VOLUME III: 57 – Climbing Is My Hobby

I should’ve known better than to trust a teenager with directions.

“Where are we even going?” I hissed, half-dragged by the wrist through dimly lit streets. Poppy was marching with all the self-assurance of a cult leader leading her followers straight into bankruptcy.

“You’ll see,” she sang, tugging me toward a brick apartment complex that looked like it hadn’t been inspected since disco died.

I dug my heels in. “Poppy. This is how people get kidnapped.”

“You’re too old to be kidnapped,” she shot back without missing a beat.

“…Excuse me?”

She yanked open a rusty side gate, slipped through, and waved for me to follow like it was the most natural thing in the world. Against my better judgment, I squeezed in after her, muttering about how this was trespassing, breaking and entering, and possibly how I’d end up on the news as “woman who should’ve known better.”

We climbed a narrow, groaning staircase that smelled faintly of mildew and cigarettes. Every step protested under my weight, and I couldn’t stop thinking: This is it. This is where my obituary starts.

Poppy didn’t care. She was already two floors ahead, practically bouncing. “C’mon, old lady, keep up!”

“Old—” I wheezed. “You—ugh. If I die here, I’m haunting your TikTok.”

By the time we reached the top, she shoved open a heavy metal door, and the night air hit me like a slap of cold clarity. We stepped out onto the rooftop.

The city sprawled beneath us in a scatter of neon and headlights, bridges glowing like arteries stretched across the dark bay. It wasn’t touristy or polished. Just raw, jagged skyline, the kind of view you only get if you know where to sneak.

Poppy plopped herself onto the gravel, legs crossed, hair messy from the wind. She looked lighter here. Like the chaos of what had happened to her had melted off her shoulders.

I sat down next to her, brushing pebbles off my palms. “…So this is it? Your big secret?”

“Yup.” She tilted her head back, staring up at the blinking red light of a radio tower. “It’s where I come when I wanna… y’know. Not be around anyone.”

Her voice was smaller than usual. Not gone, just softer, like she was letting me borrow the version of herself nobody else got to see.

Then she added, almost shyly, “Ketsusaki said once… in one of her streams… that rooftops were her favorite place. She said she liked sitting where she could see everything but still feel kind of hidden. Like she was above it all, but still connected. It was the first time I’d ever seen her talk about something like that—like, not just jokes or scuffed stuff. She sounded… real. And it blew my mind because—”

I froze for a second, a little heat crawling up my neck. She's talking about me. And here I was, sitting on a rooftop, barely able to breathe, unbeknownst to her that she's beside that Ketsusaki.

She gestured out at the skyline, her fingers trembling just a little. “Because I already liked this spot too. I thought I was the only one. And then she said it, and I was like—oh. She gets it. She gets me.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, half-defensive, half-embarrassed. “That’s when I knew she wasn’t just some streamer I liked. She understood me. She was a proof I wasn’t totally alone.”

Her voice trailed for a moment before she added, softer still, “Thanks. For earlier. You didn’t have to stay with me at the park. But you did. So, this is my way of saying it.”

We sat in silence for a while, the hum of traffic below filling the gaps. For once, she wasn’t talking my ear off. And for once, I didn’t feel the urge to fill the quiet with sarcasm.

It was just us. Rooftop. City lights. The kind of magic I thought I’d grown out of years ago.

“Pretty cool, huh?” she said eventually.

“…Yeah.” I admitted. “Pretty cool.”

Then, right as the quiet settled again, I remembered the obvious. “Wait, Poppy. Don’t you have school tomorrow? You can’t just drag me onto rooftops at night.”

She groaned dramatically, flopping backward into the gravel like a dying fish. “Ughhh, responsibilityyy.”

I rolled my eyes, tugging at her sleeve. “C’mon, let’s get you home before your mom accuses me of running a kidnapping ring.”

“Joke’s on you,” she grinned, not moving an inch. “If you try to carry me, you’re gonna throw your back out.”

I stared down at her. “…I’m leaving you here.”

“Fine!” she sat up, hair full of dust, pointing triumphantly at the skyline. “But at least I’ll die with a cool view.”

I was about to give up when her phone buzzed. Poppy squinted at the screen. “Uh… yeah. Otis. He’s looking for me. Mom probably called him or something.”

I blinked. “Who’s Otis?”

She waved a hand like it was nothing. “Brother stuff. Big scary voice. Probably thinks I’ve been kidnapped by a serial killer or something.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Right. That’s our cue. Rooftop magic over. You’re coming down.”

Poppy groaned, flopping sideways into the gravel again. “Ughhh, grown-up rules ruin everything.”

I grabbed her wrist firmly. “Grown-up rules exist for a reason. One of them is: you’re coming down before your brother unleashes a citywide search party.”

She huffed, finally letting herself be tugged toward the door, muttering something about “ruining the vibe” and “city lights conspiracy.”

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath: Teenagers, five minutes of freedom and they think they’re invincible.

But as we stepped back into the stairwell, Poppy shot me a grin. Chaotic, dumb, and completely her. And somehow, that made everything worth it.

The rooftop was behind us. The city lights still twinkled, but now we were going home. Slightly dusty, slightly tired, and entirely alive.