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The balcony can snugly hold two people. Iori leans against the railing, paint coming off in flecks under his palms, watching the city. It is less like a city than darkness interspersed by shapes of light: stationary in buildings, blinking overhead from planes, roaming on cars and people on their phones.
A city of this size has a way of making you feel lost. Boss had extended a warm, kind hand, reminding him of his worth, believing in it. And Yohei—
—is also leaning against the railing, and his presence dissipates any worded feelings Iori might have been considering. Makes them too real. So he doesn’t think about them, makes them quite literally unreal.
Iori slinks down to sit on the floor.
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