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You didn’t expect much from this rooftop.
The fire escape was sketchy, the concrete slanted just enough to make chairs slide if you leaned wrong, and the view only caught half the skyline—the other half was blocked by a neon laundromat sign that flickered like it was trying to send Morse code.
The railing creaked when you leaned on it.
The cooler was technically stolen by Mystery, who insisted it “wasn’t stolen” if no one noticed it was missing.
And the folding chairs? Held together by hope and duct tape.
But it was yours for the evening.
And it was perfect.
The scent of grilled meat drifted across the roof in slow, hypnotic waves. Abby stood over the portable grill like a minor deity of protein, tongs in one hand and a bottle of non-alcoholic beer in the other. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, apron tied crookedly around his waist, and the faint glow of his patterns pulsed beneath sun-warmed skin.
He looked… content.
Focused.
Like this was holy work.
You sidled up behind him and peeked over his shoulder. “Is it safe to let someone with superhuman strength and zero self-control near fire and metal?”
“I have some self-control,” he replied.
“You broke the rice cooker.”
“That rice cooker provoked me.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“It gave me attitude.”
You snorted. “It’s a machine.”
He flipped a skewer. “And now it’s dead.”
Across the rooftop, Romance had somehow acquired a second sparkler—and was using both to perform an interpretive dance in mesh shorts and a red bandana tied like a headband. He moved like a woodland creature possessed by the spirit of disco. The sparklers left golden trails behind him in the darkening light, his grin too big, his steps suspiciously choreographed.
“Stop aiming those at me!” Jinu yelped, ducking behind a folding chair with a soda clutched to his chest like a shield.
Romance twirled. “I’m not aiming, I’m expressing.”
“You’re expressing arson!”
You cackled as you handed Jinu a drink. He took it with one hand, never breaking his wary eye contact with the sparkler wraith in mesh shorts.
“This,” he muttered bitterly, “is why we shouldn’t celebrate human holidays. Fire. Crowd energy. Nationalism. Nothing good happens when you mix the three.”
You gestured to the tray of fried chicken and grilled corn. “There’s also poultry.”
Jinu paused. Glanced at the tray. Took a slow sip of his drink.
“…Okay, one thing.”
On the far end of the rooftop, Baby and Mystery had claimed a quiet spot on a slightly lopsided picnic blanket. Baby had complained about unfolding it—twice—but had flattened every corner and then immediately sat on it like a cryptid in repose. His hoodie was tied around his waist, and his bare arms gleamed faintly in the amber light of string bulbs above.
Mystery sat cross-legged, quietly eating a red-white-and-blue rocket popsicle like it was an artifact he’d pulled from an ancient tomb. You weren’t sure if he liked it or just liked experiencing it.
You dropped down beside them with a sigh, letting the heat of the day settle into your bones like lazy static.
“They’re doing it again,” Baby said, nodding toward the grill.
You looked.
Abby and Romance were now fully locked in what could only be described as a grill-off. There were sauces. Marinade brushes. Apron posturing.
Romance had gone shirtless again, flipping shrimp skewers like a hibachi chef on a mission. Abby flexed every time he turned the meat—even though no one was watching.
Except for everyone.
“I think they’re trying to kill each other with compliments,” you murmured.
“They’ve declared meat-based war,” Mystery said solemnly. Then, with surprising grace, he snapped his popsicle in half and offered you the unbitten side.
You accepted it. “That’s very Switzerland of you.”
Mystery nodded. “Switzerland explodes.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Emotionally,” Baby said, still watching the others.
You tilted your head. “Are you saying you’re Switzerland?”
“No,” he said. “I’m the firework that explodes after the music ends.”
You blinked again, slower this time. “…That’s kinda poetic.”
“Write it down,” Mystery added, licking blue sugar off his thumb with zero expression.
You laughed.
And just like that, with melting popsicles, grilled skewers, chaotic sparkler energy, and demon boys too powerful to know how to sit still—
The rooftop felt like home.
—--------------------------------------
The city cooled in amber stages—first the rooftops, then the windows, then the skyline itself, each building dipped in gold like someone had brushed the light on by hand.
The rooftop lights flickered on one by one: old fairy strands wrapped around the railings, half of them dim, a few sparking like they’d give out any second. Abby had rigged them together with wire and hope earlier that day. You weren’t sure how they were still working. Probably demon magic. Or sheer stubbornness.
The grill had long since cooled, but the scent of roasted spices and sesame oil still clung to the air like perfume.
Abby moved through the group with plates in hand, the apron still tied haphazardly around his waist, smudged with charcoal like war paint. His cheeks were flushed, glowing from the heat and the pride of having fed everyone to the point of collapse.
He handed you a paper plate piled high with grilled skewers, buttery corn, and a suspiciously perfect slice of watermelon. “I tried to make it aesthetic,” he said sheepishly.
“It’s aggressively beautiful,” you said. “I’m afraid to eat it.”
He laughed and moved on.
Eventually, everyone claimed a spot on the rooftop floor—chairs abandoned in favor of picnic blankets, oversized hoodies, and each other. Crossed legs. Tangled feet. Shoulders pressed together out of comfort, not necessity.
