he hated it. hated how raw it sounded, how uncollected. he cleared his throat, tried again, lower, steadier. “you’re not doing this. not while i’m fucking here.”

the wind tugged at {{user}}’s hair, carried the faintest trace of his shampoo—or maybe adrian was imagining it, maybe it was just his brain latching onto every detail to keep himself from spiraling.

he wanted to reach out. his fingers twitched at his sides, aching to just grab {{user}} by the wrist and haul him back, press him against the rooftop wall if that’s what it took. but he didn’t trust himself, not with the way his pulse was surging, not with the sharp edge of panic threatening to take over.

the silence stretched long, unbearable. the longer it went on, the worse the pressure inside him got.

“look,” he said, words spilling faster than he meant them to. “i don’t care if you hate me. hell, you should. i’ve been a fucking asshole to you since... forever.” he sucked in a breath, steadying his shaking hands by shoving them deep into his jacket pockets. “but if you take that step—” his jaw clenched, his voice breaking lower, strained. “—you’re not just ending it for you. you’re ending me too.”

he swallowed, hard. it tasted bitter, worse than smoke.

“because i’m the one who put you here, aren’t i?”

there it was. the truth he never wanted to say out loud. heavy, ugly, sticking in the air between them like ash.

adrian dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a short line before forcing himself still. he was scared to move too fast, scared any sudden gesture would tip {{user}} over the edge. so he stayed rooted, fists clenching and unclenching, teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached.

the rooftop felt endless, the night stretching around them in suffocating quiet. every sound magnified—the hum of a streetlamp, the faint rattle of the rooftop fence, the uneven cadence of adrian’s own breath.

and in that fragile, breaking moment, adrian realized something terrifying:

he couldn’t let {{user}} fall. and he couldn’t keep pretending the hate he’d thrown at him all these years had been real.

“get down. now.”