THREE

"Are you sure I'm allowed to be here?" Julian asks before he even step on the first step that connects to Vee'spresso's rooftop. 

Thristan, already a step ahead, looked behind him before his eyes landed on Julian's brown ones. "Well, you've been here a few times, no?" He said.

"Well, those are different. That was for business, and this-..." Paused. "I feel like I'm invading you guys' personal space." He said, unsure if he should take the first step.

Thristan chuckles. "The rooftop's not a place just anyone can go without invitation from Vee, herself. Not even business partner can go there, so the fact that she invited you there before is enough proof that you're welcome there." 

"....Are you sure?" 

Rolling his eyes, Thristan just walked ahead, leaving Julian staring at the first step. "Then just stay there, I'm going up." 

Giving up, Julian followed Thristan up the narrow staircase, the cooler handle biting into his palm, a second chair balanced awkwardly under his other arm. He could already hear laughter spilling from the rooftop, bright and careless, the kind that only came when people had years of history and no reason to guard their joy. 

Julian noticed the smile he had before he even reach the top.

The rooftop was glowing. Not from the fairy lights - half of them were broken, but from the people in it.

The sight that greeted Julian the moment he steps into the space was Hana draped across the faded vintage couch like royalty, her laugh cutting through the warm night air — A rare sight, given her shy personality. Veronica was sitting on the floor beside her, elbow resting on Hana's knee, glass in hand, cheeks pink from alcohol and happiness. They looked younger than he'd ever seen them.

They're freer.

He stepped out just in time to hear Veronica say, "You nearly punched him the first time you met."

"Yes," Hana grinned. "I stopped one inch short of his face. Self-control." She shrugged.

Thristan groaned beside Julian, making his way towards the girls and puts down the black plastic bag he was holding on the table before taking the space beside Veronica, leaning back his head to lay on Hana's stomach. "Are we really telling that story again?"

"It's always fun talking about," Hana said, nudging Thristan's shoulder with her leg. "Sit here." She orders him to sit on the couch with her. Thristan, used to Hana's demanding requests, simply comply. 

Seeing that, Julian snorted as he sat the cooler down. "We brought drinks," he offered.

"You're late," Hana said, not even glancing at him. "Three-sip penalty."

"This some rooftop ritual?" Julian asked, but his hands already unscrewing the bottle.

"This is sacred law," Veronica added, grinning as she scooted over to make room, patting the space beside her for Julian to sit. The moment he sat down, Veronica patted his shoulder and smiled, and Julian smiled back. He knew that he was accepted in there, — that they don't mind him joining their little gathering. So he drank the three-sip penalty, the so-called sacred law. 

From his spot, Julian looked around the space, this was the first time he visit this space at night, and that too, not to discuss about business with Veronica, but as their friend. The faint glint of fairy lights were beautiful, Julian noticed Hana's legs now resting on Thristan's lap, while Veronica pouring alcohol in a glass before handing it to each of them — a familiar dynamic for them. With Hana being the priority, Veronica being the over-functioning 'mother' figure, while Thristan is simply a 'slave'. Despite that, Julian can't help but notice the familiar ease between the three of them that came from surviving too much together.

They were chaos. And yet… they were comfort, too.

Julian wasn't used to this kind of intimacy — not the romantic kind, but this: the kind of friendship that didn't need polish. A friendship that allowed for teasing, yelling, swearing, crying, silence, and yet still held together like gravity. He watched as Hana tossed a peanut at Thristan's face. It bounced off his forehead, and he didn't even flinch. "Your aim is worse than your attitude," he muttered, but his fingers were still resting gently on her ankle. And oftentimes, he didn't even realise that he was rubbing his thumb against her skin.

Julian didn't miss the way Hana relaxed into his touch — not vulnerable, but safe. Like maybe she finally believed she didn't have to keep her fists up all the time. He then looked at Veronica, her profile soft in the amber glow. She laughed at something Hana said, tilting her head back, and he felt it again — that quiet ache in his chest.

