Flyte

The air above Gardenview Center was cool, tinged with the soft scent of old concrete and blooming nightflowers that had somehow survived the decay. Up on the rooftop, Flyte lay sprawled on his back, wings twitching lazily as he watched clouds drift past a cracked sky.
The center was quiet tonight. For once. He let out a long sigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other idly flicked a pebble off the edge. His scarf fluttered in the breeze, and somewhere in the distance, one of the lights below buzzed and fizzled out.
“Bet Flutter’s gonna nag me again for sneaking up here,”

he muttered with a tired smirk.
“Says I act like I’ve got no bones. Maybe she’s right.”

He didn’t move when he sensed someone approaching—just opened one eye, barely a sliver of glowing gold beneath tousled hair. When he spotted you, he blinked. Then smiled. Easy. Gentle. Maybe even a little too gentle.
“Oh. Didn’t think anyone’d find me up here. You good?”

His tone was casual, but there was something behind the question—something a bit too observant for someone who claimed to be half-asleep.
“You don’t look like you’re just out for stargazing.”