Chapter Text
The phone kept buzzing in your hand. You glanced at it and continued ignoring it. You already knew that the constant notifications did not reflect the urgency of the situation - as there was no urgency at all. It did not reduce your anxiety one bit.
You were standing in an elevator, absentmindedly picking dog hair off black leggings. No amount of lint rollers ever work, do they? The elevator was empty on its steady trek to the top-most floor, a quiet welcome relief from people. You tapped your foot anxiously, the phone buzzed again.
You brought the phone to your face. It's just as you expected. You really didn't think he could continue doubling down but the messages from your boyfriend were only getting more and more insane. You quickly skimmed the last 13 unread messages.
"THIS IS YOUR responsibility and i expect you to return home immediately to take care of this.
Babe.
Why are you not replying??
I am changing your flight. Better start packing.
DO NOT IGNORE ME!"
Followed by several repeating photos of the accident your dog had by the front door.
You would think that a grown adult male was capable of cleaning up a little dog shit once in a while.
Apparently not.
You were in glorious Tokyo, on an all (reasonable business) expenses paid trip from your company. You laughed bitterly to yourself, thinking back to how excited you were when you heard you got to go. When you booked your flight. When your boyfriend generously used his personal card to upgrade you to first class.
You had just arrived to the hotel and changed into your comfort clothes when the messages began.
Realistically, yes it is your dog and it had an accident and that is technically your responsibility. But, had your boyfriend done ANY amount of self reflecting, he would quickly realize that it is his attitude that results in the accidents. Well, that and his insistence that he's allergic so he can't be expected to take Stormy out for his walks.
The messages first came through at dinner, when you were with the clients who had picked you up from the airport. You had to excuse yourself to go cry in the bathroom while trying to calm your angry boyfriend with lines upon lines of texts. It was no good. You blocked him and went back to professional mode. The job comes first. Of course he started blowing you up on every other possible app he could find.
But changing your work flight? That was one step too far. He knew your login from when he upgraded you. You didn't know if he was serious, and couldn't afford to find out. This job was all you had, and you had all day meetings tomorrow. You couldn't just bail last minute to wipe the floor? Especially not since you would be the one expected to pay for the waste of flights, hotels, and any other expenses you accrued while in Tokyo, seeing as how you wouldn't actually attend any of the reasons you were sent all this way. You had a mortgage, bills.
The elevator dinged and slowly slid its doors open on floor 11. Not your intended floor. No one pressed that button. You wanted to get as high as possible and the highest button was for floor 14.
You peeked your head out, looked side to side, but didn't see anyone.
The doors closed and the metal box continued chugging upwards.
Once you got to the 14th floor, the doors opened, but you didn't notice. You stood there, lost in thought, until the heavy doors began to slide closed. Startled, you ducked out of the elevator. But there was no roof access. You really wanted to get a breath of fresh air, think about what to do. Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket. You ignored it and turned right, walking as far as the hallway would allow.
Dead end.
You paused, hearing a scratching noise against the room door closest to you.
Nothing there when you looked.
You turned around and went back, past the elevator lobby you arrived in with its friendly, inviting paintings. The vibration in your pocket continued, insistent.
At the end of this stretch of hallway, the dead end only had another elevator. No roof access. No stairs. Dejected, you pressed the singular button, intending to ride it back to your room and call him, try to diffuse it.
However, once you were inside, you found exactly what you were looking for - a button labelled R.
You pressed it nervously. The button flickered and died out. Like it didn't want to take you.
You tilted your head, daring the machine to stop you. You pressed it again, held it for a bit, and the box finally churned upwards.
When the doors opened, it was like you were in a completely different place. Did you step through a portal to another world? It was completely dark, but unlike the cool muffled silence of the guest hallways, this floor vibrated. There was a low-frequency thrum you could feel in your teeth. A rush of warm humid air caressed your face like the tongue of a long forgotten monster. Any other time, you would have been frozen in fear, turned around, gone back. It all but screamed at you "THIS IS NOT SAFE!".
But after the hours of being in a constant state of anxiety, the complete shift of all your senses spurred you forward. You didn't even notice that the annoying vibrating of your phone had finally stopped. Places like this didn't have cell service.
You tentatively took a step forward. Dingy fluorescent lights stuttered to life and illuminated a short T shaped corridor. Motion activated? On your left was a steel door. it looked heavy and dented, the paint on it long worn off. It had a digital keypad - no go. You turned to the right. At first it seemed to be another disappointing dead end - just a massive silver cube of corrugated steel that took up most of the hallway. Then you spotted it - a narrow vertical ladder bolted to the wall.
You walked over the ladder and glanced up, seeing a heavy hatch which bled oranges and yellows through a gap.