Not just love. But belonging.

Julian used to think of Veronica as someone who stood apart. Dignified, guarded, and maybe even a little untouchable. But here, surrounded by these two, she was... playful. Silly. Glorious in her softness, proving that this rooftop was more than just a hangout spot.

It was a time capsule.

A place where the three of them could shed the weight of adulthood and slip back into something lighter, something sacred. 

"To the chaos we survived," Thristan toasted, glass raised. Hana, still laid down the couch, also raised her glass with little difficulty but she managed. 

"To the people who helped us survive it," Veronica added, looking pointedly at both of them. Julian raised his glass slowly, just going along with them.

"And to not needing to survive anymore." The clink of glasses was soft, but solid. Like an oath. Julian took a sip, before he leaned his head against Thristan's knees where he was sitting on the couch. Somewhere in the background, a dog barked. A motorcycle engine coughed. The world kept spinning.

But up here, time slowed.

Julian didn't speak much after that, just listened as the three of them shared stories from high school. From hiding a cat behind the library, skipping class to smuggle it food, stealing food from the school's cafeteria, Thristan getting caught and lying badly to cover for them despite being the student council president. They interrupted each other constantly, correcting details, laughing over overlapping memories that clearly meant more than they were saying. Hana even volunteered to show off her mixing skills as the best selling bartender in her workplace with Veronica being her biggest supporter, while Thristan pulled out his phone to record everything. 

And Julian?

He just watched. He just Listened. Envious, but with no malice.

He hadn't grown up with them. He hadn't seen the wild teenage versions of these people. But he could feel the echoes, and being allowed into that echo, even as a guest, felt like the greatest kind of trust. And Julian felt honoured to be a part of that echo. 

Much later, when the night had melted into yawns and half-spilled drinks, Julian leaned closer to Veronica and whispered, "I think I finally understand."

"Understand what?" she murmured, half-lidded eyes staring at Julian, probably due to the alcohol she consumed.

"Why you love them so much."

She blinked up at him. "You're still hang up on that?" she said, surprised. Julian nodded, clearly he did.

"But I'm glad. Thank you." She added, smiling. Julian was stunned. Veronica looked so beautiful, despite being a little tipsy. And whether he realize it or not, Julian was falling for her. 

Sensing that the air between them was starting to get awkward, Veronica changed the topic before directing the conversation towards Thristan. Their playful banter and memories sharing session continue. Despite all that, Julian didn't mind being the only one who couldn't join the conversation. It was enough to listen to them. Their story, and just by being there listening to them made Julian felt like he actually experience those things together with them. 

And just like that, the night continue with their story and Julian will only comment when needed, or when they need someone to support their side.

****

The rooftop had grown quieter after a few hours. The time shows that it's half past three in the morning, and Hana, who was a light drinker, has passed out on the couch since an hour ago. Thristan stood up with a groan, carefully lifting Hana in his arms. She mumbled something into his shoulder, too tired — or too drunk — to resist. And that is a rare sight, considering how Hana is not the type to like skin contact, except for Veronica. The weight of her was familiar, and the way Thristan carried her was even more natural, as if this wasn't the first time she'd passed out mid-laughter with trust in every limp limb.

"I'll walk her over," Thristan announced, nodding toward the building next door, where Hana and Veronica lived. 

"Need help?" Julian offered, but Thristan shook his head. 

"I got her, you just help Vee with the cleaning." He answered instead.

Veronica waved him off with a lazy flick of her wrist. "Don't drop her down the stairs."

"I'm the one who should be scared," he muttered, disappearing into the shadows of the staircase with Hana curled against his chest, soft snores was heard showing how deep into sleep she was despite her uncomfortable position. 

That left just Julian and Veronica on the rooftop, surrounded by empty bottles, scattered snack wrappers, and soft echoes of the night they just lived through. Neither of them spoke right away.