It felt lived-in. Safe.
You leaned back against Jinu’s shoulder without thinking.
He jolted.
Not violently—just a quick, startled freeze, like you’d pressed a live wire against his ribs. His posture went bolt straight. You felt the breath catch in his chest.
But then… he exhaled. And didn’t move away.
His shoulder settled against yours, cautious but soft, the way someone might hold a rare book. His ears flushed pink.
“You okay?” you asked, trying not to smile.
He nodded quickly, eyes fixed ahead like that would help him focus. “Yes. I’m just—you're… you’re warm.”
You grinned, shameless. “So are fireworks.”
That made him look at you. Slowly. Suspiciously. “…Are you comparing yourself to pyrotechnics?”
“You like those,” you teased, bumping his arm lightly.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“Debatable,” he muttered, turning his gaze back toward the skyline—but not far enough to stop smiling.
Romance flopped down beside you like he’d felt the flirting from across the rooftop. He stretched out dramatically, resting his head against your thigh, gold sparkler soot still dusting his fingers.
“I love fireworks,” he said, eyes half-lidded, smile too wide. “They burn bright, scream a little, then vanish.”
You raised a brow. “Sounds like someone you dated.”
He clicked his tongue. “It’s the perfect metaphor for falling in love.”
“Because it ends in fire?”
“Because it makes fire.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Romantic and unhinged. Impressive.”
He tilted his head, grinning up at you. “You say that like it’s not my whole brand.”
“You know me,” you said with a sigh.
“Unfortunately,” Jinu muttered under his breath, which only made Romance smirk harder.
You glanced around at the others—Abby still arranging food like it was a competition, Baby leaning against the cooler like he’d rather die than admit he was full, and Mystery sitting with his knees drawn up, quietly braiding the corner threads of the picnic blanket into strange little knots.
Everything was quiet.
Not silent. Just… full.
The kind of quiet that holds hands with happiness and doesn’t let go.
And just above, the first soft pop of a firework cracked in the sky.
—----------------------------
When the sky finally cracked open, it was electric.
The first firework hit like thunder—sharp and sudden, slicing through the night in a jagged bolt of sapphire blue. The sound bounced off the surrounding buildings, echoed down alleyways, and tugged an involuntary breath from your chest.
The second came seconds later—wider, louder, streaked with gold that shimmered like a slow explosion. Then red. Then a scatter of pink and green and silver that bled into each other like watercolor catching fire.
The rooftop lit up.
Everyone stilled.
The world below blurred out completely. There was only sky and color and heat.
You looked around, cataloging the moment like you were afraid it might vanish too soon.
Baby stood just a few steps away, arms folded tightly across his chest, his usual scowl muted by the glow of the fireworks. His expression was unreadable—carefully blank—but you caught the way his fingers twitched with every burst, the way his eyes tracked the sky a second too long. He wasn’t unaffected. He just didn’t want you to know.
Or maybe he didn’t want himself to know.
Mystery sat closest to you, legs tucked beneath him, chin lifted toward the sky. His eyes reflected the fireworks like polished metal—silver and blue and red layered inside shadow. You reached over and laced your fingers through his. He didn’t look at you, didn’t speak, but the smallest smile curled at the edge of his mouth. His grip tightened.
Like he was tethering himself to you on purpose.
Abby had his elbows on his knees, soda can balanced between his palms. His brow was furrowed—not out of discomfort, but concentration. He stared at the sky like he was trying to understand it, decode the meaning behind the shapes and sparks and explosions.
“I still don’t really get the point,” he said quietly.
You didn’t look away from the sky as you answered, “Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it’s just... pretty.”
He turned to you, eyes softening, smile slow. “That’s enough.”
He leaned into your side, his warmth radiating out from where your arms touched. No further questions. No overthinking. Just the simplicity of existing next to you in that shared breath of peace.
Jinu sat just to your left, trying—and failing—to be subtle as he flinched at every particularly loud boom. You noticed the way his hand instinctively drifted toward his collarbone, fingers brushing over the edge of his shirt as if checking the pattern beneath.
You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly over the crooked paper flag someone had pinned to his hoodie earlier. It had drooped sideways during dinner. He didn’t stop you as you gently straightened it.
He didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t need to.
His shoulders relaxed a little. And that was enough.
And Romance?
He didn’t look at the sky.
Not once.
You caught him staring—not at the fireworks, but at you. Eyes warm, hands resting lazily on his stomach, head tilted like he was watching a painting slowly reveal itself.
“You know,” he said softly, almost lost beneath the distant boom of the next firework, “we’ve had a lot of chaos this year.”
You nodded, still watching the sky. “We always do.”
“But this?” His voice dropped. “This is one of those rare nights I’ll actually want to remember.”
You turned, looked at him—at the way the fireworks lit the planes of his face in flickers of gold and pink. Soft. Safe. More honest than he usually allowed himself to be.
You reached for a sparkler from the half-empty box nearby. Struck a match. Lit it.
The hiss of it felt like its own small firework—quiet, controlled, glowing just for the two of you.
You held it out toward him.
“Then make a wish.”
He didn’t joke. Didn’t flirt.
