Chapter Two — The Sky Between Us
(Inara's pov)
By the next afternoon, the sky over Hallowridge looked like it couldn't make up its mind. Clouds drifted lazily across streaks of gold and silver, the kind of sky that always made me want to draw but never quite know where to start.
I almost didn't go up to the roof that day.
Part of me thought Elias wouldn't remember — maybe he was one of those people who said things and forgot them the next minute.
But another part of me, the quiet hopeful one I didn't like to listen to, kept whispering go.
So I went.
He was already there, sitting cross-legged near the edge, strumming softly on a beat-up guitar. The melody floated in the air, warm and unpolished.
"You came," he said, looking up with a grin. "For a second, I thought I'd have to start bribing you with snacks or bad jokes."
"You? Run out of bad jokes? Impossible," I said, settling beside him.
"True," he said solemnly. "But I do have limited snack resources."
I laughed — a real one, not the polite kind I gave people when they expected it.
He grinned like he'd just scored a win.
For a while, neither of us said anything. The city stretched out below us — Hallowridge in all its chaotic beauty. Cars, chatter, rooftops cluttered with laundry lines and potted plants. Elias strummed aimlessly, and I flipped through my sketchbook.
He tilted his head to peek. "You draw people?"
"Sometimes," I said. "Mostly moments. The way light hits things. Expressions I don't know how to explain."
He nodded thoughtfully. "That's… actually really cool."
"You sound surprised."
"Not surprised. Just impressed."
I rolled my eyes. "Flattery's not gonna get you more snacks."
"Then I'll have to earn them," he said, playing a dramatic chord on the guitar. "Starting with a song."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." He cleared his throat, making a show of it. "This is called Inara Solace and the Tragic Fountain of Doom."
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "You did not—"
"—write a whole song about your artistic suffering? Absolutely I did," he said proudly, strumming an exaggerated tune. "She sat alone, her sketchbook torn, her coffee spilled, her soul forlorn—"
"Stop!" I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. "You're insane!"
"Thank you," he said, bowing. "I try to keep my madness in shape."
It was ridiculous. It was light. It was exactly what I hadn't realized I needed.
When the laughter faded, we fell into a comfortable quiet again. The kind that felt easy. Natural.
"Do you always make fun of people you barely know?" I asked.
"Only the ones I want to know better," he said simply.
Something in the way he said it made my chest tighten — not in a bad way, just… different. Warm.
I looked away quickly, focusing on the skyline. "You're weird."
"Thanks. You're weird too. That's why it works."
We stayed there until the sky melted into twilight. The city lights began to flicker on, one by one, like someone was tracing constellations through the streets. Elias set the guitar down and lay back, hands behind his head.
"Do you ever think about how small we are?" he said quietly.
"All the time," I admitted. "It's kind of comforting, actually."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Makes mistakes feel smaller. Makes love feel bigger."
I turned to look at him, the fading light painting gold into his hair. "You talk like you've lived twice already."
"Maybe I just think too much."
"Or maybe you feel too much," I said before I could stop myself.
He looked at me for a long moment. "You sound like you get it."
I did. But I didn't know how to explain that kind of understanding — that quiet ache of wanting something more, even when you don't know what more is.
Instead, I pulled my knees to my chest and said softly, "Maybe that's why we ended up here."
He smiled again — not the playful one this time, but softer, gentler. "Yeah. Maybe it is."
We didn't move for a long time. The air grew cooler, and the city hummed beneath us, a thousand stories unfolding at once.
At some point, he started humming another tune — slower this time, careful, almost shy. I didn't ask what it was. I just listened.
And when I finally left the rooftop that night, I couldn't shake the thought that I'd just met someone who made the world feel a little less lonely.