Julian began gathering the plastic cups, letting them clink together softly in his hands. Veronica stood and reached for the peanut bowl placed right under where Hana was passed out earlier, still half-full, and started picking out the ones that had gone stale. They moved like a pair that had done this many times before — not with each other, but with other people. With other memories.

Julian liked the silence between them. It was unhurried, not awkward. It was comfortable. 

"I always forget how messy we get up here," Veronica said after a while, folding a crumpled napkin with a small sigh. "We act like teenagers, and then the adults in us have to clean it all up." She added, followed with a chuckle.

Julian smiled, setting down the cups and reaching for the trash bag. "That's the price of joy, I guess."

She paused at that, looking over at him with something unreadable in her gaze. "I like that," she said quietly. "The price of joy."

Julian didn't say anything, just returned her look with a small nod. The wind lifted the ends of her hair again, brushing it across her cheek. It took him a beat before he spoke, voice lower now, a little rough. "You look happy here."

Veronica raised a brow, as if surprised by the comment. "I am," she said with confidence. "When I'm with them, I am. Always..."

"And with me?" Julian asked, gently — not as a challenge, but as an invitation. Like he needed to know where he stood when the laughter faded. Veronica tilted her head slightly, lips parted but no words coming out at first. Instead, she walked over to the small table where the half-empty bottle of gin still sat. She poured a little into two glasses, not because they needed more, but because the ritual of it meant something now.

She handed him one, their fingers brushing. "Well, you don't… disrupt this," she said, almost shyly sipping the drink. "You fit. unexpectedly..."

Julian took the glass but didn't drink it, just staring at the clear drink. "I didn't expect to want to," he admitted. Voice soft, almost unheard. Veronica's eyes flicked up to meet his.

He held her gaze. "But I do. I want to be here. Not just in this space, but with you. With them, too. But you, especially." What Julian just did wasn't a confession shouted into the wind. It wasn't even dressed in metaphors or wrapped in beautiful poetry. It was just true. Genuine.

And Veronica didn't reply right away. She looked down at her glass, fingers tracing the rim. Then, quietly, she said, "I'm not good at this."

Julian moved closer. "At what?"

"Letting people in when they mean something." She said, letting out a soft sigh. 

There was a short pause before Julian smiled. "Well," he said softly, his voice steady but warm, "lucky for you, I'm very patient."

That elicited a small laugh out of Veronica. Short, soft, but genuine. She leaned her hip against the table, standing just a little closer than before. "Wanna stay a little longer?" she asked.

Julian chuckled, nevertheless nodded. "As long as you'll have me."

Veronica chuckled, shaking her head but her smile stayed. "Then stay a little longer..."

And in the background, the city kept humming, distant and detached. While up here, in the flickering light of old bulbs and unfinished drinks, something quiet and real had begun to take root.

Not loudly. But firmly.

*** *

The night was thick with the scent of rain that never came. The warmth from the rooftop lingered on Thristan's skin as he carefully adjusted Hana in his arms. She was light, lighter than he remembered. Did she lost weight? Or was it just the way she folded into him, completely unguarded? Thristan wondered, will he ever see Hana being unguarded without being drunk. Her cheek rested against his collarbone, breath slow and warm against his neck. She'd murmured something when he first picked her up, but now she was quiet. Completely passed out. 

"I got her." Was what he has told Julian and Veronica before leaving the rooftop, and that's exactly what he's planning to do.

The walk towards Hana's house was silent, save for the cricket or the echo of vehicle from the main road. It was an old walk-up, familiar in every way — from the noisy vehicle from distance to the faded paint of Hana's main gate. He'd been here before. More times than he, himself could ever count.

Thristan didn't know he managed to punch Hana's door pass without dropping her, but he did. All the while holding her jacket that was almost falling off from her hold. He adjusted his hold on Hana's body, and Hana stirred slightly, blinking once, twice. "Mmm… home?" She muttered. 

"Yeah," Thristan said gently, pulling her closer to him if it was possible.