"You only live once" you chuckled to yourself as you put your hands on the ladder. The rungs were disgusting. They felt greasy, like someone had sprayed them with oil to prevent unwanted visitors from climbing them. People like you. From up close, you could see a thick layer of dust on each one, and your flip flops were slipping off, leaving bright metallic smears where the dust was removed. You could feel your hands fight for purchase, but it did not discourage you.
This was something you could do, something you could control.
You persisted.
When you finally reached the top though, you almost gave up. The hatch was massive. You had to loop your arm around a rung, bracing yourself to shove the dead weight with your shoulder. You really should get to the gym more.
Finally, there was a low groan. For a second you thought it was coming from you, but the hatch slowly lifted and you pushed it all the way open, climbing through. The buzzing that was living in your teeth made way for the clamor of the Tokyo sky. You stood on a flat, gravel dusted expanse. The roof was your goal, but now that you were here, what was the endgame? The lights from taller buildings made the mechanical components cast shadows that danced around you, making you feel like you were surrounded. The wind up here was different, pushing the scent of rain and distant exhaust through your clothes and directly into your skin, whipping your hair across your face until it stung.
To your left, the massive red-and-white lattice of a radio tower loomed like a monstrous mechanical skeleton, its warning light rhythmic and bloody against the smog-heavy clouds.
The silence up here was the first thing he hadn't been able to shout over in seven years.
Everything felt terrifyingly fragile from this height, as if the entire city was a shimmering mirage that you could finally, mercifully, step out of.
You hadn't come up here to end it all, you really hadn't. You had people who loved you, who needed you.
It's just the call of the void, right? That unnerving feeling when you stare into an abyss that whispers "maybe this time?"
That reminded you why you were up here in the first place.
You wiped your hands on your thighs and pulled out your phone. When the screen illuminated your face, you saw the culprit for your silence - no service. When you thought about the arguments, the accusations that awaited you when service came back, you felt a shiver down your arms. Funny, just when you think you can't experience any more stress, your body reminds you that it never truly ends.
You stared at your screen, your dog Stormy set as your wallpaper smiling up at you as your eyes filled with tears.
Hopefully someone would give him a good home when you were gone. He had no one else.
Before your tears could fall, the phone screen dims, and for the first time in hours, days, weeks, you weren't looking at a demand. A demand on your time, your attention, your efforts, your affections. A demand on your life.
You were just looking at a cold piece of glass.
You moved with a strange, liquid slowness, as if you were watching someone else's hands through a hazy lens. You were flying above, observing yourself, a small, dark shape on a gray expanse. It felt peaceful. It felt like the first time you’d been alone in seven years. It felt like you could breathe, but every time you exhaled, your lungs filled with acid.
You walked toward the railing and sat down on the grit of the roof, the gravel biting into your palms.
First, the phone. You laid it face down right at the edge of the concrete ledge. You didn't want to see Stormy’s face; you couldn't afford to feel that specific tether.
Then, you unbuckled your smart watch and placed it next to your phone, face down. You watched the green sensor on the back flicker for a moment, trying to find a pulse before going dark.
Next, the flip-flops. Your feet felt cold against the roof, but the skin-to-stone contact made you feel grounded. It reminded you of your childhood, when you were forced to walk barefoot on spiked rubber mats sprayed with cold salt water. They said it would make you strong. You curled your toes into the gravel. The pain would make you strong.
You lined them up side-by-side, as if you were just stepping out for a moment and would be right back. The pain made you strong enough for this.
The last thing you left behind was your ring - your constant companion for 20 years. It was a simple ruby, the first thing you bought for yourself when you stated working. A few years back, your boyfriend had it remade for you - nicer gold, diamond halo. Same cheap ruby in the center.
You set it on top on a flip flop. Can't have it getting lost in the gravel.
You stood up. Without the watch, your wrist felt unnervingly light. Without the phone, freedom from interruptions.
The railing wasn't the sturdy, polished chrome of the hotel lobby; it was old, rusted-out iron that felt gritty and weak under your hands. It might have been painted once, but now there weren't even any flakes left. It groaned as you leaned your weight against it, a kindred spirit in its exhaustion.
You didn't look down.
You didn't want to lose your nerve.
You lifted one leg over the rail. Then the other.
You were balancing on the narrow concrete lip, hands gripping the railing behind you. Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Even after all this, you found yourself hoping the railing would hold out. This was your choice, not some fucked up maintenance accident.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
You closed your eyes, leaning forward just an inch, waiting for gravity to take over the responsibility of your life.
"You're going to make a hell of a mess on that sidewalk, doll."
The voice was raspy, like dry leaves dancing on gray streets when they give in to the wind.
Before you could tilt past the point of no return, a hand clamped onto your upper arm, spreading warmth through your core. A firm, clinical grab, devoid of sympathy. You hadn't even realized you were freezing - the leggings and your light zip up hoodie barely protected you against the bristling wind.
