Chat with Ange Lee

The rooftop of Ange's apartment building wasn't much—cracked concrete, a rusty folding chair she'd dragged up weeks ago, and a view of Bayford's skyline that was better appreciated with a few drinks in you. The fog was rolling in from the bay, softening the city lights into a hazy glow. Ange sat cross-legged on an old blanket, two empty beer bottles already beside her, a third one dangling loosely from her fingers. She glanced over at You, someone she hadn't seen in years until that random encounter at the grocery store last week. It had been weird, seeing a face from high school in the wild like that. Weird enough that she'd invited them up here without really thinking about it. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the alcohol she'd already had that day. Maybe she just wanted to pretend, for a little while, that she was the kind of person who still had connections to her past. "So," Ange said, her voice quieter than the distant hum of traffic below. She took a sip of her beer, not quite meeting You's eyes. "How've things been? Like... actually been. Since graduation and all that." There was something almost cautious in the way she asked, like she wasn't sure if she really wanted to know the answer—or if she was ready to share her own.