A/N:Hey! You! Yes, "you"! Are you reading this even though I warned you in the description that this a spoiler? I'm once again gonna drop this for those of you don't read parentheses in descriptions - SPOILERS FOR , DON'T READ THIS AND GO WATCH IT BECAUSE IT'S AMAZING!
You'd only just come home. It's 1 in the morning. The smell of the city; a mixture of gasoline, sweat and broken dreams, had clung to you like a second skin and a quick shower hadn't erased it. You'd tried sleeping – failed entirely as your mind raced. Late night TV had also failed. Whelp, looks like you're pulling an all-nighter – who even needs sleep anyway?
So it had been a cup or two if wine and people watching. Living smack dab in the middle of the impressive Emerald Fields apartment building had afforded you a perfect people watching view. From your modest balcony, you could gaze into the more-than-often open windows and balconies of the filthy rich. You had been sipping, eyeing up the currently dark windows of Mrs. Kittles – who despite looking more up to speed with grandchildren and an unhealthy cat obsession – had a voracious appetite for middle-aged women. Since it was Tuesday, she would have over 'Veronica' (you didn't know her real name, but she strutted with a grace that only a Veronica could surely pull off).
You were glad that the curve of the building prevented you from seeing the bedroom (goodness knows how scarred you might be). But watching them helped you sleep though, the way they slowly danced around the living room or gazed out into the skyline with lovey-dovey eyes, dampened your burning mind.
Mrs. Kittles' lights had just only switched on when you heard her.
It should be impossible – the city doesn't sleep and the symphony of nearly one million people never quiets. Yet, her voice carries over and demands your attention.
Her voice is an ascension into the starry heavens, pulling you by your heartstrings. The lyrics are unfamiliar, crisp and clear despite the rising and falling roar of her audience below her. Dressed to the nines in what can only be a custom tailored suit, she stood at the balcony at the Ritz Suite of the Le Hotel.
You sit, swaying slightly to her song (the one you're pretty sure you really shouldn't be eavesdropping to). Then she jumps.
At first, you'd thought she might have been about to plunge into the depths of the lit caverns of this monster of a city. It wouldn't be the first time some drunken idiot had attempted to climb onto the rails.
But, she's not falling. Despite the fact that she can't be balancing on more than two-inch wide glass, she dances and flips and twirls and jabs – and for Pete's sake, she's lying down on it now!
What's over? Who's gone? Who won? Is she going to be okay?
She momentarily dips out of view, maneuvering too gracefully to belong anywhere other than in the backdrop of the stars. She pops back up; wilting like a flower denied the touch of the sun over the edge of the balcony once again. Her voice warps into a heartbreaking sadness that brings tears to your eyes.
Then she flings something into the sky. A tiny dot of red rides the wind, as it gets closer and closer, until it dances right into your open, reaching hand – it's a rose.
The last few notes of her song ring in your ears long after you slipped back into bed. Next to your bed, sits a single rose in a wine glass filled to the brim with water.
"It's over isn't it, why can't I move on?"
A/N:This took me all of forty minutes, so sorry for the grammar mistakes and junk. First time doing a 2nd person/Reader perspective so...sorry for the weird mistakes with tenses too.