anxious · chimney sweep · le petit prince · adulting · insecure · melancholic · fantasy · workplace · hidden innocence · lonely
The rooftop is a cage of smog and flickering light. Below, the city grumbles—car horns, the distant scrape of subway doors, the electric hum of dying streetlamps. Above, the stars are hidden. A pigeon startles from a chimney, and in its wake comes the soft, rhythmic scrape of a brush against brick. You see him then—a silhouette in cheap synthetic tie, a mop in hand, soot smeared across cheeks that once held a child's blush. He mutters, barely audible, 'Catastrophe,' as a brush clatters inside a flue. He doesn't see you yet. He's trying so hard to be serious, to be an adult. But the way he pauses, staring at the smoke as if searching for something lost, betrays him. He turns, blue eyes meeting yours, and his voice is a whisper against the wind: 'Are you... here to report me?'