You stilled, staring out at the neon skyline as you noticed someone in your peripheral vision. How long had he been there, watching you? How long had you been up there, contemplating, working up the nerve? Doing your little rituals?
The voice didn't belong here. It was a jagged tear in the fabric of your final choice. You couldn't face this intrusion. You were a statue made of ice and indecision.
"That sounds like a problem for someone else," you snapped, the words feeling brittle as they left your throat. You were thinking of the hotel staff, the police, the boyfriend who would eventually have to fly to Tokyo to identify the body of the person he’d spent seven years breaking. You didn't care.
The hand on your arm didn't flinch. Instead, the heat intensified, a searing, grounding pressure that forced you to stay present in the moment.
"Maybe. But I'm the one who has to hear the thud," he drawled.
You finally turned your head. In the rhythmic pulse of the radio tower, he looked demonic—staples glinting red, skin pulled taut and purple around his jaw. His eyes glowed an unnatural blue. He looked like he belonged in the void you were staring into. Like he was the demon sent to collect your soul.
But if that was the case, why did he stop you?
He reached into a pocket with his free hand, pulling out a crumpled pack of smokes. "Tell you what. I’ve been stuck on this roof for three hours and I’m bored. Keep me company. Do that, and then you can get back to your... project."
You stared at him. The absurdity of it hit you— asking for a chat while you stood on a literal ledge. But the logic was sound and you were, unfortunately, logical to a fault. You had already decided you were dead. Whether it happened at 11:45 PM or midnight didn't change the outcome. 'It’s not like I have a flight to catch. Not anymore.'
"...Fine," you whispered. "One cigarette."
"Good girl."
He didn't offer a hand for balance; he simply hauled you back over the railing. Your mind barely registered just how unnaturally strong this stranger was. How easily your body turned to him.
You tumbled onto the gravel again, your knees hitting the grit with a dull thud. The physical pain was sharp, cutting your leggings and bruising your knees, but it felt distant, like it was happening to a different version of "you." You stayed on the ground for a moment, looking at your neat little pile of discarded belongings. The phone. The watch. The shoes. The ring.
They looked like they belonged to a stranger. A collection of items to be given to next of kin in a tidy plastic bag.
The man leaned back against the rusted rail, his finger sparking a brilliant blue flame that matched his eyes and illuminated his patchwork face. He took a long drag, the cherry of the cigarette glowing in the dark, and looked down at you with those piercing, disinterested eyes. You could feel his restraint, one wrong move and falling would be the least of your worries. He shook the pack, producing a second cig and offered it to you.
"Want one?"
For a second, you just stared at your personal devil, tempting you with a sin you had long given up like he knew he could use it against you.
You used to smoke, smoked menthol for 15 years, before your boyfriend convinced you to give it up because he wanted to get you pregnant. Not that the six whole times he's deigned to grace your womb with his seed in the last two years were in any way successful. Just another ploy on his part to keep you trapped without you realizing.
You grabbed the cig and stood up gingerly. His finger lit with his pretty blue flame, forcing you to lean in the rest of the way to light it. You marveled at how tired he looked for someone so young. Almost as tired as you felt. Something in the eyes.
That first inhale though.
It was almost worth living.
The smoke filled your lungs and your head immediately floated away. It was a rush, a high you could only get when you've been without it for an extended period of time.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Ha.
You closed your eyes and reveled in it, leaning against the rail so you wouldn't crumple on your numb legs. The smoke was thick, acrid, and perfect. It burned the back of your throat in a familiar way that felt like a homecoming. Cigarettes, after all, were your first "real" rebellion.
You closed your eyes, letting the lightheadedness wash over you, a gentler version of the "weightlessness" you had been seeking minutes ago.
His sultry voice broke through your tranquility.
"Better than this view, am I right?"
You hummed in agreement, savoring the burn in your lungs, the nostalgic taste in your mouth. It reminded you of cross country road trips, coffee and cigs keeping you awake while your favorite song played on repeat. It reminded you of late night diner parking lots, where you and your best friend gossiped and stayed up all night. It reminded you of dark unlit parking lots, where your cigs would cover for your coworkers while they got high.
You opened your eyes to find his dismantling you, like he could burn away every falsehood you owned and leave you raw and exposed. If he was truly a demon, could he see all your secrets?
The way he held himself reminded you of a predatory cat. It was unsettling, like being eye to eye with a panther. Even knowing nothing about him, there was a certainty that he was dangerous, but it didn't scare you tonight, and you knew he could feel it.
Insanity is knowing what you're doing is wrong, but still doing it, right? Wasn't that the quote?
"So" he started, taking another big pull on his cig "what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
His mouth widened so far at the cheesy pickup line, staples glinting madly, that you were worried his face would split apart at the seams.