"You're home..." Thristan nudged the door open with his foot and stepped into Hana's small apartment. It smelled of warm woody, with a hint of citrus, like a splash of gin over ice. It feels fresh but layered, — just like Hana. Kneeling at the doorstep while still carrying Hana, Thristan managed to take her shoes off, fingers brushing against her ankle, all the while removing his own shoes. All those busy movements and Hana didn't even flinched — too deep in her sleep, too trusting. Too unguarded. 

"Hana," Thristan whispered, voice caught between care and something deeper. "Let's get you to bed."

Hana stirred, lifting her head slightly, her eyes closed still. "You're warm," she mumbled, brows furrowing. "I like it, don't go yet."

A short pause. Thristan felt his chest ached.

"I won't," he promised, even though he wasn't sure how long he could stay.

He carried her to the couch. Not her bed, because that felt like a line he shouldn't cross. He laid her down gently, walked towards the empty room where Hana stores her extra blankets to fetch some blanket to cover her body, and brushed strands of hair from her face. Hana looked younger like this. Softer. Less guarded. She clutched the hem of his shirt, even in sleep, like she needed him to anchor her. Thristan then sat at the edge of the couch, and for a moment, just a moment, his fingers lingered at the edge of her jaw. His thumb grazed her cheek, barely a touch. His heart beat a little faster. He could feel it — that pull. The one that said: Kiss her.

Just once. She wouldn't even remember.

But that wasn't the point.

He stopped. Right there. With his lips barely apart and his face inches from hers. He closed his eyes instead, breathing in, clenched his fist, grounding himself as best as he can. 

This wasn't what she needed. He could lose her trust for him.

So he leaned back, brushing his hand once through her hair instead, and rubbing against her thinned cheek with his thumb like a prayer. Gentle. Reverent.

"I wish you'd just realize what I feel for you," he whispered, the words barely a breath, meant for no one but the night. "I wish you'd just realise just how much I want to keep you for myself. How I want to just lock you up and never let you out for the world to see, because no one in the whole world deserves you, deserves to even see your existence." He sighed, burying his face against the couch to take a deep breath. "No one..."

"But damn it, Hana." He took a shaky breath. "I know if I do that, you'll disappear once again. You'll run away from me, from Vee, from the world..." And I wouldn't want that to happen. Not again. 

Thristan waited until Hana's grip on his shirt loosened. Until her breathing evened again. Then he stood up. Left a glass of water and some aspirin on the coffee table. And stepped out without another sound.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And for the first time in a long while, Thristan wasn't sure if being a good man meant doing the right thing...

...or walking away from what he wanted most.

*** *

The rain finally broke as Thristan stepped out onto the street. Not a storm, but steady enough to soak his shoulders by the time he reached the curb. He didn't bother pulling up his hood. Thristan stood straight at the side of the street as he stared at Vee'spresso right across the street. The water felt grounding, sharp and cold, like something to keep him from floating away with his thoughts.

Thoughts that had been brewing for years.

Forgetting his car that was parked in front of Vee'spresso, Thristan texted Veronica that he's leaving, and let his feet carried him nowhere in particular. Just away. Away from Hana's door, away from the house where he had to pretend again that being good meant keeping his hands to himself. 

But the ache didn't fade. It grew.

He'd been living with it for years, this quiet, gnawing hunger.

He didn't even remember when he first realized it. That Hana wasn't just Vee's sharp-tongued, hard-to-read best friend anymore, but someone his eyes kept searching for, even when she wasn't in the room. Maybe it was when she first dyed her hair red and cut it short, laughing when everyone said it made her look dangerous. Or maybe it was the night she came home bruised from some street fight she refused to talk about, brushing off their concern with that infuriatingly flat expression, even as her hands shook when she thought no one was looking. Thristan didn't dare think of the probability that she's never just a friend to him since the beginning, because that's just pitiful. Because they've been friends for more than ten years. 

But he remembered, clearly, the first time it hurt. 

