I stop beside the driver’s window and knock once, and the reaction is immediate.
Inside, the figure jerks upright like he’s been pulled from somewhere deeper than sleep. Fear flashes across his face before he can hide it.
I step back without thinking, palms slightly open, showing him I’m not a threat. I give him the space he needs.
A blanket shifts in his hands, slipping just below his chin as he stares at me through the glass.
Young. Mid-twenties, maybe. Light brown hair, messy, flattened on one side from sleep. Exhaustion carved into the shadows under his eyes, sharpening every feature into something too tired for his age.
Something tightens in my chest. It’s an old feeling, unwelcome but impossible to ignore.
I’ve seen that look before. In mirrors I didn’t like.
He lowers the window a few inches, cautious, like he’s bracing for impact.
And then I see his eyes properly. Hazel? No, not quite. Something stranger. Sand and honey shifting depending on the light. Gold one second, brown the next. My breath catches for a moment. Not enough to show, just enough to feel.
Long dark-blond hair, sun-lightened at the edges, falls across sharp cheekbones. A mouth set in a line that doesn’t know what to do with itself.
Then I notice the two silver rings under his lower lip. Snakebite piercings. Trouble, or armor? A strange pull settles low in my chest, quiet but insistent.
My gaze drops before I can stop it. And something about him lands wrong in my chest. He should be anywhere else. Anywhere warm. Laughing. Flirting. Making bad decisions at midnight with people who know his name.
Instead he’s here.
In a car.
Wrapped in a blanket like the world forgot to give him somewhere to land, and I hate that I notice how much I want to fix that.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. Voice rough with sleep. “I’ll move.”
My eyes flick past him and what I see in the back seat changes everything. My stomach drops. The picture forms instantly, painfully, and I hate how familiar it feels.
Duffel bag. Food. Blankets. Pillows.
Not travel, but surviving. And only just from what I can see.
“Where?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He blinks. “Huh?”
“Where are you moving to?”
Silence.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. Truthfully, and that hits harder than anything rehearsed ever could.
“You from around here?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Family?”
Another shake.
“Friends? Anyone?”
Nothing. He tightens the blanket like it’s the only thing holding him together. A quiet ache settles beneath my sternum. I know that kind of grip. I’ve used it myself.