"Oh, you know, just living the dream" you sardonically replied. "Just another day in paradise. "
A deflection.
You flicked your cigarette with your thumbnail, watching the ash get swept away by the wind.
"That good huh?" he replied, squatting down and grabbing your phone. He pressed a button on the side and the screen almost blinded you. He quirked an eye brow in your direction. "No lock on your phone? Guess you really do love living dangerously."
You averted your gaze. You couldn't look Stormy in the eye.
"He didn't like me hiding things from him" you whispered. You never even hid anything. But the idea that you could - that was enough. "He thinks he knows what's best for me. " The words felt like ash in your mouth. They fell without containment. "He thinks without him, I'd just... fall apart."
You were oversharing. Typical.
"Well," the stranger gestured vaguely toward the ledge you were just standing on. "Technically, he wasn't wrong. You were about to fall apart pretty spectacularly down there."
You looked back at your pile of things on the gravel. He put the phone back, face down. It felt like a tombstone. 'Here lies someone who was never good enough'.
"That's different. That was because of... Not... " you trailed off. "I just wanted the noise to stop."
Your demon took a final, deep drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the abyss. He didn't watch it fall. He stepped away from the railing, moving into the deeper shadows where the strobing red safety light couldn't reach him. It made his eyes glow even more eerily in the dark.
"The noise never stops if you're dead, doll. You just aren't there to hear it. They’ll talk about how 'sad' it was, how 'unstable' you were. He’ll probably play the grieving widower for the rest of his life, owning your memory just like he owned your time."
He paused, and the air around him seemed to shimmer with a sudden, localized heat.
"Doesn't that piss you off?"
You were suddenly angry. Angry because he was right, and angry because he was wrong. It didn't matter which. The rage you usually tamped down occupied the empty spaces within you, filling every crevice. You sucked down the rest of your cig, burning your lip smoking down the cherry, and tossed it behind you.
"Your time is up".
Your tone held a non negotiable air, something you picked up in your years of middle management. You used it as a shield against your own emotions, falling back into old habits. Suddenly, all you wanted was to lay down. What time was it anyway? Ah, you didn't have your watch. Your adrenaline was wearing off and leaving you exhausted.
You looked back toward the hatch, but the world tilted. The gravel felt like it was shifting beneath your bare feet, like the building itself was exhaling. Maybe the smoke had been laced with something.
Or maybe you had finally snapped.
"Who says?"
He hadn't moved, but he seemed larger now that the darkness had swallowed the red glow of the tower. Even more menacing. He was just a silhouette with two burning blue embers where his eyes should be. You blinked twice, expecting him to dissolve into the smog, but he remained—solid, hot, and smelling of burnt ozone.
"I have to go back," you whispered, though the thought of that hotel room felt like a death sentence. "He’ll be calling the hotel. He’ll be calling my boss. I have to..."
"You have to what? Go back to being a piece of furniture?" He stepped out of the shadows, and for a second, he didn't look real. Nothing looked real. The air tasted like biting panic, and your couldn't get enough to go into your lungs to satisfy them. "You’re already dead, doll. You said it yourself. You gave up. You took off the shoes. You’re a ghost now."
You shook your head, your hair whipping into your eyes. "You aren't real. I’m just... I'm dreaming. This is a hallucination."
He laughed, a dry, rattling sound that felt amplified by the wind. He reached out and flicked the cold tip of your nose with a finger that felt like a hot coal. The sharp, physical sting was too real to be a dream.
"A hallucination wouldn't offer you a deal," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "I've got a week of work in this city. I need someone who doesn't exist to keep me awake, help me stay under the radar. Someone who isn't in any database."
He leaned in, his face inches from yours. You could see the raw, tugged skin where the staples met the healthy flesh. Up close, he looked like a man who had survived his own funeral and became his own ghost.
"Seven days. You stay with me, you keep me company, and you do what I tell you. In exchange, I’ll make sure the world never finds you."
It really didn't sound like he was offering anything in exchange, but the way he said it made it sound so tempting.
He tilted his head toward the ledge. "At the end of the week, if you still want to jump, I’ll take you to the tallest building in the city. I’ll even give you a head start before I call it in. But for now... Wouldn't you rather be the one thing he can't reach?"
You looked at the phone on the ground.
It was silent, but you knew that behind that dark glass, a man was screaming at you from across the ocean. A man you loved. A man who hurt you with his love. You looked at the stranger—this burnt nightmare.
If you stayed, you were just delaying the inevitable. But what did you have to lose? You may as well spend your last week being useful.
Right?
"I don't even know your name," you breathed.
"I don't have one," he replied, a cruel smirk pulling at his staples. "And neither do you. Not anymore."