Rooftop

      They were sitting on the rooftop. For a long time, as if someone had closed off the way down. The city beneath them exhaled the remnants of the day’s heat and bustle. Somewhere in the distance, windows were already lighting up. Sparse, but each filled with its own life, its own story. The guys glanced at them from time to time, lost in their own thoughts, private and unspoken. Eventually, they forgot about the windows and about other people’s problems altogether.       Yuuki lay sprawled out, one leg crossed over the other, waving his arm enthusiastically at the sky. "Look! There, see? That cloud looks like... shit, like a chicken that got into a fight and now it’s sad..." He brought a cigarette to his lips and exhaled a thick puff of smoke. "You’ve got quite the imagination..." Jihi replied with a smile he couldn’t hide. He sat beside him, legs tucked under himself, occasionally shooting Yuuki a mocking glance. "Or some serious vision problems." "No-no! My vision’s like a whale’s! You just don’t know how to look. It’s a sad chicken! Sky art, man!" Yuuki gave Jihi a quick glance, then turned his eyes back to the clouds. "Okada-san, tell him! You see the chicken too, right?"       Okada nodded, siding with Yuuki. She lit a cigarette. A slow, almost invisible smile spread across her lips. Her gaze drifted over the boys. Cold, as usual—but softer now. Like someone used to being in charge, and okay with it. Not just “the boss,” but more like “a mom.” "Cloud-chicken lover, your first mission’s in a week, remember?" she said, exhaling smoke and resting her arms on her knees. "Oh no, here we go..." Yuuki winked at Jihi. "Hey, do you think we’ll get cool helmets or like ski masks, like in the movies?" "No idea," Jihi chuckled. "But I really hope they don’t give you a weapon. And if they do, I’m definitely grabbing three bulletproof vests." "Aww, you care about me!" Yuuki said in a mock-sweet voice. "About myself," Jihi corrected, already laughing.       Okada said nothing, but she was clearly enjoying their banter. Maybe it was in moments like this she felt... at peace. Yuuki—loud as always, but with warmth in every word. Jihi—calm, with a dry, almost lazy sense of humor. Together they looked like brothers, arguing again over who gets the front seat in the car. But it was more than that. Not quite family, but people who knew: in battle, there’s no room for loneliness. And even if tomorrow ends in gunfire, tonight ends in laughter.       They sat on the rooftop. The three of them. Before the war. Before the pain. Just an evening, concrete, sky, and cigarettes. A small family. Still almost kids. Still almost alive.