He just took it, watching the gold trail swirl between you, face unreadable and open all at once.
You both watched it burn down in silence.
And when the last firework boomed overhead—louder than the rest, a sky-filling burst of shimmering white that painted the rooftop in temporary daylight—
The Saja Boys didn’t flinch.
Not anymore.
They just looked around that too-small rooftop—at the paper plates littered with crumbs, the tangled limbs on mismatched blankets, the laughter that still clung to the air like smoke.
At each other.
At you.
And they stayed.
Because for one night—just one—you didn’t need to fight for anything.
You didn’t need to run, or protect, or save.
For one night… nothing needed saving.
Not even them.
—-------------------------------------
The fireworks were over.
But something lingered.
Smoke curled up into the night in lazy ribbons, ghosting over the skyline like the sky itself was catching its breath. Down below, the city buzzed on—car horns, party music, the occasional pop of a leftover firecracker—but none of it touched the rooftop.
Up here, everything had gone still.
The rooftop hummed with that special kind of stillness that only came after a night of too much laughter, too much food, too much feeling. A comfortable hush stretched between all of you like an old blanket—threadbare, but warm where it counted.
The embers in the grill were fading, pulsing low and red in the dark. You could hear the soft clink of utensils being stacked and wrapped in foil.
The boys were scattered, each caught in their own little orbit of calm.
Abby stood by the cooler, sleeves rolled up and hands full of paper plates. He was humming to himself—not a song you recognized, but low and soft, like something from a memory he didn’t talk about. His apron was still on, tied sloppily around his hips, and he wiped the grill like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like summer had always been his season, even if it hadn’t been until now.
He caught you looking and smiled without pausing, like this was his way of saying “you’re safe.”
Mystery crouched near the grill, quietly turning one of the cooling skewers in the ashes. Not eating it. Not playing. Just… watching the last of the heat unravel from it in gentle curls.
He liked endings. Especially quiet ones.
When you shifted slightly, his eyes flicked to you—glowing faintly in the dark like molten silver.
Jinu sat nearby on the blanket, knees pulled to his chest, arms resting lazily across them. He was staring up at the fairy lights like they were made of stars and not just tangled wire and luck. His sleeves had slid up, revealing the faint lines of his demon mark glowing against his skin, barely visible in the low light.
He pretended not to be paying attention to you.
Which meant he absolutely was.
His gaze flicked toward you every so often—quick, shy, then away again. Listening to everything. Saying nothing.
Romance was the opposite of still.
He was curled against your side, head pillowed on your lap, cheek resting against your thigh like it was the softest surface on Earth. His eyes were half-lidded, his smile lazy—lips parted like he was halfway through a dream he didn’t want to wake from.
He shifted slightly as you ran your fingers through his hair.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t flirt.
Just… stayed.
And Baby?
Gone.
Which meant not really gone—just elsewhere. Lurking somewhere close. In the shadows near the fire escape, maybe. Or perched on the edge of the rooftop, hoodie tied around his waist, watching the city like it might pull some trick he didn’t trust.
He never liked endings.
Which was why he never said goodbye.
—----------------------------------
The box of sparklers sat beside you on the blanket, barely touched.
You reached in, plucked the last one—the crooked one, the one bent near the middle—and struck a match against the side of the grill.
The tip hissed to life immediately.
Gold sparks flared up in small bursts, bright and angry at first, then settling into a gentle crackle.
You held it out in front of you.
The sparks danced at the tip like a fuse waiting to burn into something bigger. Like it wanted to say something. Like it already knew.
You didn’t speak your wish aloud.
You didn’t have to.
But the boys heard it anyway.
Abby, from across the rooftop, glanced over with a soft, easy look on his face—one that said he understood. He didn’t ask what you wished for. He didn’t need to. He just kept stacking plates, humming the same soft tune, a quiet nod of acknowledgment in your direction. Like he was already making space for that wish to grow.
Mystery didn’t say anything either. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded napkin. Inside it? A tiny pressed violet. You had no idea when he’d picked it. He set it beside you on the blanket like a spell. “For whatever that was,” he murmured, eyes back on the coals.
Jinu turned his head just slightly. You caught his profile in the glow of the sparkler—his soft jawline, the wide curve of his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were something gentle he didn’t quite know how to hold. But he was trying. He leaned his shoulder against yours without a word.
Romance watched the sparkler with a strange kind of reverence. His thumb grazed the edge of your knee as he whispered, “You always wish like you’re afraid it’ll come true.” You didn’t respond. He closed his eyes again. “I hope it does.”
And Baby?
He stepped out of the shadows the moment the sparkler began to fade.
You hadn’t heard him move. He was just there—crouching beside you, eyes fixed on the last glowing ember at the end of the stick.
“You made a wish?” he asked, voice low.
You glanced at him sideways. “Maybe.”
He nodded. Not asking what it was. Just… thinking about it.
He looked up at the sky, at the empty space where the fireworks had been.
“Whatever it was,” he said, “I hope it’s us.”
The sparkler burned out in a tiny hiss. Just like that, it was gone.
But the warmth stayed.
And the rooftop held all of you a little tighter in the dark.