It was when she started dating someone. Evan? Eric? The name hardly mattered. Some sleek-haired guy Hana met at Lustre Noir who thought her mystery was something he could own. Veronica was busy with her job as a lawyer then, as a fresh graduate, and Thristan was still trying to make himself stable trying to get used to managing the company under his father's guidance. And without him and Veronica knowing, Hana had made herself the biggest customer attraction for Lustre Noir. She had made a name for herself there, as the top dancer of Lustre Noir. And Veronica and Thristan couldn't do anything to stop her, she had made herself too far to reach, even for her own friends. 

Before he knew it, Thristan had become good at pretending. All easy grins and casual shrugs, like it didn't twist his gut every time Hana vanished with her boyfriend after her shift at Lustre Noir. Like it didn't burn when she returned hours later, makeup smeared, perfume faded and smelling too strong of a cologne that doesn't even belong to her, her smile just a little too perfect to be real.

Thristan said nothing. Did nothing. He just stood by and watched, because what else could he do?

And then there were the flings. The nameless men. The one-night stands she never confirmed but didn't deny.

Thristan never judged her. He couldn't. Hana had her walls, and everyone coped differently. But every time he thought about it, the image burned. He'd imagine faceless men tracing the lines of her skin, men who didn't know she hates cocktails, men who'd never seen the rare softness in her laugh when she actually feels safe. Men who wanted her only for her body, and not her. 

They didn't know her. They didn't deserve her.

And yet she gave pieces of herself to them — pieces he would have killed to hold.

The rain picked up, a sharp, needling drizzle. Thristan barely felt it — ignoring it, perhaps. His jaw tightened as he pulled out and lit a cigarette, a habit he never do in front of Veronica and Hana because they hated the smell of it, the flame flaring against the dark before dying to a dull glow.

The cigarette hissed when the drizzle finally reached it, smoke curling into the wet air before vanishing. Thristan didn't mind the sting in his fingers as he flicked the stub to the gutter and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He wasn't cold—not really. Just… hollow.

His phone buzzed, a sharp sound against the quiet patter of rain. He pulled it out, expecting maybe a work notification, or something meaningless to anchor him.

It was Veronica.

Vee:

You're leaving. Everything okay? 

Thristan stared at the screen. The glow painted his knuckles pale, and for a moment, he thought about typing something real, confessing the coil of guilt twisting his stomach. How he'd stood in Hana's apartment, her fingers gripping his shirt even in sleep, how close he'd come to crossing a line he had no right to.

How his chest still ached from pulling back.

But what was he supposed to tell Veronica? That her best friend was in his head and his hands and almost on his lips? That the only reason he'd walked away was because he was terrified of losing them both?

He typed slowly, each letter feeling heavier than it should.

I'm fine. Just needed some air. Heading home now. 

A pause. The dots blinked, stopped, blinked again.

Vee:

Your car's still outside the cafe, Thristan.

Did something happen at Hana's place? 

His grip tightened on the phone until the edge bit into his palm. He could still feel Hana's warmth, the soft pull of her breath on his neck. He forced his fingers to relax, forced himself to breathe before replying.

Thristan: 

I promise it's nothing. I just needed some air.

And Hana's fine. Just had a bit too much to drink.

She's home, sleeping it off. 

It was the truth, but only the surface of it. The rest, the almost-kiss, the whisper he never should've spoken aloud, all of those stayed buried where it belonged.

Another pause.

Vee:

I'm not convinced, but if you say so.

Just come to me if you need a hug 

Thristan paused, stared at the screen and typed a simple, "Got it." 

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, staring at the glistening street, the blurred glow of Vee'spresso's sign across the road. The ache in his chest didn't ease. If anything, Veronica's concern only made the weight heavier.

Being a good man, he told himself, meant knowing where to stop. But as he turned down the empty street, the rain tracing cold lines down his neck, Thristan wasn't sure how many more nights he could keep pretending.

Pretending that the growing obsession in his heart is not there...